CHAPTER XV-—Continued
we | Gee
There was something mysterious
about the whole thing. Even the
friends who had come to condole
seemed strangely quiet on the
subject of Jim Loring’s sudden
death, and as the hours wore on,
Mary grew more and more appre-
hensive. His going was spoken
about as ‘‘tragic,”” ‘“‘a great loss to
Hawkinsville,” and ‘“‘terrible for the
family''—but the spirit of evasion
as to how his death had come about
was always there.
‘‘Ellen,” she began that night in
the privacy of their room ‘was
dad's death really an—accident?”’
Silence—a long silence, which an-
swered her better than any words
could have done.
“Ellen! Was it—did he—?"
Ellen stifled a sob. ‘Yes, Mary.
Dad—took his own life.”
“Oh, my God! 1 was afraid he
had! Something told me at the time
your message came, and then, to-
day, when 1 simply couldn't get to
see anybody alone, I began to feel
sure . . .”
*““Mother found him in the garage,
Mary,” Ellen went on, ‘‘the doors
closed, the ignition turned on. She
clings to the idea that it was an
accident and, Mary, that's what the
verdict was, but I know and so do
you...”
“That it was suicide,” Mary fin-
ished in a whisper. ‘Yes, Ellen, he
was frantic about money, and he
felt the only way to save his family
from poverty was to take his own
life, so that we might have his in-
surance. If only he'd waited another
24 hours, he'd have known it wasn't
necessary to do such a dreadful
thing! My novel's been accepted by
a magazine, Ellen. They're going to
pay me five thousand dollars for
serial publication only. Think of it
—five thousand dollars! And Dad
committed suicide — in order to
give his family ten thousand dol-
lars insurance.
‘“Yes,” Ellen replied bitterly. ‘“Ten
thousand dollars—only twice as
much as you'll receive for your nov-
ell”
“And I'm going to sell other
rights. I know I shall! And I could've
taken care of the family! The irony
of it, Ellen! The tragedy! He gave
up his life for his family's security
—and it was all so needless!"
CHAPTER XVI
June came and went,
withstanding letters from Anthony
Porter, Phil Buchanan, and Aunt
Linnie, asking her to return to New
York, Mary remained in Hawkins-
ville. Mr. Porter wrote that he was
quite sure a certain well-known pub-
lishing house would shortly give her
a contract for book ‘publication of
“Storm on the Mountain,”’ and that
it would be good business for her to
be on hand for that, and other things
to come. Phil, by wires and letters,
all slightly stilted and businesslike,
expaessed his desire to see her back
“where she now belonged’; while
Aunt Linnie said that she was lone-
some, and longed for Mary to re-
turn to live with her—indefinitely, if
she liked.
The reason for Aunt Linnie's lone-
liness, aside from the genuine affec-
tion she held for her niece was con-
veyed to Mary in a letter from Le-
lia. It read:
Darling:
I want you to be among the very first
to hear that Jim and I are going to be
married again, for, had it not been for
you, I mightn't have known until It was
too late that he was ill and broke, and
that he needed me terribly. I might
have stayed indefinitely on in Jamaica,
but instead, as you know, we boarded
the first ship back to New York, and the
very day we landed I motored out to
Stamford to see him.
He was there in our little house, terri.
bly ill and depressed, and cared for only
by Anitau, the houseman; and when 1
opened the door and saw him lying on
the lounge, thin and pale and discour-
aged, 1 knew that no matter what had
happened in the past, he was my hus-
band and that we must be together the
rest of our lives
We're going to be married next week,
with only Linnie and Phil Buchanan as
witnesses, and we're going to live for
ever in this sweet little house. Jim's
still quite ill, but the doctors say that
with rest and quiet and proper food,
he will recover in time. 1 have plenty
of money for us both, and, after all,
practically everything I possess was giv.
om to me by him. od
‘ve not mention: my happiness be-
fore, my dear, because didn't want to
intrude it on your sorrow,
Linnie “ys I've done the most sensi.
ble thing of my life, but she's t a bit
upset over my giving up my New York
apartment and “burying” myself in Con-
necticut. She's a little lonesome, I think,
and eager for you to return to New
York and stay with her forever. How
about it, Mary? Can you do it? Can your
sweet mother get along without you?
