The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1938-04-08
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in others. In their tragic parting
he had been neither fair to Don nor
generous to herself. Yet the girl
knew that if anything happened
Chat fatefur anything we cannot
voice., her father would send for
her. She knew that should she fail
to come safely through the valley
of the shadow" which lay ahead,
he would be at her side-with Don
when the lights went out.
And she was going away, far, far
beyond the reach of those steady,
comforting hands she loved so dear
ly. Morals eyes misted. The love-
ly, distant shore became blur. A
lump rose in her throat. She could
not swallow it; and said, aloud, a
valorous effort to pull herself to-
gether: "Hold tight, Nora! Don't
be baby. Everything has its price.
hasn't it? Did you really expect to
avoid paying? Be your age, can't
you? Remember you're not butter
fly any more. Cts just as well Dad
kept those silver slippersD Don't
you dare cry or I'll be ashamed of
you. l."
She sprang up, startled, hearing
nothing, yet cannily aware Of an
approaching presence. Then she
saw Don emerging from between
the highest dunes. He waved; came
toward her rapidly. Not even that
dragging sand, she noticed, could
take the lightness from his tread.
"Geel woman, you gave me the
dickens of scare!" He sank quite
breathless onto the old pew, draw
ing her down beside him. II actu-
ally wondered for a moment "a ter
rible moment, Nora!) if you'd been
kidnapped. Then l discovered your
footprints in the wet sand and the
rest was easy. But don't you dare
run off like this again and leave no
message. I've got "a palpitation!
Feel my heart"
"You goose!" said Nora; and at
something in her voice Don turned,
scanning her closely.
"Why, what's the matter?"
Nothing. I'm just little tired. "
Nonsense! think you're home
sick"
"Only-only a bit. We've been
so happy here"
He smiled at that.
SIS happiness a matter Of loca-
ton, silly?"
"Of course not, but :"
She hesitated, and Don said witt,
mock severity: "Listen to me, Mad
am. Something has given you the
blues-our last day, tool sha'n't al
low it. What does it matter where
we are, if we're together? Why,
we're going to have a wonderful
winter, Nora! Italy. The narrow
streets of Capri. Warmth and sun
shine. Good friends like Ven and
Connie when we want 'em; and al
ways each other, sweetheart. Why
are you sad?"
''No reason" admitted Nora,
smiling at him. "No reason at all"
Then in defensive effort to change
the subject: "Don, do you realize
what we're sitting on?"
He turned, stood up, regarding a
carved post with interest.
"It looks like--it is pew out OF
some old church, Nora. Do you see
this carving? It must have been
done in the days when carpentry
was an art, and a man worked for
the love of his task, as we all should
now. A pew! A real old-fashioned
pew, isn't it? Say! can't you imag-
inc the family that used to occupy
it? First Mother, rustling up the
aisle on Sunday morning in her best
black silk, followed by three-no-"
(his eyes were measuring the seats
capacity "four kiddies, hushed and
important, each one clasping his
penny for the contribution box. And
lastly, Father-very dignified. you
know, and a bit uncomfortable in
his Sunday suit-shoes squeaking a
little; while some prim old maid
(the village music teacher), plays
soft music on a melodeon See
it, Nora?"