Beware Walden.
—
Give me the boy that whistles,
That lifts his face to the sky;
That lets all the cares and the troubles,
And fears of a world pass by!
Hands—not too clean—in his pockets,
Cap on the back of his head; i
Eyes that are bright as a Springtime sky,
And cheeks that are apple red!
Give me the boy that whistles;
What if he runs away
From school for a bit of fishing,
When it is a joyous day?
What if he sometimes quarrels?
He's not the kind who shirks;
When I have a task, just give me the boy
Who whistles the while he works!
—Author unknown
—————————————————
EYES TO SEE
In Leicester, in February, the
leafless trees begin to take on softer
outlines and the hills that surround
the peaceful little town seem, at
sunset, to swim in a pastel haze, It
is not spring, but it is spring's ad-
vance advertising. And in the spring
2 young man’s fancy—
This afternoon a roadster, return-
ing to Leicester, skidded around a
snow-banked turn. The driver
straightened it and, “Well?” he
asked abruptly, his eyes mee
those of the girl beside him. ting
No more than that. No more
was needed. He had said it all
twenty times before. He had not
intended to say it again today, but
the afternoon had betrayed him.
A hint of spring—and the girl be-
side him. The tilt of her nose; the
twist of her lips; the—oh, e
about her! He had been that way
about her since she was ten and he
fourteen, turning elaborate cart
wheels to express his emotions.
She had suspected what he felt
then. Now, in the one word flashed
at her, she read his meaning. Brief-
ly she wished she had not come back
to Leicester just now, It would
have been so much easier to write
him that—But his eyes held hers.
And so:
“No,” said Faith, for the twentieth
time. “I should have told you be-
fore, Bob, that I—"
There she paused. The moon, to-
night, would be full and golden. At
the moment it was a catch in the
throat as it rode, pale and luminous,
through the mists that hung over
the Elderboro hills. All nature
seemed to be weaving an insidious
net to seine the senses. Even Faith,
whose creed was candor at any cost,
whose slogan was that sentiment is
always sloppy, had to nerve herself
to the thrust.
“—that I'm to be married the first
of June,” she went on. “It isn't
announced yet. But I wanted—"
“Me to be the first to know?”
suggested Bob. He smiled; almost
as if he meant it. “And so,” he
added, “it is my privilege to be the
first to wish you happiness and”—
steadily—*"T do.”
“Happiness?” echoed Faith, al-
most rebelliously. The distant hills
were opalescent now; they were like
frozen music. Gypsy music, with all
its urge and its hint of frustration.
“Does anybody ever really find hap-
piness?” she went on. “Does any-
body but an idiot expect to find it?”
His eyes met hers. They were
blue, deep-set, far-looking, heri-
tage of a race of pioneers. But he
did not look far, Faith reminded
herself. He was content to live in
Leicester, practice law desultorily,
rusticate and vegetate.
“Perhaps no one ever really does
find happiness,” he commented. “But
it seems to me you should at least
have the illusion of having it in
your just now.”
“Well, I haven't,” she retorted.
But added, swiftly, “Oh, don’t mis-
understand me, I only mean I'm
not madly—or foolishly—in love
with Chan. I'd be afraid to
him if I were. It doesn't last; you
know that as well as I do. Love is
what you called happiness—the il-
lusion of having something in your
She paused, her eyes challenging.
But all he said en
“I am not going to debate it with
you. It's not what I think, any-
way, but what you think that counts.”
“I admire Chan and I respect him,”
“And I like him enormously. If you
say all that is a poor substitute for
love—well, I'll despair of your men-
Bl aa :
i t you did, anyway,” was
all he said. way
The road was swinging down into
Leicester. The lights of the town
were below them, The sunset had |
paled, save for a strip of rose-flush-
ed amber in the west. The moon
was serene and confident now; the
air chill crystal.