Surely, with all the success that's com-
ing your way these days, New York's
the place for you to live,
But Mary, helping her mother to
reconstruct her life, attempting to
bring her stricken little brother back
to normalcy, stayed on in the little
Iowa town. And, too, Ellen and Bill
Duryea had decided to marry soon,
and she felt that she should do all
she could to make their coming
marriage as happy an affair as the
circumstances would allow. They
were going to live with Mrs. Lop.
ing; the wedding was, of course,
be a very quiet one; still there were
bridal things to be purchased, ar-
rangements to be made,
Gossip was running rife concern-
ing Christopher and Ilsa Cragg. Ilsa
had gone to Reno to obtain a di-
vorce, and report had it that she and
Arty Belden would be married as
soon as the decree was granted,
and go to Chicago to live. Hawkins-
ville, unaccustomed to scandal, cer-
tainly did not want them there.
Then, at last, she saw Chris. It was
a hot day, the first part of July, and
she was walking down Trilby Lane
after a visit to her father's grave,
when suddenly she heard the sound
of an automobile coming up behind
her. Without even glancing around,
she stepped to one side of the road
to let the car go by. Instead of
passing her, however, it came to a
stop, and, looking up, she saw Chris-
topher Cragg.
He jumped from the car and came
toward her. ‘Mary! How are you?
I've been to your house twice, but
He jumped from the car and
came toward her.
you weren't at home either time.”
“l know, Chris. 1 was sorry to
miss you.”
“Are you going home now? Can
I give you a lift?"
‘“Yes—I was going home.”
“Then, come on, my dear.
drive you into town."
She glanced at the car. It was
not the disreputable affair in which
she had ridden with him last Christ-
mas, but, instead, a shining new
model of expensive make. “You
have a new car, Chris!"
Doctor Cragg smiled sardonically.
“Yes—one little item that was saved
from the wreck!"
Mary looked puzzled.
“The wreck of my marriage,” he
explained flippantly. “It was Ilsa’s
wedding present to me.”
Bewildered by the hard cynicism
in his voice, she glanced sharply up
at him. They were at the side of
the car now, and he placed his hand
on her arm to help her get in, but,
to her surprise, his touch failed to
affect her as it always had in the
past. It seemed but the casual touch
of any man going through the usual
gesture that courtesy demands. Al-
ways before, such slight contact
with Chris had sent the blood tin-
gling in her veins, had made her
heart beat with a foolish haste.
He had taken his seat at the wheel
now, and they were moving down
Trilby Lane. At last, after all these
months, they were together again!
Yet, somehow or other, their re-
union was disappointing; the joy she
had anticipated was not there. She
felt so separate from Chris, so—
outside him, as though she were
seeing him objectively for the first
time as a person apart from her.
“l want to tell you, Mary,” he
said, after they had driven some
distance in silence, ‘how very sorry
I was about your father. You have
my sympathy "
“Thank you, Chris, I-—-let’s don't
talk about Dad, please. I just can’t
seem to bear . . .”
“I know, my dear. I shan't say
another word.” And then, “Let's
talk about my marriage!” There
was a tinge of bitterness in his
voice. “I suppose you've been told
it's on the rocks—that llsa's getting
a divorce.”
“Yes,” Mary said,
told.”
Chris shrugged. ‘Nice mess, isn't
it?’ he inquired. "1 didn't quite
please the lady, and--oh, well, the
marriage should never have taken
place. You know that as well as 1
do, Mary.”
“No,”” Mary thought, ‘no, the
marriage never should have taken
place—and yet, it had! He said he
loved me-but he married Ilsa.
Why? Why?” The question which
had been tormenting her for months
simply must be answered-and an-
swered now.
She turned and looked at Chris,
but his gaze remained steadily fixed
on the road ahead of him. “Then,
why, Chris, why did you go on with
it?” she asked in a low voice.
Chris drove on in silence. “I don’t
know, Mary,” he replied at last.
“I've been
“There just didn't seem to be any
honorable way of getting out of it. 1
never cared for anyone except you,
after the first night we met. But
Ilsa and I had been engaged for
some time, and I just didn't see
how 1 could break it off. Then, too,
her father's a big specialist in Chi-
cago . .
“But,” Mary interrupted, ‘“‘what
had her father to do with it?"
‘“Well,"”" Chris replied, ‘when he
heard that Ilsa and I were engaged,
he promised to take me into partner-
ship with him, providing I'd first do
general work in a small town for a
year or so. It was the chance of a
lifetime, of course, and by taking
advantage of it, I was saving my-
self years and years of useless
plugging."
The sudden introduction of lisa's
father into the question of this in-
explicable marriage left Mary quite
at sea for a moment. Then, as she
began to realize what an important
part Doctor Graceland-—and his of-
fer—had played, her face blazed
crimson.
