The Wilmington morning star., 1947-10-03

them only when they cease to
exist. There was a steady
chirping of crickets, as though
they realized that their time
was limited and they were in
a sudden furry to have done
with all their summer business.
Somewhere far across the hill
a hound dog bayed mournfully,
and closer at hand an eager,
staccato bark of a feist answer
ed it. For a moment, Gail re-
membered the city: the bed
room window that opened on a
narrow alley, across that the
back of an apartment house;
the sounds Of the city,
it's clanor and discord, the air
that was thick and heavy these
nights with carbon monoxide,
coal dust and the inevitable
CRIME of city streets; neigh
bors' radios shrieking; a child
crying somewhere; people talk
ing, taxis, a trolley car with
flat wheel.
Gail knew suddenly that she
never wanted to 60 back to the
city again, knew it with touch
of panic. Once more the feeling
gripped her that this was home
- Twin Oaks was her home.
For the first time, being indie
pendent, holding a job, standing
on her own two feet and facing
the world, did not seem such
a proud thing. Instead, there
was a desperate loneliness
about it. A loneliness that shook
her badly.
Just beyond that grove OF
trees that stood so dark and
mysterious in the thin starlight
and the light of the small young
moon, was a little cabin that
shrined all her dreams; and its
door was locked to her forever.
Lissa's letter had locked the
door; there was no key to that
door save Greg's complete un-
derstanding, and Greg didn't
want to understand. His mind
had been closed against her
even before he first set eyes on
her. Even though he had fallen
in love with her, it had been
purely an emotional reaction to
whatever looks and charm and
personality she might have.
And once he had seen that let
ter of Lissa's, he had been
quick to down the emotion, to
reassert his suspicion and his
contempt. She shivered a little
as though the mild night had
suddenly turned chill, and crept
into bed beside Norah to lie
wide-eyed and sleepless while
what was left of the night crept
past.
Somewhere near dawn Gail
fell asleep and Norah slipped
out of bed without disturbing
her. When Gail awoke she was
alone, and the cheerful morn
ing sounds to which she had
grown so happily accustomed
during the never-to-be-recap-
tured summer came in to her.
The air was dewy fresh with
the morning that promised heat
later in the day.
Her heart lifted with delight
in the first moment Of awaken
ing. She was back at Twin
Oaks. She could have lovely
day and another night, and then
she must 60 back to town to
her job. But she wouldn't let
herself think of that now. She
would SAVIOR each moment OF
this day, hold it close to her
heart, build of it memories that
would solace in some small
measure the terrifying loneI-
ness that lay ahead.
Norah had laid out a freshly
laundered pair of blue jeans, a
shirt, a pair of loW-heeled,
scuffed oxfords and socks. Gail
laughed as she donned them,
picturing Lissa's face when she
saw them. Lissa had never been
willing for Gail to wear blue
jeans, even when they became
fashionable among G all S
wealthy friends.
"Glamor's our job, Gail,
Lissa had said with unexpected
seriousness. pedal pushers,
shorts, well-cut slacks-we can
safely risk those. But blue
jeans-never!"
All that seemed SO long ago
and so unimportant!
She brushed her hair back
from her face, tied a ribbon
about it, and without so much
as dust of powder on her
straight, sun-tanned nose, S h
went eagerly down the stairs.
The others were at breakfast
when she came in, and Gail
almost gasped at the sight OF
Lissa at the table at this hour
in the morning, already
smoothly groomed and tailored.
obviously on the verge OF de-
parture.
"There you are, you bad
grill" said Lissa, and took the
blue jeans, the faded shirt, the
scuffed oxfords in her stride.
"You should be spanked for
soaring the daylights out of all
of us. It's your good fortune,
my child, that we love you too
much"
(To Be C0ntinued