“Are you going to let me take you
to dinner before you leave?” he
asked, as the car into Main
street. She hesitated, and he add-
ed, “Or would Chan object?”
“Of course not!” she said. I was
not thinking of Chan. I was think-
ing about you. I think"
“Let's save that for table conver-
sation,” he s “I'll take
you to the hotel-—for dinner, that is.
I suppose you want to go to the
house first.”
“Just long enough to get my bag
and lock up.”
They ran on through the town,
familiar to both since childhood.
tent.
‘keys to the house,
‘as he did himself with a
reer was assured,
‘held to his credit.
Here the surrounding countryside
brought its litigation; here farmers
and summer colonists did their mar-
keting. And here, with his rods,
his guns and some law, Bob was con-
“The trouble with you is that you
are perfectly Satisfied to be a Bot
so-very-big frog a very :
puddle,” Faith had once told him,
with the frankness that was her fet-
ish.
He had not denied it—or changed
his ways. °* are compensa-
But Faith scorned that. Her owe
direct ancestry had been more '
venturous, Her ther had
been born in Leicester, too, in the
brick house that now belonged to’
' tions,” he had
‘her great-uncle Amos. But her
grandfather had left Leicester. He
had had ambition, vision. He had
‘not made millions, or even a million,
but he had got out.
The house to which Bob was driv-
ing her was outside the town. An
old farmhouse bought and remodeled P
by her father as a summer home,
when Faith was but a baby.
In summer Leicester is ever so
charming. Even _his February night
as the roadster swung out into the
white-blanketed countryside, gleam-
ing under the moon, it
abiding peace. “Always,” mused
Faith.
She was glad, now, that she had
come. On her arrival, two days
before, she had gone to Bob for the
He, character-
istically, had gone out with her and
started the fires, seen that the house
was provisioned and arranged with
a neighboring housewife to do the
work. He was the sort of country
lawyer who could stop to do such
things for her, or for any friend.
Faith had not told him then sbout
Chan. Nor had she told him the
whole truth today. She had come
to Leicester not because she was a
bit tired of New York but to make
up her mind about Chan. She had
no intention of marrying Bob, ever.
Yet he had figured in some nebulous
way in what had been in her mind.
Nov’, as she nestled her pretty
chin in her furs, was as
crystal clear as the air she breathed.
‘All at once the contrast between the
two men who wanted to marry
her
seemed sharply etched. “Two men
couldn't differ much more,” ran her
thoughts.
Take Bob. He probably had three
or four thousand a year outside the
little—she feit sure it was very lit-
tle—he made at law. He was the
sort of lawyer who, driving out to
see some rural client, would linger
to help repair a pump, discuss pol-
itics or anything else.
“Why not?” he had retorted,
when she had so accused.
The essential fault with him, she
felt, was that he honestly could not
see why not. His whole life moved
leisurely
grace. Nor was it because he had
no greater capacity.
It wasn't even fact that Bob
had only three or four thousand 2
year while Chan must make at least
twenty that mattered. In Leicester
one could live very comfortably ona
few thousand a year, she knew—too
comfortably, she might have added.
It was just that Leicester set def-
inite horizons, and that Bob was so
darned content to have his horizons
set.
Well, she was not. She was
twenty-six, restless and reaching.
She had a flair for line; had dabbled
in design. But she was candid with
. herself.
“I might be able to decorate lamp
shades, but what I want to do is
paint murals,” she had told Bob, the
previous summer, “The urge is
there but not the talent. It's taken
me four years to discover that, and
now I'm wondering about architec-
ture. I suppose in four years I'll
discover I want to design Ta) Mahals
and have the equipment y to—
oh, draw specfications for hen-
houses.”
Bob's comment had been charac-
teristic, “Anybody who can design
a better henhouse will do this com-
munity a real service.”
She thought of that now. She
saw Taj Mahals, and he saw hen-
‘houses. As an afterthought she ad-
mitted that wasn't
quite fair.
t
The thought broke off asthe road-
ster
“Stay where you are,” said Bob,
as she started to out. “I can
get your and up.”