“So!' she thought. *“‘This is why
Chris went ahead with the mar-
riage! Because of her father, lisa
had something to offer, while I had
only—myself. Why, he’s nothing but
—an opportunist! What an idiot I
was not to know at the time that,
had he been a real person, he'd
have told Ilsa he couldn't go on with
the thing! And all these months, I've
thought I loved him!"
They were nearing the Cody place
now, at the very outskirts of Haw-
kinsville, and Chris was pulling up
at the side of the road. ‘‘Listen,
Mary," he said, “I'm in love with
you I've always been in love with
you, and 1 want you to marry me,
as soon as I'm free.”
her to be his wife. Chris had asked
her to marry him.
for months to be asked that ques-
tion. Yet now that it had come, she
whole situation
searching her cool young profile for
his answer. ‘‘How about it, Mary?"
he persisted. ‘You will marry me,
won't you, darling?”
Mary turned and looked at him,
feeling as if she were looking at a
stranger; as if, indeed, she had nev-
er known this man. ‘No, Chris,”
“No, I can't marry you."
“But, Mary! I thought . Fi
“That 1 loved you, too? Well, 1
thought so myself, for a while, but
1 was terribly mistaken. I realize
now that I not only did not love
you-but also, Chris, that I never
really knew you. Let's go back to
town, Chris. I'm anxious to get
home."
lap. “You aren't angry with me for
speaking of this,” he asked apolo-
getically, ''so soon after your--your
trouble?"
Mary shook her head. “No,” she
replied, forcing a smile to her lips.
“Not at all. I simply want to get
home.”
moment. Then, without a word,
turned on the ignition, and, with a
violent jerk, started down the road.
“Thank God, that's over!’ she
told herself, as, in silence, they sped
towards town. “Thank God, I've
found him out! And to think of the
months of agony that I've gone
through for this man!”
“I love Phill” she told herself in
wonder. “I've loved him all the
time, and 1 was just too dazzled by
false illusions of Chris to realize it.
I must get back to him at once! I
must see him at once! I wonder
how soon 1 can leave for New
York.” And then, fearfully, “I
haven't written to him for a week,
and that was a horrid, formal little
note. Oh, Phil, I want you! I need
you!”
At last, they had reached Blon-
deau street, and were heading down
Sixth. At last, they were turning
into Concert, and nearing her home,
She would write to Phil this after-
noon. She would tell him she was
leaving for New York soon,
Now they were pulling up at the
curb in front of the Loring house,
and without waiting for Chris to get
out, she opened the door of the car,
and stepped to the ground, “‘Good-
by, Chris,” she said breathlessly,
and turned to smile at him,
He jumped from the car, and
stood beside her. ‘‘Mary,” he be-
gan, ‘‘think this thing over. Please
think it over!"
Mary shook her head. ‘‘No, Chris.
That won't do any good. My mind's
made up.” And placing her hand
on his arm, she added, "I'm sorry,
Chris . . good-by.”
There were sounds of voices in
the living room as she entered the
front hall. Mother was talking to
someone, and Petey was there—and
a man.
“Mary!” called her mother as the
screen door slammed behind her.
“Mary, dear, come in! You have
a guest.”
She had
wouldn't call her.
hoped her mother
She had wanted
ter to Phil. Grudgingly, she turned
from the Stairway, and went to-
wards the living room. There, stand-
ing in the doorway, she stared un-
believingly at the tall man who had
risen from his chair when her moth-
er called,
“Phil!"”’ she gasped. "Phil!" And
yblivious of her mother's and
Petey's presence, she ran the length
room, and flung her arms
Phil, and
“Darling, are
you really glad to see me?”
“I've been so glad to see
anybody in all my life!” Mary cried.
“Oh, Phil, how did you happen to
come?”
“] wanted to see you, you little
goose!” Phil returned with a grin.
“Your letters didn't suit me at all
They were too few and far between
laughed
never
ting farther and farther away from
a reluctant Pe-
from
s. loring, with
in tow, tiptoed unnoticed
Phil,” Mary protested. “I
was going to write you this after-
noon! 1 know my letters have been
—awful. I've—I've been in a dread-
ful muddle for months, but now, at
“1 knew your mind was in chaos
about something or other, Mary
dear.” he said tenderly, “and 1
didn't want to rush you. Yet, dar-
ling, 1 was getting terribly impa-
tient."
Mary looked down at the worn
pattern of the living room rug. “But
that confusion's all over now, Phil."
she said, feeling as if a great weight
were falling from her shoulders as
she spoke the words.
