A Romance rico of the
Commonplace
A ONSI E
By Frances
Parkinson Keyes
WNTU Service
Copyright by Frances Parkinson Keyes
SYNOPSIS
Motoring through Vermont, Philip
Starr, young Boston architect, meets
Blanche Manning, seventeen, with
whom he is immediately enamored. It
being a long distance to Burlington,
Starr's destination, Blanche suggests,
the village of Hamstead not boasting
a hotel, that he become, for the night,
a guest of her cousin, Mary Manning.
Mary recolves Philip with true Ver-
mont hospitality, and he makes the
acquaintance of her cousin Paul, rec-
ognized as her flance. Starr finds Mary
is acquainted with Gale Hamlin, noted
Boston architect, in whose office Philip
is employed, He informs her of his de-
sire to win Blanche for his wife. She
tells him of an old family superstition
concerning the “Blanches” of the Man-
ning family. Paul Manning is inclined
to be d ipated, realizing Mary's
true worth. Mary's reproaches for his
undue “conviviality” are badly received
by Paul, and the girl begins to have
misgivings as to the wisdom of the
alliance, Gale Hamlin, long a suitor
for Mary's hand, visits Hamstead but
makes no progress in his lovemaking
Philip, poring over records of the Man-
ning family, learns the sorrowful
story of the "Countess Blanche”
French wife of a Revolutionary herd,
Moses Manning, and of the peculiar
“gurse” she has transmitted to her de-
scendants and the women of Hamstead
The evening of Philip's marriage to
Blanche, Paul, under the influence of
liquor, bitterly affronts Mary when she
reproaches him for his condition, and
tells her their engagement is ended.
CHAPTER VII
s—— —
The lot In life of the girl who has
been jilted is probably not very pleas-
ant anywhere, but there is no
on earth where it is quite as
as in a small country village
Mary went about her usual
tions, after Blanche's wedding and the
storm that followed It, with her head
held high, and her back straighter
than ever. She got, of course, no
credit for this, It was set down
against her that she had never really
cared for Paul, after all, or she “would
feel it more.” Almost in the same
breath she was accused by some one
else—or even by the same person—of
having worn her heart upon her
sleeve, for all to
If village was hard to
however, the family attitade
worse, Cousin Jane had a
to say the inevitable fate of
girls who after men who didn't
want them d of attending their
plain Christian duty. Seth sald very
little, but his silent, dejected attitude
made his daughter feel more than any
unkind words could have done, that he
felt she had disgraced him almost be
yond utterance, As for Violet,
became so violently “nervous” about
the whole that Mary dreaded
to see her more than all the others
put together. She never guessed that
Paul was also suffering from his
mother's “nerves.”
“If you had the slightest consi
fon for me, you never would have let
it happen lamented over and
over again to her son. “My life is so
full of grief and trouble that it takes
a good deal of fortitude to bear It.
Here is Blanche married —"
“You were tic death
hat,” muttered Paul
“Paul! How can
I tried to be cheerful, of
no one knows how I miss her,
Mary's money would
very handy,
“I didn't know
money.”
“She will have, as as she's
twenty-one, and that now,
Laura had a little property of her own,
and she left it all to Mary. ] don't
know as Mary knows it herself, but of
course Seth will tell her soon, now.”
But this was not the way Violet
talked to Mary. She dwelt on the fact
that the girl had not made herself
“dttractive enough” to Paul, that she
was always neglecting to change her
dress and tidy her hair, that she didn’t
Join with him in those little pleasures
that all young men like to “share with
their flancees.”
‘But Paul didn't expect to share
them with me!” flared Mary, stung be.
yond endurance. “He didn't even
want to! And I guess if you did all
the cooking and cleaning and washing
and ironing for four people, and took
care of two children into the bargain,
you wouldn't always look as nice as
you do! Don't you suppose I've longed
to be comfortable and rested—and
pretty whenever Paul saw me? 1
guess I'm just as human as any other
girl, and I guess I know ‘the way to
do things’ just as well as you do.”
“Well, 1 should manage to do them
then, and to look well at the same
time!” retorted Violet, “That's every
woman's duty to herself,”
“What about her duty fo her family,
if the two conflict?”
“Mercy, Mary, what a temper you
have! No wonder Paul couldn't stand
it! I'm sure | do my duty to my fam-
fly, If any woman ever did, but I keep
myself up, too. If you had more sys
tem about your housework you could
get it done all right-—it's all in the
way you do 1.”