He slip out from behind the
wheel, went up the path he had
himself shoveled the snow.
She was grateful for that, yet
i e doing such a thing!
Not that he wouldn't if he had the
time. But he just wouldn't have
the time.
“I'm only a young lawyer,” Chan
had informed her, at their very first
meeting. But he had added, with
something in his voice that took the
blatancy
They had met just before Christ-
mas. It had no excess of
feminine intuition for Faith to real-
ize he was interested.
Well, so was he. He certainly
no Borizons. oe had the feel-
ing he would go far.
Ere than a year or two older than
Bob, but the very fact that he al-|
lowed himself to be interested in her
‘showed how sure of his future he
‘must be. No amount of emotional
pressure, she sensed, would force
Chan to take a wife before his ca-
Apd that she
The more so in|
He did know heaps of he
‘charged
she felt—about him and |
marriage. “And I think it's
sure, don't |
to
She—But Bob was back with her
suitcase.
“I'll come out tomorrow and be
sure everything is all right" he
romised
“Oh, that would be an imposi-
tion—""
“I have the interests of the fire-
insurance companies at heart,” he
cut in as he backed the car. “I
insured the house for your father,
you know.”
Bob sold insurance, as did so
many small-town lawyers. Imagine
Chan selling insurance as a side line!
“And besides, my child,’ Bob add-
5. 1 row of no reason why the
t you are going to marry a
better man should make me stop do-
ing what I can for you. That—well,
that wouldn't seem logical.’
And realist though she was, Faith
was touched. He was a dear.
““You really ought to stop for
your own sake, Bob,” she said. “You
ought to find some nice girl and
marry her. I don't want to feel I've
spoiled your life. And if you never
marry I—"
“Many men never A
“But you were made fo
woman!"
“Let's say one woman—and drop
the subject. It's a beautiful night,
don't you think?”
She refused to be diverted. “I
don't see why you think I'm the one
woman. I wonder if you really
know me,”
“I've had plenty of opportunity to
study you.”
“ ps; but there's always been
what you call the illusion—"
“Always,” he admitted. “And al-
ways, too, a wonder if you really
know yourself.” He paused. Then:
“You really came to Leicester to
discover something about yourself—
and Chan, of course. You haven't
given him a definite answer yet.”
“How Gid you know that?” she
try lawyer uses
“Oh, even a coun
his wits occasionally,” he retorted.
They were already back in Lei-
cester; he was drawing up to the
curb outside the old Leicester House. |
This was just a small-town hotel;
yet, like Leicester, it had been fa-
mous in its day.
‘ancient colored majordomo hoveréd
over them. Bob glanced at Faith.
“Oh, order anything, so long as
it's quick,” she said. !
Her train left at seven-ten. She
would arrive in New York after mid-
aight; tomorrow Chan would have!
his meantime, |
here she was with Bob. She had
yes met. She had always
liked his eyes. They had a certain
distinction that blended well with
his lazy charm. He had good blood |
in him; he was the sort
2
But Bob |
oa made I}
Iriticksing him
the law buisness?” she
asked.
rushed.” |
“I went over to EI-|
to draw up a
“Did he pay you?”
Bob shook his head. “I'll
him a bill, later”
“He never will pay you.”
“I supose not. That's 1
a moment.
: Ww buisness |
me for Bunting |
and fishing, anyway,’ she remarked. |
“Exactly,” he
“I never could fathom you.”
“I did not know you ever made
any effort to,” he retorted, and add-
ed, You saw your uncle Amos, I
suppose.”
Faith nodded,
oil}
fronting
gq lef.
local hardware store. He had
a dollar and fifty cents a week.
had been there ever since—fifty-
years, now—and probably
me
E88
bought a summer
father, with great feeling.
known about your uncle
in Leicester, perhaps. But
who come to visit us cer-
“I never saw a frightened rabbit
in shirt sleeves,” her father had of-
fered.
