The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1938-03-25

spoil my wedding gown, you know"
''Pn say you mustn't" Don
swung down from a step-ladder to
embrace his Nora with all the ar
dor of a brand new husband.
when you say wedding gown
woman, it sends a delicious shiver
up my spine. And don't you worry
about the lack of aprons. Jim Per-
kins' general store up at the Port
supplies every need in the life of a
modern housewife from bathing
suits to vanity cases. The towels
are, or were anyhow, in a bureau
drawer; but this filthy job is mine"
The sun broke through the clouds
at last, and with it's cheerful rays
streaming in at the open easement,
the oil stove seemed less dismaying
the lack of running water some
thing that could be endured-for a
time, at least! After all, nothing
mattered except this chance to help
Don back to his normal, sunny self,
thought Nora - nothing, perhaps,
save the parting with her father.
The sadness of that parting still
lowered near, when after a supper
of bread and milk ("The first bread
and milk supper I've had since I
was six years old!" admitted Nora)
they tramped a half mile up the
beach, and from a sand dune saw a
full moon rise out of the sea. Sit
ting there quietly, watching that
ever widening path of gold, hear
ing the soft, low murmur of break
ing waves, Don felt that his cup of
joy was running over. He said,
drawing the girl closer: "Happy.
beloved?"
Happy" said Nora.
He turned to search her face in
the growing brightness, conscious of
a reservation in the answer; and,
loving her greatly, Don understood.
"Try to forget your father for a
little WHILE" he told her. "For you
to worry won't help him now, Nora;
and-and it hurts you."
The fingers clasping his own
frightened little.
"But he's suffering, Don. It
would be cruel if I forgot that alto
gether. I wonder"
"Yes?" he urged after a silence.
"Would you mind if-if wrote to
him once in a while, dear?"
"Why should I mind, Nora?"
"But he's unjust to you, Don. Ter
ribly, terribly unjust. I couldn't
have you feel that I wasn't loyal"
"Oh, my dear! Haven't you given
me proof of your loyalty? Write to
your father of course, if it will make
you happier. Who am I to deny
him the comfort of your letters?
He's got only the shadow-poor
man!-while I have the substance!
Yes, write, even if you receive no am
swers. He's angry now; but he'll
treasure those letters just the
same"
Not for years was Don to know
how true a prophecy that was.
Nora wrote next day, wrote as
she might have year before, ig-
noring utterly their tragic parting.
dad dear, we're here on the
coast of Maine, occupying a studio
lit goes by the classy name of
'shack'D that belongs to a friend
of Don's, Carl Venable, whose work
you think so wonderful. It's dar-
ling place, right on the dunes with
the broad Atlantic for front yard,
and glimpse of pine covered hills
behind us. I'm out on the tiny
porch Gust big enough to hold a
bridal couple, DadD breathing in
huge lungfuls of cool, salt air, and
hoping you're not suffocating in the
city. And from the delicious odor
issuing from within, I judge that
the fish chowder my husband ~
has promised me for dinner, is in
the making. It's relief to find him
a good cook, Father. Otherwise we
might suffer from starvation or in
digestion or something. Why in the
world didn't you send me to cook
ing school instead of college?"
ITO BE CONTINUED