Violet felt that she had come out
ahead In this tilt, Nevertheless, it
“used her up” to have Mary so shock.
ingly impertinent to her, as she said
to Jane in telling her about it after
wards, and she did not attack her in
this same way again, Instead, she
brought Blanche's letters and read
not
place
hard
But
occupa-
see,
gossip bear,
was
20 wd deal
about
ran
instea
she
affair,
lera
she
kled to over
you be so vi
Urse,
have come
too”
Mary had
SOON
's very soon
them to her, And listening to these
accounts of Blanche’s happiness was,
to Mary, like having salt rubbed in a
raw wound.
Blanche was blissful, Philip was
perfect, they were divinely happy, no
two persons had ever loved each other
so much before, And so on. Places
and pastimes that had always been
mere names, conjuring up visions of
delight, to be sure, but never within
the reach of “anyone we know” were a
matter of course to Blanche, Not that
Mary begrudged her that-—she had,
from the beginning, rejoiced whole-
heartedly in her cousin's happiness.
But didn't she deserve a little happl-
ness, too? Mary was thoroughly hu-
man and she was very Intelligent.
She would have known how to squeeze
not only enjoyment, but education, out
of every drop of pleasure that she
could have had. But this was not the
worst of it. The man whom Blanche
loved, wanted to lavish all these good
things on her, while the man whom
she, Mary, loved, had neglected and
ignored her, and finally insulted her
and cast her from him. Mary listened
to Blanche's letters in silence, or sald
merely, “I'm glad she's having such a
good time,” in a low volce, but when
Violet left her alone again, she al-
ways sat for a time clenching and un-
clenching her hands, dry little sobs of
agony rising in her throat.
But hardest of all-harder than fac
ing the village gossip, harder than
facing Violet's complacence—was fac-
ing her own bruised pride, her own
accusing conscience. Long ago-—she
knew it only too well—she should
have told Paul that unless he mended
his ways thelr engagement must end,
She had evaded an issue which she
should have met. She had been a
coward. Because she feared losing
Paul, she had compromised with right,
and now she had lost him after all
You're—You're Not a Bit
Well, Are You?"
“Sylvia!
She felt that she deserved her unhap-
and this was more bitter than
anything else except the way in which
lost him. The thought of the
words Paul had spoken to her in the
hall that night after Blanche's wed-
ding. the memory of his heavy breath
and violent kisses, branded her with
She was cheapened,
piness,
she had
shame, degraded
in her own eyes, that any man should
have dared to behave so to her, and
that was infinitely worse than being
cheapened and degraded in the eves
of her family. Had she, after all, de
served that, too?
In all those dreadful weeks, Mary
found only two sources of comfort,
besides the walks she took up Countess
hill to gain solitude, and the prayers
she managed, with shaken faith, to
say. + The first of these sources was
Sylvia Gray, She was extremely fond
of Mary, and usually saw a good deal
of her, but she was not well enough
to do that now. The neighborly visit
ing back and forth had been to a cer
tain degree Interrupted. But one
afternoon, Sylvia phoned that she was
“having a pretty good day.” and that
she wished Mary would bring her sew.
ing and come over to supper,
It was, as usual, hard for Mary to
break away from her family, but she
spread out an appetizing cold supper
on the table, covered it carefully, left
the kettle boiling for Seth's evening
cup of tea, and took the two little
boys to the barn for their father to
watch while he was milking. Seth did
not altogether approve of this arrange
ment, but as usual, he said little, and
she promised to be back early. She
stopped a minute at the Old Gray
homestead, where Mrs. Gray was sit.
ting on her back porch, feeling in-
stinctively that this kindly woman had
spoken of her less harshly than most
of her neighbors, and that she did not
need to shun her; then went down
the shady road that led to the little
brick cottage where Sylvia and Austin
lived. She found her lying in the
hammock on her deep and sheltered
piazza, looking, as always, supremely
lovely, but also very frail, The ex-
pression on Sylvia's face shook Mary
for the first time from the thought of
her own troubles,
“Sylvia! You're—you're not a bit
well, are you?
“I'm perfectly all right. But I'm
afraid I shall be tempted to pinch the
twins, very gently, of course, some
times, to make up for all the trouble
they've caused me. Just think, they'll
be the first twins in Hamstead since
the Countess Blanche's—only mine are
going to be both girls!”
Mary shivered a little. “Why do
you keep talking about having twins?”
she asked. “You'll have just one, an-
other boy.”
“You walt and see! ut I didn't
send for you to talk about twins, I've
got a new scheme, and 1 want 10 see
what you think of it. Now that David
and Jacqueline have built that splen-
did cottage hospital, I think we've
gone a long step forward in Hamstead,
But after all, that only looks out for
the people when they're sick or con-
valescent. 1 want to build something
that will look out for them when
they're well”
Mary dropped
do you mean?”
her sewing. “What
she asked excitedly.