Faith's mother had refused to be
side-tracked. “I'm not a sncb, good-
ness knows. But I wish we could go
somewhere else. I'm so sick of ex-
plaining that he's just eccentric. And
the way he lives! Just that one room
on the top floor. Even Leicester talks
about that, I know—renting the rest
of the house. I try to dodge him, but
Leicester is so small. And then I
have to explain.” -
Later, Faith had got her mother's
vi int. It was awkward, when
you girl friends from New York
visiting you, to have to explain about
Uncle Amos, She herself had wishad
sometimes that they might leave
Leicester.
But she had known by that time
why it wasn't so easy. It costs alot
to live in New York; they were
always a bit hard up. “Perhaps next
year—if business is better,” had been
her father's annual promise for
years. But there was always some-
thing te prevent.
Thro two winters, in fact,
Faith and her mother had stayed on
in Leicester. “We think it best for
Faith—much better than city life
for a growing girl,” her mother had
explained.
_ t Faith had known better.
“We're retrenching,” she had in-
formed Bob.
She hadn't minded, then. The win-
ters in Leicester had angels of ap .
One of them was Bob. He could do
anything, He had taught her how to
skate and taken her to ride on his
double-runner. In fact, when Faith
was thirteen and he seventeen, he
was a king in Babylon and she his
Christian slave—though never cloth-
ed in obvious humility.
Then Bob had gone to Dartmouth
and after that to Harvard Law school.
' While still in law school he had come
into his heritage; the old house
the common; the law prac-
tice that had been his father’s; the
| three or four thousand a
that
made it possible for him to surrender
charm.
to Leicester's
So now he was just @ small town
lawyer, with a negligible practice.
In spite of herself, she surrender-
ed to a sudden childish desire
shake the equanimity with which
Bob faced her, across the table.
‘You haven't asked a single question
about Chan,” she said.
“Why should I? I've heard you
outline the only sort of man you
never cared enough even
She had not meant to
but it struck her that it
. She had never been able
to change Bob.
“Let's say, rather, that I've never
been able to get your viewpoint,” he
substituted. “It would not be fair,
surely, to pretend to be other than
“And what are she de-
manded,
Bad news to anybody who prefers
to think well of the human race, I
suppose. But is this the moment to
rub that in?”
to.”
you?”
Faith realized that it wasn't. “It's an acknowledgment at Chan, turned 2d:
just because I-—well, I do hate to
Silk of Jour wasting Jourseif. I
shan't see you again soon;
not for a long time—" She broke
Bg, She yas, an idiot!
i t got in her Sony. ed Chan—and Faith wished he hadn't. mand on occasion. “You're soaking
she apologized, and glanci
A a Dogiz noted the time with re-
“It's almost seven.’
They had a few moments at the
‘station. Then the train rolled in. echoed incredulously. “Why,
She offered him her hand; looked up
her, she would have let him; but he
merely took her hand.
“I shan't ever forget,” she
“You were always a dear—I know
you were
rid.” She felt her eyes smart. But
all he said was:
“All good Alwa,
And Se rain wok Ber santhward, | thors Or boys have surprised the er’'s room.
begun
twenty-five or thirty at the you.
“I was only sure that I was not Bob glanced at her, but
going to give you up. I always get nothing. She was still
what I want—and I have never Uncle Amos living in an attic
wanted anything more than I want and leaving money for shrubs
» i flowers to beau Bsitunten: =
And so they were aged. ey pitals and playgrounds; for
‘were to be married Pgh She had men injured at fires.
not expected to see Leicester again It did not link up,
for months. Why was the telegram in his shirt sleevs in
addressed to her, instead of to her store.
father? She showed it to her moth- “But I still can't see—" she began
er. Chan cut in on her quickly. “How
“I don't see any necessity of any about the residue?” he asked. “There
of us going to his funeral,” the lat- must be thirty or forty thousand
ter said. more than you've accounted for.”
