Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1940-05-10
II BELONG TO YOU" By BSs 1ASSIR

the little house by fleeing to the
woods.
The woods were quiet, too, and
empty, but with difference. Thru
the trees came the muted sound Of
hammers, the faint drone of saws
Brent was hard at work again after
his brief MONDAY respite. He ano
Hank and cbarpenters he had hireo
had been engaged for several weeks
on the construction Of the six cot.
tages Brent and his grandmother had
decided upon as minimum. The plans
Brent had made so carefully, the end
less sketches, were beginning to take
actual shape and form at last. Thru
the dark green pines March caught
a glimpse of new yellow lumber. But
she turned her back on it purposely
and strolled off in the opposite direc-
ton. She had kissed Brent goodbye
not an hour ago; she wouldn't trail
him forlornly now, interfere with his
work, admitting, by her very presence
how difficult she found it to amuse
herself.
Just how did one go about seeking
amusement in such a place?
The clear sky above her, the leaves
beneath her feet offered no answer.
They were brown leaves, sodden with
winter SHOWS, with spring rains,
leaves that had fallen last year and
the year before to make dull cover
ing for the duller earth. Already the
green shoots Of may apple and blood
root were pushing upward through
the brown blanket. March walked
past them, unseeing, her thoughts
turned inward, her hands thrust deep
into the pockets of Brent's coat. Her
feet followed family defined path
that she had travelled often, so often
that the action had grown instructive.
She had gone this way first with
Brent, moving awkwardly beside him
on snowshoes, laughingly envious of
the easy surety of his footing. She
remembered the occasion clearly.
Their reconciliation was new then and
the urgency of their love and of the
need that had brought them together
was undimmed by any shadow of dis
sension, past or to come. And Brent
caught her to him and kissed her,
passionately, but with tenderness,
seeking to assuage the accumulated
hunger of the days just past, unable
yet to trust the miraculous actuality
OF her presence. March lost her bal
ance, uncertain at best, and they both
went down, scrambling hilariously to
eXtricate themselves and their great
clumsy shoes from the bank of feath-
cry snow into which they had fallen.
Brent pulled her to her feet at last
and they went on until, clearing lit
tie rise, March saw spread out before
her the startling beauty and magnifi-
cence of the Morgan summer place.
The uneXpectedness of the sight took
her breath momentarily, so that she
stood there, staring at the great white
house with it's mellowed fieldstone
chimneys, its terrace browning the
bluff above the lake.,
"Just in case," Brent grinned down
at her, "you might be cherishing any
funny ideas about the desirability of
the neighborhood. Those are the
stables over there and the boathouse
is down below. That big, sort of barn
like thing is Griff Moran's hangar
and I understand he has a suite of
rooms above it for his own private
use il the house happens to be over
crowded or he doesn't care for the
guests. Griff's rugged individualist
if I ever saw one"
"You mean," March interrupted,
you know him?"
"Of course I know him. Every
one around here knows Griff. He's
been coming to Kenoqua since he was
u kid and he's very democratic, in
spite of having a couple of millions
in trust and an indulgent father. He
has a gay young stepmother, too and
q beautiful sister, who's married to
an Italian count"
Are you making this up as you
go along" demanded March darkly,
"or do these people really exist?"
"Sure, they exist" Brent laughed
aloud at her incredulity. "Their house
is real enough, isn't it," Come on"
He put an arm around her shout