“Hamstead's the lovellest place In
the world to live in,” went on Sylvia,
without apparent connection, “—that
is, I think so. But I can imagine that
I wouldn't have, when 1 was younger
—egpecially if I'd been a boy. There
isn’t much to do.”
“1 see,” sald Mary,
think that she did.
“And so, as long as there
most boys try to find something.
what they find Isn't always very
for them.”
How much this kind, wise
saw and understood and forgave! No
wonder Austin worshiped her!
“l can't understand, myself,’
went on, “why more parents don't sen
thelr boys away to good, really first
class schools and colleges, They don’t
seem to realize what a difference It
would make, just at the age when It's
perfectly natural and normal for a boy
or girl to crave excitement and
ure and activity
pretty good Episcopalian,
just as many
saved by gymnasiums as by chu
And 1 want that nice
yours to start In on some plans for
one as soon as he gets home from his
wedding trip. 1 want it made suitable
to use for dances, and want a billiard
room, and a Kitchen,
pool In It, 1 want,
“Oh, Sylvia, no one in the
would have thought of this but
“Did you ever hear,”
again without apparent c¢
“how wild Austin was
young?
“l—yes, 1 have—
“That was hefore 1 knev
he was twenty- when I
here. If I'd grown up with him,
him all the time-
beginning to
isn't,
And
good
woman
* Sylvia
i
pleas
I'm a
I believe
have
rehes !
¢
and change
but
souls
boy 8 been
pew cousin o
and a swimming
100, "
world
you!
went on Sylvia
‘tion,
when he wa
seven
loving
yurse 1 should
for I loved him as
from f
the first momen
eyes on him
a8 of of
have, much as
could
I ever set
help showing it-—I
have hurt me
wild, I mean. 1 suppose 1 woul
either mistaken immaturity for vi
1
ness and condemned him when
possibly
and never could
Suppose
dreadfully-—to have
nothing to com
t
for Im
when he
‘lousness
given him
AY, have beet
gOS Wi 1 punished
have been equa
kely to happen.
when we're
it hurts Austin ar
pow, to think that
up at all. He and | have
plan over a good deal He
ought to help the fellows in Hamste
anyway. Do you ren
a
wonld
equally Hl
clearly
course
mh by
BOM, ember *h
poem by Coventry
kin quotes,
WOmAar
aweel self
Cannot €
cheapened a
Ab, wasteful
n her own
Knowing man
How she has
How given for naught
gif,
How spoiled
Ww
ne
the bread
Which, spent wit}
thrift,
iad made brutes men
“Isn't that what we're
fo do when we
straight into his
ing whether his
us?
“Or worthy?
“if they’ re really ready, :
worthy. That's just the point
“] see.” said Mary, very
“And then™ continued Syl
tin had ideals always, ever
didn’t live up to them. There's a
mendous difference be
not having any ideals, not
to see them yourself,
anyone care for y¢
them to you. Austin
ful mother.”
love ik
Arms, khow
arms vdy for
a
tween that
So have your
sobs rising in her throat
There was no more direct
to her trouble than that.
No one but in all Hamstead
would have been clever enough to see
that nothing would comfort Mary so
much as to be able to think a little
more gently of Paul. Indeed, no one
else considered that she deserved com
fort or that this would be a legitimate
means of giving it to her if she had
But this comfort, great though it was,
did not last indefinitely, After that
talk with Sylvia, Mary found that she
got through the days very well. But
the nights seemed to grow harder and
harder. Formerly, she had gone
straight to sleep when she went to
bed, because she was so tired, Now
she was so utterly weary, mentally
and spiritunily as well as physically,
that she could not sleep. And when
she could not sleep, she eried-—cried
so violently that each morning found
her more and more spent. Her over.
wrought nerves, seeking some means
of relief, found only this one, and
they were, just then, stronger than
her will-power. And at last something
snapped, suddenly, and she broke
down openly in the middle of the bed.
time songs that she always sang to
her little brothers,
She had had a long hard day, and it
seemed a= if evening and the chinee
to rest would never come, When, on
top of everything else, the small boys
showed no disposition to settle down
promptly for the night, she Megan to
feel as if her self-control were slip-
ping from her like a cast-off garment,
“I want a drink of water,” an.