Her father, however, took a dif- “Forty-three thousand,” replied
ferent view. “Somebody must go,” Bob. “It's to establish a civic fund
he said decisively. “I can't—and if to be expended for the betterment
you knew Leicester as well as I do and beautifying of Leicester. That
you'd know it would amount to a was his vision,” he went on. “He had
public scandal if one of us wasn't real love for Leicester. What I have
: |
tonight. And I was hor-
there.”
It was Chan who surprised Faith
most, however. He asked for the
wire, read it with characteristic
concentration. Then:
“I'll drive you up,” he announced.
“We can go and come in a day. I
have a feeling there is more to this
than you have guessed. You say
Bob was your uncle's lawyer?”
“Gracious! You don't mean to
suggest I'm an heiress. Oh, Chan,
that's too funny! If you had ever
seen Uncle Amos; knew the way he
lived—"'
“I've got a hunch. Wait and see.”
They started early Friday. It was
raining, but Chan's car made good
time.
It was almost three when they
reached Leicester. Faith had wired
Bob not only overstopped Chan phys-
saw him just before the service; in-
troduced Chan to him. And noted,
as the two men shook that
Bob not only overtopped Chan phys-
ically but, surprisingly, made him
look a shade heavy. But, she re-
minded herself, Chan o Bob
in eve that really counted.
The funeral services seemed in-
terminable. Although the rain pour-
ed outside, the church was crowded.
At the cemetery the minister stooa
bareheaded by the open ve, The
coffin was lowered into it's confines,
the final compass of a narrow life,
while the minister's voice ran on:
“Or ever the silver cord be loosed,
or the golden bowl be broken—"
Beautiful but incongruous, Faith
thought. Where was the silver cord
to be loosed in Uncle Amos’ life. Or
any semblance of a golden bowl to be
broken? Had Uncle Amos, in all his
day, known one really golden mo-
‘ment?
“Vanities of vanities, saith the
preacher,” the voice concluded; “all
is vanity.”
Even Faith, the realist, felt a
sense of solemnity. Then Bob join-
ed them.
“I know you are in a hurry,’ he
said, ‘but could you wait long enough
for me to read your uncle's will?”
Chan answered for her. “I think
we can. Shall we go to your of-
fice?”
“The day being what it is, I
thought my house might be better,”
said Bob.
“Very thoughtful,” acknowledged
. “Can we go at once?”
j could, and did, The snow
‘that lain over Leicester when
to Faith had been there last was now me one.
a dirty . But inside Bob's
house were gnity and warmth,
grace and peace.
| Even as a small girl Faith had
loved the house; the beautifully
paneled doors, the wainscoting that
was white, not new and , but
white like the hair of an old gentie-
woman. Now she knew the full
worth of the ancient mahogany; the
tapestry paper, still clear and fresh.
“I think there is tea in the li-
brary,” announced Bob.
It was there, on a little table set
before the log fire. The room was
old to Faith; she and Bob had often
ra its bookshelves. She was
familiar with its etchings, even with
Bob's rods and guns. Chan took it
all in at a glance.
“You do yourself well,” he com-
mented.
Faith sensed , but if Bob
did he did not Terma) He smiled
to Fu i surprise h
“It may you,” he began,
“to know that your uncle left a
sizable estate. I doubt if many
i people in Leicester had
“Just how much is it?" t-
“Roughly, some over a quar-
ter of a million,” rep Bob.
“A quarter of a million?” Faith
where
could he—"
“He lived simply; invested
i y
over a long term of years,” -
ed Bob. "Some of his ar
(ly.
Y Faith could not comprehend it. She
‘glanced at Chan, He
“What did I tell you?” he asked.
