CHAPTER XIV—Continued
7 a
“My dear child,” Mrs. Follette
said, ‘have lunch with me. Mary
has baked fresh bread, and we'll
have it with your berries, and some
Dutch cheese and cream.”
“I'd love it,”’ Jane said; ‘I hoped
you'd ask me. We are going at four
to Delafield Simms for the week-
end. I shall have to be fashionable
for forty-eight hours, and 1 hate it.”
Mrs. Follette smiled indulgently.
“Of course, you don’t mean it. And
don’t try to be fashionable. Just be
yourself. It is only people who
have never been anybody who try
to make themselves like others.”
“Well,” said Jane, ‘I'm afraid
I've never been anybody, Mrs. Fol-
lette. I'm just little Jane Barnes.”
Her air was dejected.
“What's the matter with you,
Jane?” Mrs. Follette demanded.
Jane clasped her hands together.
“Oh, 1 want my mother. 1 want
my mother.” Her voice was low, but
there was a poignant note in it.
Old Mary came out with the tray,
and when she had gone, Mrs.
Follette said, ‘Now tell me what's
troubling you?”
“I'm afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Oh, of Mr. Towne's big house,
and—I think I'm a little bit afraid
of him, too, Mrs. Follette.”
“Why should you he afraid?”
“Of the things he'll expect of me.
The things I'll expect of myself. 1
can’t explain it. I just—feel it.”
Mrs. Follette, pouring ice-cold
milk from a silver pitcher, said,
“It is a case of nerves, my dear.
You don’t know how lucky you are.”
“Am I lucky?” wistfully.
“Of course you are lucky. But
all girls feel as you do, Jane, when
the wedding day isn’t far off. They
wonder and wonder. It's the new-
ness—the—""
* ‘Laying flesh and spirit . . . in
his hands . J" Jane quoted, with
quick-drawn breath.
“I shouldn't put it quite like that,”
Mrs. Follette said with some se-
verity; ‘“‘we didn't talk like that
when I was a girl.”
“Didn't you?’ Jane asked. Well,
I know you were a darling, Mrs.
Follette. And you were pretty.
There's that portrait of you in the
library in pink.”
“1 looked well in pink,” said Mrs.
Follette, thoughtfully, “but the best
picture that was ever done of me
is a miniature that Evans has.”
She buttered another slice of bread.
She had no fear of growing fat.
She was fat, but she was also stately
and one neutralized the other. To
think of Mrs. Follette as thin would
have been to rob her of her duchess
role.
Jane had not seen the miniature.
She asked if she might.
“I'll get it,”’ said Mrs. Follette,
and rose.
Jane protested, “Can't I do it?"
“No, my dear. I know right where
to put my hand on it.”
She went into the cool and shad-
owy hall and started up the stairs,
and it was from the shadows that
Jane heard her call
There was something faint and ag-
itated in the cry, and Jane flew on
winged feet.
Mrs. Follette was holding on to
the stair-rail, swaying a little. “I
can't go any higher,” she panted;
“I'll sit here, my dear, while you
get my medicine. It's in my room
on the dresser.”
Jane passed her on the stairs, and
was back again in a moment with
the medicine, a spoon, and a glass
of water. With her arm around the
elder woman she held her until the
color returned to her cheeks.
“How foolish,” said Mrs. Follette
at last, sitting up. “I almost faint-
ed. I was afraid of falling down
the stairs.”
“Let me help you to your room,”
Jane said, “and you can lie on the
couch—and be quiet—"'
“I don’t want to be quiet, but I'll
lie on the couch—if you'll sit there
and talk to me)”
So with Jane supporting her, Mrs.
Follette went up the rest of the
flight, and across the hall—and was
made comfortable on a couch at the
foot of her bed.
Jane loved the up-stairs rooms at
Castle Manor. Especially in sum-
mer. Mrs. Follette followed the
southern fashion of taking up win-
ter rugs and winter curtains and
substituting sheer muslins and leav-
ing a delightful bareness of waxed
floor.
“Perhaps 1 can tell you where to
find the miniature,” Mrs. Follette
Evans’ desk set back under the row
of pigeonholes. You can’t miss it,
and 1 want to see it.”
Jane crossed the hall ww Evans’
room. It faced south and was big
and square. It had the same stud-
jed bareness that made the rest of
the house beautiful. There was a
mahogany bed and dresser, many
books, deep window-geats with
faded velvet cushions.
Evans’ desk was in an alcove by
the east window which overlooked
Sherwood. It was a mahogany desk
of the secretary type, and there was
nothing about it to drain the color
from Jane's cheeks, to send her
hand to her heart.