nounced Algy, bouncing up and down
on his mattress,
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
boys”
Sylvia
The Faith ¥
That Life Is Stronger
# Than Death
¥ A spirit of solemn festive
ter Is celebrated, con
all Christians the miracl
mystery of Chr
season in the
the springtime of natu
ime
s1's resurrect
Northern hemis
ama of
leath and
story of
life over death,
despalr, of
night of d
Easter
all nations
times have §
significance
and the
r and fru
a little
son Ron
springs
green that
time are
nd Justi
Hleve that
a stone
senuicher
was r
in Pal
found vanquishe
e
d in
they
For in
and ©
come true
Getheoen
lost save an
reuttrrection, and
oft-remm
to warm the hes
But
was
courage,
and hope
aeie of Easter nr
nerstone of
trine
In a mo
when no
hope was
a world
row And hope
eft the world d¢
ow
infested
and wal
keep cous Wf
doubt, to seek for new life
ness, even in the pres
and death
and hs
nee of suffer
» ® -
It has been said that the times
taught ue again the value of faith and
the need for It. If this is so, then
this year's Faster will be widely ob
served In serious and thoughtful spirit,
For these are times of doubt and dis-
couragement and hope itself is weary
of waiting for light and léading.
The modern man Is perplexed with
many problems, but those that touch
him closest are old as humanity itself,
He geeks life's purpose and its destiny
He Is aware of hig own bewilderment
have
Ke ae erine Cdelnan.
OW joyful the music of Easter is falling, £: %
What promise and hope bie in every glad )
din
In garden and woodland the songbirds are calling, 7
Spring with its sunshine has come back again. {-
All of the gloom and the darkness of wipter, |
All of its doubting, its chill, and its fear,
Has vanished, and now over meadow and \
mountain ED,
Vistas of wonder and d besuty sppea. Eo)
All thing unite to make Easter more lovely, J
To tell us that winter and sadness are fed;
All tungs unite to pay homage and glory
To One who in tiumph has come from the dead.
How joyhul the music of Easter is falling,
All things of nature in unison sng,
Death has been conquered, the long might
Over the meadows the glad tidings nng
Al just as the darkness of w
, 100, the One that death held mn ¢
Ha {as broken the letters and come forth in glory,
Brnging pew prosuse and hope to w all
$ ut
0
1 ended
niet i conquered
¥ A JA Jy oi hi
Cty ye w Glad?
the sar
leath : nakes him
vrs pr §
granis
tion, but
Mice Or pre
no gua
weperity or hs
jers wi
appines
won hether this is all
rank of
cident of the re tle ERT ORY
11841 1a
a little plan
of ff 3 into 411 ti
.
finds a
ificance of Easte
¢
tion of
iment in
jut the question Is olde
ity and its answer as old
the seas
ife Is stronger
is forevi r renewed in
Darkness prom-
nter gives way to
The past may be
re is worth waiting
dawn, wi
nd sums
: the ft
king for
ry flower of spring declares
ature i= no and has
he r the world
And man, who i= by birth a child
may learn from this living
deny his
keep his courage for the work before
pessimist
kept
promises since
lesson to own doubts and
To Bring an Easter Smile
In northern Europe, thany peasants
still greet one another with the cry,
“Christ is risen.” The answer comes,
“He is risen, indeed.” Then colored
Easter eggs are exchanged. Some
times jokes are told to induce an “Eas
ter smile”
Sooo.
PO Pee
Concerning the Origin
and Observance of Lent
EOE PE OSES
days of lent are
as being kept after
le of Moses (Exod
and (I Kings, 19
all, as
Christ
The forts
Fourth
In the early
was not
churches
impo
oted by
Mey 4 " 3 rr Q 1s ry
USEDIUS Iron | ple SL renaeus
ne qu
{to Pope ictor i sneCclion with the
Easter controversy.
is not only a
keeping Ex
yreliminary fast,
think they oug
r we day, others for two
controversy about
ne of aster, but aiso
1 Nd +
ing
nlinues, ‘some
*
o
and ther for several, while
others reckon forty hours both of day
and night to
“He alsc
usage is of
that there
tradition on the
is variety of
which im-
plies could have been no
ly conclu
sar 100 knew
any forty
same must be
drawn from the is !
only a few
there is the
in all the pre-Nicen
many had occasion t
apostolic Institution if
Pope Nicholas, who served Som 858
to S67, declared that abstinence on
Friday w as obligatory on all commu-
nicants of the Roman church. Fridas
corresponds to the day of the week on
which Jesus was crucified, and many
of the early Christians were already
observing it as a weekly fast day;
that is, a day on which they abstained
from eating flesh meats. Fish being
the principal nonfiesh meat, it accord
ingly became the favorite food for
those days when flesh" meats were for-
bidden. Also, the fish was one of the
earliest symbols of Christianity. —
Cleveland Plain Dealer.
years
The Law and the Prophets
“Whatsoever ye would that men
should do unto you, even so do ye also
unto them; for this is the law and the
prophets.”