“I've known some other cases where
read to you is the expression of cer-
tain dreams which run back to his
boyhood, and which developed through
the . They became literally
his life, I don’t know that I can
make that understandable to you—"
Chan gave him no chance to. “Will
you have a copy of the will made
and sent to me?” he asked
“Of course,” Bob replied,
Chan turned to Faith. “It's late.
We'll have to hurry,” he said.
Faith felt a suppressed eagerness
under the words. She glanced at
Bob. He smiled, but his eyes were
odd—as if he were waiting for some-
“I'm afraid none of us really ap-
preciated Uncle Amos,” she said. “I
teel sorry and ashamed, somehow. I
wish—well, you must know what I
mean.”
Bob's eyes warmed. “I don't think
I'd worry if I were you. I can as-
ure you that he lived a very full
e.”
| Chan was already in
ho.ding hers. She felt as if he were
| thrusting her out. Bob accompanied
them to the door.
he stood silhouetted, broad of shoui-
|der, trim of waist, t the light
from behind. Then the car started.
| Bob waved—and the door was shut.
“And to think,"
“he left me ten thousand after—"
his coat, was
! “Ten thousand!” oded Chan, “I
was afraid you'd say some like
that if I didn't get you out. Can't
you realize that can be broken
wide open?”
“Broken wide o ?" echoed Fai
“What do you bi id
“Just what I say—and hereafter
‘you'll trust my hunches,” he retorted
| exultantly, “Heaven knows I never
had any idea of you for
| your money, Faith, but your share of
that quarter of a million will help a
“My share of the quarter million?
‘But it's only ten thousand!”
“Listen, my child, you're
a lawyer, and a good one,”
minded her. “And if I can't prove
that your ad uncle Amos was non
compos men resign from the
Bar Association.”
Faith gave him a swift look. “Per-
haps it was silly of me not to realize
that the will might be broken. I
was surprised that he had
he re-
‘to leave, you see. Tell me just what
you'd do.”
“Wait until I a copy of the
will," he said. “He promised to send
I don't suppose he caught
| the significance of that but—'
But back in Leicester, Bob puffed
‘at his pipe thoughtfully. “And so
be wants a copy of the n
| soliloquized. “Well, he would!”
| Nor did he miss the significance.
| Briefly he considered the possibili-
ties and his jaw set a little. Then
he went up stairs to change for din-
ner, which he usually had at the
Leicester House.
Just as he finished he heard the
front door open. It was seldom
locked. Many of his clients—and
‘their number would have surprised
Eo a he mea
i : more
‘business in his library than at his
Now, moving to the stairs, he look-
ed down to see who his visitor
might be.
| And Faith, lifting her eyes, saw
him there. “I—I came back,” she
The hall light beat on her upturn-
‘ed face. He saw that it was rain-
drenched; that the hat she wore was
| He came down the stairs with the
swiftness of movement he could com-
wet.” he said, almost fiercely. “You
march u irs this instant, take a
hot bath and change your clothes.”
! “But I haven't a thing to change
‘to
“rn dig up something. I'll leave it
for you in Mother's room,” he said.
Faith made no further protest.
said, vestments have increased enormous- For a moment Bob was the Bob of
other days, ordering her around.
The hot tub seemed a bit of hea-
ven. She did not hurry. She was
catching her breath, Presently she
‘went into what had been his moth-
On the bed was spread
She still felt almost tearful. Well neighbors. They live like misers, all that she might need.
that was inevitable, she supposed.
Bob had moved in and out of her
life for years. They had never
”
| pinching every penny—
2 Bob Iteration him courteously
but firmly. “As your time is short,
| “He got it out of the attic,” she
| realized instantly.
| The dress, redolent, of lavender,
“I'm a bit worried about him,” Bop Written regularly but she had heard and Faith is named in the will, per- was the one Bob's great-grandmoth-
went on. “He doesn't seem well.
|
I handle all his legal affairs” |
“And how busy they must
As always, he r.
should he tell her about aking a |
‘will for fifty cents? Or drag
uncle Amos into the conversation.
