- LADY
BLANCHE
FARM
A Romance of the
Commonplace
by
Frances Parkinson Keyes
WNT Service
Copyright by Frances Parkinson Keyes
CHAPTER XIV—Continued
Ge
“Yes, she is real peculiar. Her
mother was the same. She'd go a
tong time without hardly openin' her
head, Laura Mannin' would, and then
she'd up and take the bit in her teeth
~like when she named Algy, and sent
Mary off to school I've always
thought Mary some like her mother.
jut the menfolks do seem to like her
—they never show much sense in thelr
selections, Why, | never had an offer
till I was most thirty [—Blanche don’t
seem to pindle none, does she?"
“No, she's actually gained since she's
teen nursing the baby, and she said
the other day she'd never be happler
in her I can't see what ails the
girls in this generation. Rosalie King
has come to visit Mrs. Weston again,
and 1 ean't see that she's changed at
all. She even wear crepe-—
just plain black—and
should worry,” that she's ‘hung on to
her job and a raise at that’
and although can't always
buy ‘very latest’ to wear, she's
got a ‘long way from September
morn’'—whatever she means by that!
One of her usual vulgar expressions!
And Mrs. Weston says she knows
Rosalie thought the world of that
man married. She can't have,
that's all—not In the way a woman
of rea! refinement would have cared
Why, after Martin died, 1 refused all
nourishment—except what was
lutely necessary, of course, to keep up
my strength-—and lay in a dark room
for weeks and never dreamed of stir-
ring out, even after that, except to
g0 to church and to the cemetery. My
heart buried In the grave. I'm
life,
doesn’t
she says ‘she
old got
that
the
she
yet
she
abso
was
her queer ideas into Blanche's
1f hers wasn’t. she said no indeed, it
was all with Philip!”
“Land! Where
Philip
“She
Heaven
only see it"
Mrs. Flliott
work.
the
must
does she think
is?™
that
could
Heaven. And
if you
said In
was anywhere,
arose, and folded her
creeps,” she sald uneasily. “1
he goin"."
hill, her on her hands,
looking
chin
out over the
sat very watching chang-
ing Without understanding
why, and in spite of all her grief and
weariness, felt that
great hours of her life had come.
resting
meadows
still, the
light.
one of
she
The
country suddenly seemed to overcome
her as
noe inanimate
actual presence, the spirit of her puri
tan forefathers had turned this
valley wilderness into a gar
den, who had lived their simple faith
as truly as they had professed it, who
had fought and died, when necessary,
for an ideal
half expecting to glimpse some heaven-
iy vision, trembling But there was
nothing to be heard, nothing to be
seen, only something wonderful to be
felt. She bowed her head and prayed.
It was a long time before she lifted
it again. When did, Paul, bare
headed, dressed in khaki, was stand
ing beside her
She sprang to her feet, shaking all
over, entirely unable to speak. He
was taller, thinner, paler, infinitely
older and graver, all the bloom and
softness of his boyish beauty had gone,
For a moment she thought--it must
be— She shut her eyes, swaying and
crying aloud, as she felt herself fall
ing. Then suddenly she was upheld
by a strong arm, swung quickly
around her shoulder, a firm hand tak-
ing both her trembling ones in a warm
and steady grasp.
“There, there,” Paul was saying, as
if he had been speaking to a little
child, and patting her arm as he
spoke, “It's all right. 1 dida't mean
to frighten you like this. Don't, Mary.
Don't ery so. Why, there is nothing
to cry about! I'm all right I'm
here!
“Can't we sit down and talk?’ he
asked, and drew her down beside him
on the big rock, still holding her hand.
Then seeing how utterly impossible it
was for her to speak, he went on, “1
got in on the four o'clock and walked
straight up to the farm. 1 didn't let
mother know | was coming, for 1
thought, if 1 did, she'd have the min-
ister, or a delegation from the D, A.
i. or the Wallacetown band, or maybe
all three, at the station to meet me.
It never occurred to me that none of
my letters from the other side telling
fier in nn general way when to expect
me, would have reached her”
“Tell me” sald Mary, finding her
voice at last,
“There isn't much to tell. You know
what happened up to the time | was
wounded. And the wound-the first
one—didn't amount to anything. 1
was back at the front in no time. And
¥
§
who
from a
she
then I was—hurt-—again, before 1 was
taken prisoner—"
“Go on”
“I was a prisoner several months,
you see. | couldn't write then, Even
after the armistice was signed, we
weren't released right off. And then
for a while, I wasn't well"
“You mean you were starving"
“Well, I wasn't hungry, anyway!”
said Paul, lightly. “But I'm all right
now. And I'm home. You won't
mind, will you, if 1 don’t tell you more
than this, just now? We—the men
who've been there—don't like to talk
about it much, Won't you say you're
glad to see me? All the rest of the
family has. Mother had hysterics, of
course, but she was awfully glad, just
the same, I couldn't help knowing
that. And Blanche—well of course
Blanche and 1 both broke down a
little, 1 didn’t know, you see, about
Philip—or little Philip. Well, then 1
went to the barn and found Cousin
Seth. He said I might find you up
here.
