Plentywood herald. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1908-current, 1931-07-30

In Three PartS-Part Two
Eileen found herself chuckling. A
tickled sensation as childish and as
forgotten as all her other feelings.
The two Miss BIS were certainly un-
troubled by Cupid's darts. How
different from u.s." 1t was friendly,
the quaint doggered, in its conclusion
of the reader. How different from
us........" A warmth of amused
comradeship spread over her mind
toward the writer of this laughing
and family tender lyric.
Still chuckling she opened her shut
tiers, blew out her candles, and got in
to her bed. Clean and quiet it was
Below there was only the murmur Of
the Miss BIS reading aloud with occa-
sional explosions of delight. A divert
ing book, without any doubt. How they
could laugh, these two. So easily. 1t
was to the tune of Miss Amelia's really
extravagant mirth that Eileen slept,
just startling herself on the threshold
of a dream by wondering if Hor-
ace ever laughed.
Martin Groome appeared fer lunch
next day and hardly by his impersonal,
easy going presence added six months
to Eileen's imaginary age. He smoked
a pipe, which always treasured Eileen.
He was a big fellow, in loose, shabby
clothes. There was philosophy and
kindness in his eyes and along his
grave mouth. He looked ready. in a
moving way, to ~be amused. Martin
Groome advised her to go fishing.
He offered to lend her all the neces-
sary tackle. It'll keep you out of
doors -. which is a habit you've
probably lost. And it will give you the
lay of the land. 1t rests your mind.
You can't help listening. looking. feel
ing, smelling-the while you fish.
There are some first rate trout streams.
One of these days, I'll show you"
His tone to her, his way of looking at
her, was rather that of a big country
man to a small city boy. Evidently he
thought her in sad need of airing. In
fact, in his sun saturated presence Eli
leen felt herself stuffy and pale.
Very soon, for her holiday was to be
a brief one. she found her way along
the lanes to Martin Groome's little
charred house. She borrowed fishing
tackle.
What a shame" she mourned, that
you have to leave this place and move
into a brand new one. This must have
been the loveliest home"
Martin, standing beside her where
she fingered in his porch, looked about
him with an air of reluctance and re-
greet.
Yves" Then he added, speaking
rather more rapidly than usual as
though moved to an unusual conf
dence. Il burnt the old place down
myself. Well, l didn't do it conscious
ly, but I knew it was a subconscious
wish for its destruction that made me
careless. Sometimes" he said, his good
eyes haggard and haunted, sometimes
it pays to start in fresh"
What happened to Mr.. Groome, in
his lovely little old house?" Eileen in
quired that evening of the two Miss
BIS.
She had fished for hours, alone. Her
arms ached. She was terribly sunburn-
ed, and her mind was filled with the
chuckle of running water. She had
caught one small fish. Sitting near the
Miss BIS center table, it was now all
she could do to prop up her head and
hold open her eyelids.
The two Miss BIS seemed reluctant
to answer her question. Signing, Miss
Amelia laid aside her spectacles.
"Ah, Miss Morrell. That's such a
sad, bad history 49,. for an introduce
ton to u pleasant countryside"
But it won't be my introduction,
Miss Buss. l heard of your pleasant
countryside months ago from a friend
of mine in New York who was idyllic
over it," Horace who had praised the
little streams and the green tilted
meadows. And who-hoW unfair it
seemed, too!-didn't know that she had
fled to 1t as a sort of refuge from the
fret and fever of his own devotion.
I've already discovered for myself
how true 1t all Is to his description.
So, / can hear the sad, bed history if
you choose to tell it to me, without
damaging my first happy impressions"
you talk just beautifully announc-
ed Miss Beale, surprisingly. q" just
love to hear, don't you, Amelia? Like
a book. I mean words in ing and lots
OF adjectives put in in unexpected
places"
Eileen felt her sunburn deepen in
its glow. She remembered thinking that
about Horace sometimes. like a
book"
please tell me, Miss Buss, won't
you?"
We'll, my dear, it was five years ago
the night Isabella came back
But Amelia, you ought to tell Miss
Morrell first"
We'll Isabella left poor Martin; she
went away to some other man." Amelia
hurried through this information. I'm
agine that, my dear! Martin! We've
known him ever since he was a boy, al
ways a big, sweet friendly fellow like
ne is now And SO loyal. But Isabella
left him. She was a g%iddypate. She
seemed to me like one of these sum-
mer insects that fly into a light. She
was so pretty, too. And gay. The man
come and camped here one summer by
our stream. He made acquaintance
with Martin and Isabella while they
were fishing. And, of course, Isabella
never did fiSh-the man had hor vorv