The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1941-02-14

q dressing table. I learned how to
stuff duck feathers into sugar bag
with the lettering boiled of in I've
water-and call it pillow, and how
to make sheets out Of factory cot
ton and dish towels out Of -four
sacks, and even a Dutch oven out
OF two boxes interlined with chopped
oat straw. relearned how to whit
tie shavings from spruce stick and
start fire, and chop wood without
standing in tub to protect my feet,
to say nothing of the discovery that
birch logs split easiest when frozen.
! knew how baking powder tin
could be turned into biscuit-cutter,
how bag burlap with a design GRO
cheted on its ends made passable
door mat, how broom handle fast
ened across room corner curtained
off with calico converted the same
into a clothes closet, and how life,
after all, was mostly what you made
of it.
I'd never liked that red-rusted old
stove OF mine, standing as it did a
monument of neglect at the center
OF my new family circle. So on a
sufficiently mild afternoon when I
could afford to let the fire 60 down
decided to sandpaper off some of
the rust and replace it with bright
and shining coat of black lead.
The old potato sack I'd pinned
around my waist didn't leave me
looking any too regal. My hair came
down and my hands took on dis
tinctly negroid tint. On my face,
too, / must have smudged a good
deal of the black lead that should
have gone elsewhere. And just as
| was welding my polishing brush
on the last rough-surfaced old stove
leg a visitor walked into my hum
BILE abode and stood regarding me
with quietly bewildered eye.
where will I find Carol Coburn?"
an Unexpectedly well modulated
voice inquired Of me.
knew who it was, even before
she told me.
"I'm Carol Coburn," I told her,
as quietly as l could. won't you
sit DOWN.
She blinked at me, for an incredu-
lous moment or two.
s"I'm Barbara Trumbull," she an
nounced.
II know" l murmured as poured
water into my tin basin and engaged
in hasty struggle to remove some
Of the black lead. Cant make
you cup of tea?"
mo thank you," she said, with
second study sof my partially
cleansed face. She pulled up her
sleeve and looked at a jeweled wrist
watch. "Im flying back to Anchor
age in few minutes.''
"I'm sorry" I said in the silence
that ensued. . ....l.z
"You know Sidney Lander" she
observed. She said it softly. But it
was like the softness of velvet with
a razor blade wrapped up in its
folds.
"And?" I prompted, feeling that
all the freshness wasn't to be on one
side.
"And you know, of course, that
we're to be married next summer"
she continued, making it half ques-
ton and half challenge.
eyes, he told ME about that" I
acknowledged.
And again / heard the musical
laugh edged with ice.
"You and Sidney, I understand,
had very adventurous trip togeth-
er a few weeks ago."
"We got storm bound on the trail"
I explained. "But he survived it,
quite unscathed."
That's what I wanted to make
sure of" said the lady in the mink
coat, ignoring the touch of acid in
my voice. But her eyes narrowed
little. Then, with great delibera-
ton, she drew off the luxurious
gauntlet that covered her left hand.
It was a very white hand. And on
the third slender finger / could see
the glitter of diamond.
That's his ring" she quietly
but conclusively announced. do you
want to stop my marriage?"
It impressed me as rather primal
tive. But I was at least compelled
to respect the lady's directness.
what makes you think could?"
asked.
She, apparently, both suspected
and resented my air of guileless-
ness.
my convictions in that quarter
seem to be weakening" she said
with languid sort of asperity.
"Then why bother about the source
Of them?" ! countered, little tired
of being accepted as merely an Aud
rey of the backwoods.
why are you fighting my IA
ther?" John Trumbull's daughter
rather abruptly demanded. "And
making Sidney break with the one
man who could have him amount to
something? 1t won't, of course, do
any good.
met her gaze without fiinching.
"Are you saying that for your own
sake" asked, "or for your ia
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