Now they were sitting on the old
boulder, hand in hand, as they had
done when they used to rest after
picking blackberries—
“You're not strong,” she sald with
a great effort, “and you've had this—
this hard climb to reach me. I'm
sorry.”
For a moment Paul did not an-
swer. Then he took the hand he held,
and laid it against his lips.
“No, I'm not strong,” he said
huskily. *1 know that. And Il have
had to climb—to climb a long way—
to reach you. But I'm not sorry. I'm
glad.”
“Paul!
that way!"
“1 know you
For it's true.
aren't you glad I'm here, at last?”
“Yes,” said Mary, very low indeed
“Then, may 1 tell you-—anything I
want to?”
“Yes” again, lower still
“Do you remember what you sald
to me—that day in Boston--about
what loving really means?”
“Yes,” sald Mary a third time, though
{t was only a whisper now.
“Well—that's the way | you.
You were right—1 didn't then. But |
have learned to, since. At first it was
just a longing and
raging grief because 1 hadn't got what
[I wanted. I'd felt so hopeful—so sure
—that day | you in Boston,
that I'd get my week—hbut all the time
the things you'd said about how
loved me, kept hammering themselves
into my stupid braln, making
"
You know [I didn't mean It
didn't, dear, but 1 did.
But please tell me
she sald
love
dreadful physical
went to
you
me see
I didn
n' like that, or it
wouldn't be
disappointment
about. It would
t care for you
my own
I'd be thinking most
we were youngsters—taking all
and for
granted—and then throwing it away—"
“Don’t, Paul,” she said softly.
that, or even remem
I've forgotten all
loveliness goodness
more,
“1- haven't,” he said between his
can atone for it. 1 began to
forget that | had lost you—and to
“How you could get me back?
“Not even that—till afterwards.
how 1 could make things up to
Whether there wns anything on
earth | could do to make me worthy
to come to you and say | was sorry,
whether you were proud of me or not,
got to change i'd
point by the time [ got
inside,
reached that
weeks before | could think at, all
But when 1 could—it was what Kept
me clean"
*And there wasn't any ‘pretty little
French peasant” he sald, after a
long pause. And in that one simple
could not answer, all that he was
trying to tell her,
He
dropped it
He misinterpreted her silence,
kissed her hand again,
gently, and rose.
“It was wrong of me, maybe, to say
all this to you-—-s0 soon” he said,
“But | saw Mr. Hamlin just before |
sailed for home. He told me-—that—
that you hadn't changed your mind
about him, and that he knew you
never would. He told me, too, that he
knew you'd refused Thomas Gray.
Sylvia sent me &8 message once, hy
David-1 didn’t get It until after she
died-—telling me never to stop fight-
ing for you, If 1 had to die fighting.
I thought for a while, that | was go-
ing to die fighting—then In that Ger.
man prison, | was afraid for a while
that | wasn't even going to die fight.
ing——that It was to be starving, rot
ting. Now | know I'm not going to
die at all—not for a good many years,
I mean—but I'm going to live fight.
ing. Do you remember, when | was
a little chap, how [| used to stand In
the front yard, whenever [| wanted to
see you, and simply holler, ‘Come over
Mary, come over?” And you always
came! I'm going right on calling for
you now, until I've made you come
again! I'll go down now, and see
mother—1 promised her that | wouldn't
he long. But we'll see each other,
some way, right along, won't we,
Mary ?™
He was half-way down the hill when
he felt her touch on his arm. He
turned quickly.
“What is it, dear?’ he asked.
anything the matter?”
“No--yen-| haven't been honest”
“You haven't been honest!” echoed
Paul in astonishment. “What do you
wean?
