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. . 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