“Of course Bob in Sh
he has some money, everything
that counts he's your uncle Amos!
over ,” Faith's mother had
thought it wise to remind Faith some
Their ancestry could be traced that when he did fall he fell hard. | years before.
through the old town records, Bob |
had been born and bred there. He
lived in a Bouse that bad belos |
to his great-grand-father, i
the tri Common with its in- |
evitable Soldiers’ Monument
weather-beaten old cannon.
Cater Baa wis, the old
ch , containing
law office. On OE of the third
angle stood the
white-pillared court
a Sb
and she
“1
| exactly
“I'll make you love me,” he had
promised her, as many another man |
has before. |
Faith had been frank with him. |
‘Tm going to say it's so sudden,”
told him. |
ve a suspicion you aren't
surprised,” he had inserted,
his dark eyes amused.
"And T don't want you to think
Shatulies wan of those wabbly ladies
thatrcan’ their own x
She had felt it her duty to him
brother,
Bolsa und yuows what shelimesut
a Rpt : had |
moved on toward New York his
great-uncle :
stayed om'in the old brick house in
ch they had both been born. He
Faith's |
had
grad-
Amos
in the
from him now and then. Of course haps I'd better read it to you,”
| she wouldn't hear from him that said.
way gaain. This was final.
But nothing in life ever is.
was only a week later when his
He was no you!” remarked Faith satirically. Wire came.
YOUR UNCLE AMOS DIED THIS
MORNING STOP FUNERAL SERV.
ICES AT THREE P M FRIDAY
STOP I FEEL THAT YOU SHOULD
BE PRESENT IF POSSIBLE
She read it a second time. She
could not quite understand it. Why
should she be present? If the wire
had been from Chan she might have
, suspected he was simply contriving |
one more
Chan would!
“You don't seem
to see her.
she
surprised,
had had remarked, when she had told!
Cahn, the week before, that she
would marry him.
“I'm not,” he had retorted, as he
produced the solitaire that now
gleamed on the third finger of her
left hand.
. you as sure of me as all
that?
he
‘Lay on, Macduff,” Chan
agreed
I know them all. Let's have the
| bequests.”
There were many, Faith sat, still
incredulous, simply astounded.
To the town of Leicester, $20,-
000, to be used for planting
shrubs and flowers ong the
| roadsides—To the Leiceser Home
| for Elderly People, $20,000—To
the Community Hospital, $20,-
| 000—For a new playground, $15,-
000—To the Unitarian Church,
$10,000; Invalids’ Home, $15,000;
Y. M. C. A., $20,000.
| ‘Then less formal bequests:
| To Leicester, $20,000, the income
| to be distributed each year to
| old ladies at Christmas—To the
| Firemen's Relief Association,
$10,000, for firemen injured in
the performance of duty—To my
| assoctates—To so and so, 80
| ‘much. Then:
| To my grandniece, Faith Adams,
£10,000.
(er Chichester had worn when she
sat for the portarit in oils which
‘hung in the hall below. On it was
t jovially. “And skip the preliminaries, a note from Bob:
i
Won't you please be the portrait
of a Lady of 1830 until
things are dry? I'll be waiting
downstairs.
Eevrything was there. More pet-
ticoats than she had ever seen;
stockings that had once graced legs
‘as slim as hers; slippers that looked
just a bit too tight. She picked up
the dress. It was of dove-colored
silk with sprigs of blue flowers on
it, fashioned with the quaint round
| low neck, the narrow waist and the
long full skirts of the period.
| “Great-grand mother Chichester
| may have been modest about her
| limbs,” decided Faith, “but she cer-
| tainly let the world know she had a
| neck and shoulders.” She slipped the
| dress on, glanced at herself in the
| mirror, “Quaint—but rather cute,”
| she assured her reflection.
| Decorously she descended to the
(Continued from page 7, Col. 2.)