“1 let you go away thinking that,
I was afraid to let you think anything
else, because | knew, though you
‘wanted’ me so much, yon didn't really
love me-then, 1--1 hoped you would,
some day, It's nearly killed me ever
since to think if you never came back,
“Is
you wouldn't know-—-to remember that
I didn’t even kiss you good-by. For
I wasn't honest, I mean-—Iit was pos
sible—1 mean, 1 did—"
Paul stood for a stupefled moment,
staring at her, Then he cried aloud
with joy. 2
“You care now!” he exclaimed
“You have cared all the time!” Then,
as he tried, very gently, to take down
the trembling hands with which she
had suddenly covered her face,
realized that his own were shaking,
too,
“Mary,” he said brokenly, “I won't,
But
if you do-—you won't make me wait
any longer, will you? [I've starved
for you, too—*
“You won't ever have to starve
again,” sald Mary with a great sob,
and took down her hands herself,
- * » * . » *
sane Manning, remembering that she
had not “set back her chairs" against
a possible storm—though there was
not a cloud In the sky—went out on
her plazza to “make sure everything
was all right” for the night
stopped in the middle of her pleasant
task and stood stock-still,
shone very
the wide
clear and bright and
granite doorstep of her
their
Then
ing very close
around each
together,
other,
time hefore he lifted it again,
“Good night, sweetheart,"
him say at ist, and then saw him
turn and down the walk,
young face with
come
lighted
the
“Great
moon,
"”
Glory!" ejaculated
fanity.
for a min.
nite,
her
“1
you, Cousin Jane.” he called,
“fixing up the pinzza% Here, let me
help you
the house
his back
“Mary marry
sald, his voice ringing like a halleln
jah, “right off
an few weeks—till I get stronger
against the door.
is going to
We've going away
she
by the
back here to
ming
coming
gets rested—to some quiet piace
then we're coming
lady Blanche farm-——
home together, Oh, God, how
happy 1 am !™
“1 dunno’s 1 b
Jane
His
ft
fot
sea And
ame ye, i
said Cousin
dark,
Paul did not feel sorry. In the morn
ing she must be told.
Mary's father—but tonight!—How.
ever, when he noticed a
shining from the upper
Carte Blanche, he went
little bullding and
“Blanche! May | came up?
mother's house was
of course,
faint i
windows of
the
shyt
-
close to
called
She in a low rocker
He crossed
down on a foot
was
nursing her
room softly, and
gifting
haby
sat
stool beside her
“Mary's going to
whispered.
“How did you know?
“How could 1 help knowing
at you? I've seen that look in a man's
face before”
“(1h
mrry
looking
you poor little thing!™
“Hush! Don’t speak that way! 1
And I'm
so thankful-—so happy--that I've seen
it in yours, too.
They sat for a long together,
after the sleeping baby had been laid
back In his cradle, And meanwhile,
the woman who had never had a lover
went slowly up to her room, and sit.
ting down in the old chair, took up the
"
time
to bed. It
chapter of
before she
at the
went
last
always,
fell
Proverbs :
“Who can find a virtuous woman,
read Cousin Jane, “for her price Is far
above rubles, Her children arise
up also and call her blessed Her
husband also, and he praiseth her
tive her the fruit of her hands and
let her own works praise her In the
gates”
The Bible slipped from her lap, on
noticed, and Cousin Jane sat for a
long time with happy tears rolling
down her cheeks
“1 suppose that woman In the Bible
may have bad her faults” she sald
aloud at last, “same as Mary has, |
shouldn't be a mite surprised If she
open
get very easy, though Solomon doesn't
mention it. Seems to me there's some
likeness between the two, Mary's ben
faithful to the trust her dead mother
left her and denied herself to do for
her father and her little broth-
ers. She's ben strong and wise
enough to say ‘no’ to a rich man she
didn’t love and turn the poor, weak,
ghiftless hoy she did love into a fine
creature that needn't be afraid to look
his Maker in the face. And she hasn't
shirked or nagged or complained or
boasted while she’s ben doin’ It. She's
kept herself sweet and lovely through
it all, There may be better joba for
women to do than things like them,
but if there is, 1 never heard of ‘em,
any more than Solomon seems to hev,
We've ben worryin' considerable late.
ly about the little countess’ curse, and
I don’t deny that It seems the Al
mighty gives strange powers to ho
man bein's sometimes, even after
they're dead. But for all that, | guess
His blessin’ ls more powerful thar
anything else, jus’ the same. And |
guess, too, that as long as Mary stays
here, that blessin’' will rest on Lady
Blanche farm in the future, same a
it has in the past”
(THE END.
By CHERIE
N MATTER of adorning, flat-
tering accessories the present
fashion program is nothing
than exciting. Did
Joss
one ever see
array of
ws mad of
and other lik-
weaves as add the
costumes
8 more fascinating
knick-knacks and furbel
organdie, pique,
linen
nhie washable
touch that
ese days!