Phil put his hand under her chin,
and looked searchingly into her
eyes. ‘Well, then,” he demanded,
“how about answering that ques-
tion I asked you an edb or so ago?
You see, I have to sail for England
next week, and, dearest, I wish
you'd marry me, and go along.”
Mary touched his lean tan cheek
with one of her hands. “Darling.”
she said softly, “I'll go anywhere in
the world with you. I love you, Phill
At last I know I love you!"
Phil caught her in his arms, and
holding her firmly against his heart,
as if never again would he let her
go, bent to kiss her lips.
{THE END]
Wood is almost imperishable, wiil
last almost forever—provided it is
protected against the attack of
wood - destroying fungus, which
causes decay, according to the U. 8.
Farest Products laboratory in Wis-
consin. Timbers in the White House
that were used in its construction
in 1818 were recently found to be
perfectly sound. Houses in New
England that were built 300 years
ago are still structurally intact. It
is said that timbers several hun-
dred years old have been recovered
fro: the ruins of Indian pueblos in
Arizona, while a part of a Roman
emperor's houseboat that sank 2,000
years ago in Lake Nemi was sound
enough to be identified by the For-
est Products laboratory as spruce
wood. Not long ago a log 7 feet in
diameter was found in a tunnel be-
ing dug 150 feet below the bed of
the Yakima river in Washington. A
jece of it was sent to the Forest
roducts laboratory and the wood
was identified as an extinct species
of sequoia, of an age estimated by
geologists at 12,000,000 years.
These examples prove, the U. 8,
Forest Products laboratory says,
that wood does not necessarily de-
cay with age; that decay is the re-
sult of only one thing, the attack of
wood-destroying fungus, In
cases described in the foregoing the
wood was protected against fungus
attack by either keeping the wood
dry or continuously saturated.
These facts indicate the possibility
of making fence posts last a long
time, even if they be of soft wood
like elm. Obviously fence posts are
not protected against fungus attack,
unless treated. It will pay well to
treat all fence posts with creosote;
but while it will prolong the life of a
post to merely dip it in creosote, the
most effective way is to heat the
liquid so as to increase its pene-
trating qualities. Some farmers ac.
complish this by heating creosote in
fron barrels, standing the posts in
them and allowing them to “cook”
a while. Some woods, like hickory,
are destroyed by worms or borers,
and in which case, if used for posts,
the entire post must be treated,
whereas ordinarily only that por.
tion of the post which is set into
the ground is treated.
——
> SEW
W ATCH any class of kinder-
gartners cutting patterns
from colored paper, and your fin-
gers will itch to pick up the scis-
sors and try it yourself. Why
not? The luncheon mat and nap-
kin shown here offer a suggestion
for a way to use your cut-out de-
signs for simple but effective
applique work.
The long sides of the mats are
and the ends faced with
one-inch bands of green, as at A.
are also hemmed on
two sides and faced with green
bands on the other two. The stem
a circular line embroidered in
green outline stitch, The leaf is
of the green material,
Experiment with cutting the
cherry and leaf in paper. When
you have cut a design that pleases
you, make a pattern in lightweight
cardboard. Cut the fabric a little
larger than the pattern, clip the
edge as at B; then press it over
the pattern with a warm as
at C to make a firm crease. Re-
move the pattern, and sew the
pieces in place with fine hemming
stitche
NOTE: Readers who have not
secured their copies of my two
books should send in their orders
at once. Your choice of the
CRAZYPATCH QUILT leaflet
showing 36 authentic stitches: or
the RAG RUG LEAFLET will be
included FREE with orders for
r
h
i ,
iron
the
we
both books, fc present. Ev-
| eryone should of these
{ two books containing 96 How to
Sew a that have not ap-
| peared in the paper. This offer
{ will be withdrawn soon. Send or-
| der with 25 cents immediately to
| Mrs. Spears, 210 S. Desplaines St.,
Chicago, Ill., and both books will
| be mailed postpaid.
ave copies
ri log
rucies
Yc lela
in Solitude
Austere
is always
Overbearing austerity
NN ve. .
Sized .
mis i
" &
Pattern 6411
Knitting with two strands of
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one of these
to fill
prised h
Before long ¥ en
a lovel and-k ¢
bedspread or scarf. Pattern 6411
ons for
stration of
als needed;
graph of square.
this pattern,
cents in coins to The
Circle, Household Arts Dept.
W. 14th St., New York, N. Y.
THE CHEERFUL
[ dorlt care so
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Or for joking or
i po ass
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¢ ye a ad
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RT
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To obtain
Sewin
CHERVD
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pity ie
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