Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-02-24

corner of the pew in st. Martins
made ready to let her mind drift
~ into the drowsiness of late
Springtime Sabbath as old DR.
Stoner put down the book from which
he had read the text of the day.
Beside her sat her sister, Rose, a
slight figure in her apple-green dress,
not unlike the dropping stem OF flower
beneath the wide gayety of her bright
hat, which concealed her face as she
sank Imply back. For an instant, be-
fore Sara settled down into that phySi-
cal inertia that was with her the OPEN
ed door to mental attentivenesS, she had
the worried wonder of what would be-
come of her sister.
III. younger girl was going to stay
VIA their father, of course, in the old
Eouse across the avenue, after Sara
married Rodney Hardin in September.
There was no need for anxiety over her
On that score, but the old habit of con-
slderation perturbed Sara at the
thought Of Roses future. Rose had al
ways needed so much thoughtful I'M
derstanding that even Sara'S love for
Rodney brought compensation for the
girl who had not yet found love.
The comforting thought that Rose,
eXouiSitely lovely as she looked today,
would marry soon swung Sara into vi
sion of her own wedding. 1t would be
here in ST. Martins, where her father
and mother had been married. Rose
would be her only attendant. There
would be lilies on the altar and tall
baskets of lilies at the chancel rail.
Rose would carry a tall candle. No,
perhaps a vivid note of color in a bou-
quet would be better. For occasional
the organ would play, not the usual
MendelsSohn, but THE Bells of st.
Mary's," that secular song that had
done so much to bring Rodney and
herself together in those first tremulous
days of realization of love. In fancy
ene could hear its triumphal strains.
am the porch of st. Mary's
III be waiting for YOU"
.--and the memory of Rodney's look at
her across a crowded room while some
uiie had sung the chant of its hope
thrilled her with happiness. How dear
Rodney was! Her pulse beat seemed to
eXult. May, June, July, August, Sep
TENDER, she counted dreamily.
The sound of DR.. Stoner'S voice sud-
denly arrested her wandering thoughts.
He was not following, she realized with
a start, the line of his usual sermon on
the text. Instead he had taken from
his announcement book slip of paper
and, holding it in one hand, was adj
justing his spectacles with the other.
II have here" he said, "a letter that
came to me this week. The letter is
not signed. I believe, however, that its
writer is a woman, a young woman.
do not know her problem, but I know
from her plea that she is soul in
need. For she asks me, Won't you
preach next Sunday on the love of God
Sor ord IJfc forciUonocc9, IF ic for
her, in answer to this letter, that I am
going to preach today
He put down the letter under the book
of parish announcements. MY text"
he said, ''is one you all know, but that
too many of us forget, An humble and
a contrite heart is a sacrifice to God
If it means nothing now to any one
else here, it will, hope, be the answer
and comforting word to her who has
asked me to talk of Gods forgiveness"
WITH an earnestness that galvan-
w lied Sara from all inattenSion,
DR.. Stoner flung out his message.
There was hush as he ended. then
that little stir with which the congre-
CATION always relaxed. Sara looked at
Rose, but Rose was looking straight
ahead, her eyes luminous. DR.. Stoner
lifted the letter from beneath the book.
eff the one who wrote this" he said,
holding it aloft so that SaraS gaze To-
cused upon 1t, has further need OF me,
/ shall welcome her coming. am the
pastor, and the pastors duty is the care
of his flock"
He went down the pulpit stairs, an
old man as steady In his faith as ne
was unsteady in his movements, ana
st. Martins arose, as one, for the Greco.
To Sara, however, watching the rector,
came neither peace nor prayer; LOT
through her mind, released by the slgnG
of something inexplicable, raced tnou-
sand thoughts. all of them tangent OF
the one idea: the identity Of the writer
of the letter. For 1t had been written
on Sara Warde's own letter paper,
stationery as individual as Roses green
gown!
she had ordered that particular kind,
she told herself, when Rodney had gone
to work in West Virginia. 1t was an
italian handmade deckle-edged sheet,
creamy, heavy, extravagantly expensive.
The price had gone even higher when
some twist of trade had taken the paper
out of the market, for time and, be-
fore Rodney's return, Sara had been
forced to send to New York for refllling
of the order She had made the pur-
chase less than month ago, only to
be told that it would be the last OF Its
sort in the country for months.
1t wasn't reasonable to suppose that
any one else in st. Martins used the
same kind Of paper. 1t was her paper,
she told herself. Who, then, could have
used it for the letter to DR.. Stoner?
No one but Rose could get to it, she
realized, as she strove to bring back
her thoughts to the Creed. Rose must
have given it to some one. But to
whom? Ellen Marcy, Julie Fcnton,
Belle Watcher No one of them had
been around in weeks. That was queer,
too, come to think of it. Had Rose
quarreled with them? Surely not with
all of them, and Rose wasn't in the
least Quarrelsome. If anything hap
pened to ALLEVIATE her from any of her
friends, she retreated into her shell,
saying no word Of reproach. No, Rose
hadn't given any of the paper away.
But, if she hadn't, how came it to be
the medium Of expression for this girl
who wrote to DR.. Stoner? If Rose
Sara felt a sudden fear as she looked
at Rose. There was, in the younger
girls aspect, something SO tragic that
Sara felt herself struck by the lightning
of sorrow. 1t wasn't possible, she told
herself, it wasn't true that by any