The best part
these
tells” to our
of the story is
that
intriguing trifles, which carry
such an unmistakable air of feminine
charm, are so
within the
inexpensive they
il, and If one can
crochet, can
the ald of these embelll
are
reach of a
sew even a little, or
: one
dress with gh-
§ rs 1 3 “ oa “
ing little fantasies,
look
nothing.
which are so easl.
ly made, to
next to
ike “a million™ at a
The new
able. The n
ture Is attractive,
styled after a uni pattern
stresses a novel high girdle effect done
in tucks, together with that
it is handmade, gives it an exclusive.
ness all its own. Why not copy this
dainty blouse? In running the tucks
be sure to the thread.
ake infinitely fine stitches for best
results. By the way, It's fashion-wise
to wear with your light gray or string-
colored suit either a navy or brown
organdie blouse. In handmaking these
thread an exact match
which does not fade with ‘aundering.
The capelet centered to the right
in the group is a “darliog” It also is
white of course, for
white organdie fixings are so crisp and
they freshen up even the
most jaded gown, One of these dainty
little fichulike organdie capes
to be included In every uptodate
wardrobe. They are positively fetch.
ing worn with flowery chiffons or
over pastel crepe frocks, The cun-
organdie blouses are ador.
wdel at the top in the ple
especially being
que which
} =
the fact
use best of
you can get
made of organdie,
immaculate
ought
-
NICHOLAS
atterns are easily
avallable s» clever at mak-
ing rolled trick at all
after you know how) finish the edges
in that greatly to the
Way, io
¥ ¥
to be so dalo
n or
iling Lem
is the little
que or linen.
debutantes,
some
their sisters, will wearing
type or other of these linen or pique
ackets bef The model in the
| because
i r and its
smart detail It has the fashionable
The fastening
buttons
ieture, nirigues
f its yout looking lines
, collariess neck
made decorative
hy nine
‘ave™ huttonholes down the front
nlest type of button
the sing
1 hat
make. Crochet the little
hole to
of mercerized cotion,
Speaking of crochet note the gloves
left below in the
group Is This resourceful
young woman converts a pair of ordi-
nary into a high-
style an Insert of
back of the
flaring cro-
mercerized crochet
secure directions
fancywork de
collar which
the points
a spright.
sel
of pique which is quilt.
the figure to the
wearing
fabric
white gloves
item by working
hand crochet the
hand and deep
cotton). One could
for crocheting at any
partment. The ripp
ghe wears Is made of pique,
s0 dovetailed as to
ly flare. The other collar and cuff
is easily made
ed with six-cord, nt
thug giving it a honeycomb effect
nber sixty thread,
Its
itile bowties are especially attractive.
© 1522
Westerns Newspaper Union.
PLENTY OF VARIETY
FOUND IN NECKLINE
How much attention are you paying
to your neckline? It's all very “well
to concentrate on the hemline and the
walstline provided you do not neglect
the neck’s best line, And if you like
variety you'll have plenty of it this
year, We'll start with the country
neckline and work toward town.
The musician and artist bow tile
combined with a Buster Brown collar
is A-1 for the wide-open spaces. Also
the silk scarf of bandanna wrapped
around the throat and tied in a care
less sort of fashion with the ends kick:
ing around like a tomboy, The stock
collar and riding sult when you're feel
scarf looped over In front and fast
line,
Those Mesh Pocketbooks
Can Be Dug Out of Trunks
Specking of mesh--you might as
well begin looking for that gold and
silver mesh pocketbook you packed
away several years ago, because they
are going to see fashionable daylight
again in the summer. With them will
come another cluster of “do-dads™ on
a ring—compact, lipstick, perfume and
rouge-things that are too heavy to
carry inside on account of breaking
the deliente and precious metal links
They can be carried separately, or at.
tached to the side of the purse.
Hats for Spring
Straw hats are marching out of
Paris millinery salons, an army of
them, and designed to wear from the
crack of dawn until the hour of onion
soup in the early morning. They are
extremely varied In shape and In
strav
BOWS AND PLEATS
By CHERIE NICHOLAS
Watch pleats! Already in Paris they
are enjoying a big vogue. Many of
the most successful evening gowns,
especially those of monotone pastel
chiffon, have skirts which are fine
accordion or knife-pleated the whole
way round. In the Lanvin gown to
the left in this sketch pleats are dis.
creetly and effectively treated. The
{dea of using wide pleats for the cape-
let In contrast to the finely pleated
flounce on the skirt is very original
and daring. And bows! It is impossi-
ble to overdo the bow fad. Fashion
ia “saying it" with bows every hour
in the day and the night for evehing
frocks fairly revel in bow trimmings
The big bow which fastens the little
capelet on the Lanvin gown Is one
way of interpreting the bow move
ment, while the conspicuous green vel.
vet bows which distinguish the Patou
evening gown of pink satin sketches!
to the right gives an entirely different
impression of how bows and bows are
being employed in the most “fetching”
of the season's modes,
OUR
CHILDREN
8
By ANGELO PATRI
TRUTH TELLING
wy) SATE this 1 hear about you
telling les in school, John
Thomas?’
