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.”