“I'm not telling lles in school
When she asked me did | hand in my
homework | sald Yes. 1 knew | could
have it on her desk by noon and I would
have only we had an extra assembly
and that cut our study hour and so
she sald | told a lle. Maybe 1 did but
it wasn't anything to make such a fuss
about. I'll bet she tells more than I
do if It comes down to It”
“Now, John Thomas, don't begin
putting blame on other people because
you're caught in the wrong. We have
always taught you to tell the truth,
haven't we?”
John Thomas mumbled something
that might be taken for assent by one
anxious to have it so,
“Then why don't you stick to our
teaching? Why can't you be truthful
about a little thing like homework?”
“It's no little thing when you have
to stay in after hours and write some-
thing a thousand times. Makes me
sick. Does she tell the truth all the
time? [I'll say she doesn’t, Nobody
does, But if 1 try to help myself out
of a tight place I'm a liar. I'm not any
worse than anybody else 1 know and
you know it"
“l told you, John Thomas, that ft
won't help any for you to put blame
upon other people for your mistakes,
You've got to own them and pay for
them.”
“Well, | did. 1 had
school and write for an hour and then
I had to go to the office and listen to
a fecture about telling the truth and
then | came home and had to listen to
another. Makes As If every-
body told the truth but me™
“Who do you know that doesn't tell
the truth?
“Why Ma, you couldn't get
for a day If you told the truth as you
me to. Doctor Mullins told Aunt
Katie that she would be all right in
& day or so when he knew she was
going to Clark —"
“That's enough eof such
Thomas, The mir
slipped off the truth standard you
respect for You stick to
the truth no matter what anybody says
and will be betler off, Every
time tell a knows
you are afraid.”
“I'm not afraid. What
“Yon cared so much that
about mothing at al”
Right then John Thomas looked as
though a new him.
If a good example follows the precept
there is a fair chance of his getting
scquainted with truth all over again,
PROJECTED EMOTIONS
CG rowsue
given to crediting children with
emotions they do not have. This
wears them out and does the chil
dren no good. A mother met me with
tears streaming down her cheeks.
“1 cannot tell my son this
must change his marks It will break
to find that he only got an
eighty when he expected to get over
ninety.”
“Doesn't he know his marks?
after
me sick.
Say what's on your mind,
slane
aiong
want
die, Uncle
John
ny of those Peo-
talk,
ite a
ple
lost them.
you
you lie somebody
do | care?”
you told =
le
idea had come to
peorle r.@
too. much
You
his heart
How
“l know how sensitive be is so I
went to the teacher and asked for
his mark and she gave it to me. | am
so disappointed. I know he will be
heartbroken. You must change this
mark.”
Marks cannot be changed, If they
can they are useless. 1 explained this
to the weeping mother. “Your boy
rn
about this, If
seven instead of a ninety-seven.
him and tell him
“0, no, no, don’t do that, I couldn't
‘lease change his
mark.”
When | saw the lad 1 asked him
what he got in biology. “Not so bad.
I wanted a bet.
ter mark but 1 left out half of the
seventh. 1 didn’t see It. Guess | was
too excited. And I didn’t reduce the
equation in the last one. I'll do bet-
ter next time, I won't be so scared
about it." He went off smiling. He
had none of the emotion his mother
had saddled upon him. It was her
own that she was projecting toward
her boy, suffering when no suffering
Was necessary.
People do that often. Youth and
childhood, as well, are not so stiff in
their emotional joints as you are. They
can adapt and adjust and begin anew
when you couldn't. Thelr emotions
have not the roots yours have as a
general thing. Such wounds as they
receive are easier healed than your
own, Don't accent the emotions you
feel,
Haven't you seen a happy child be
gin to cry after one look at its moth.
er's face? Haven't you seen a cheer
ful child become suddenly downeast
and even sullen after a glance at his
mother's countenance? | have, Emo.
tions are easily transferred to chil
dren. They have enough of their own
without any of yours added. And they
must be protected from your own over.
stimulated moods, Why not let the
children have their emotiens first
hand? They get along better with
them If you do,
© Dell Syndicat WNU Serviea