Above the desk, however, where
his eyes could rest upon it whenever
he raised them from his writing,
was an old lantern! Jane knew it
at once. It was an ancient ship's
lantern that she and Baldy had used
through all the years, a heritage
from some sea-going ancestor. It
was the lantern she had carried that
night she had found Evans in the
fog!
Since her return from Chicago she
had not been able to find it. Baldy
had complained, ‘Sophy must have
taken it home with her." But Sophy
had not taken it. It was here. And
Jane knew, with a certainty that
swept away all doubts, why.
“You are a lantern, Jane,
high . "
She found the miniature and car-
ried it back to Mrs. Follette. “I
told you you were pretty and you
have never gotten over it.”
She had regained her radiance.
Mrs, Follette reflected complacent-
held
“I hope it won't rain,” Edith
said.
ly that girls were like that. Moods
of the moment. Even in her own
day.
She spoke of it to Evans that
night. “Jane had lunch with me.
She was very tired and depressed.
I told her not to worry. It's natural
she should feel the responsibility of
the future. Marriage is a serious
obligation."
“Marriage
Mother.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, it's a great adventure. The
greatest adventure. If a woman
loved me, I'd want her to fly to me
—On Wings.
the future if Jane loved Towne.”
“But she does love him. She
wouldn't marry him for his money."
‘““No, she wouldn't,” with a touch
of weariness. ‘It is one of the things
I can’t make clear to myself. And
I think I'd rather not talk about it,
Mother.”
They were in Mrs. Follette's
room. She had told her son about
her heart attack, and he had been
anxious. But she had been quite
herself after and had made light of
it. ‘I shall have Hallam over in the
morning,”’ he had insisted, and she
had acquiesced. “I don’t need him,
but if it will make you feel better.”
is more than that,
CHAPTER XV
Lucy was still to Eloise Harper
the stenographer of Frederick
Towne. Out of place, of course, in
this fine country house, with its for-
mal gardens, its great stables, its
retinue of servants.
“What do you do with your-
selves?’ she asked her hostess, as
she came down, ready for dinner,
in revealing apricot draperies and
found Lucy crisp in white organdie
with a band of black velvet around
her throat.
“Do?” Lucy's smile was ingenu-
ous. “We are very busy, Del and 1.
We feed the pigs.”
“Pigs?” Eloise stared. She had
assumed that a girl of Lucy's type
would affect an elaborate attitude of
leisure. And here she was, instead,
fashionably energetic,
They fed the pigs, it seemed, ac-
tually. © Of course not the big ones.
But the little ones have their bot-
ties, There are ten and their moth-
er died. You should see Del snd
me, He carries the bottle in a met.
al holder—round,” —Lucy’s hand de-
scribed the shape,—‘‘and when they
see him coming they all squeal, and
it's adorable.”
Lucy's air was demure. She was
very happy. She was a woman of
strong spirit. Already she had in-
terested her weak husband beyond
anything he had ever known in his
drifting days of bachelorhood. “‘Aft-
er dinner,” she told Eloise, “I'll
show you Del's roses. They are
quite marvellous. I think his col-
lection will be beyond anything in
this part of the country.”
Delafield, coming up, said, “They
are Lucy's roses, but she says I am
to do the work.”
“But why not have a gardener?”
Eloise demanded.
“Oh, we have. But I should hate
to have our garden a mere mat-
ter of—mechanics. .Del has some
splendid ideas. We are going to
work for the flower shows. Prizes
and all that.”
Delafield purred like a pussy-cat.
“1 shall name my first rose the
‘Little Lucy Logan.” ”
Edith, locking arms with Jane, a
little later, as they strolled under a
wisteria-hung trellis towards the
fountain, said, ‘‘Lucy’s making a
man of him because she loves him.
And I would have laughed at him.
We would have bored each other to
death.”
“They will never be bored,” Jane
decided, ‘with their roses and their
little pigs.”
They had reached the fountain. It
was an old-fashioned one, with thin
streams of water spouting up from
the bill of a bronzed crane. There
were goldfish in the pool, and a big
green frog leaped from a lily pad.
Beyond the fountain the wisteria
roofed a path of pale light. A pea-
cock walked slowly towards them,
its long tail sweeping the ground in
burnished beauty.
“Think of this,” said Jane, “and
Lucy's days at the office.”
“And yet,” Edith pondered, "she
told me if he had not had a penny
she would have been happy with
him."
“1 believe it.
pig, and a rose-bush, they would
find bliss. It is like that with them.”
The two women sat down on the
marble coping of the fountain. The
peacock trailed by them, its jewels
all ablaze under the sun.
Adelaide,
tall,
was swinging along beneath the trel-
lis. The peacock had turned and
walked beside her. ‘‘What a pic-
ture Baldy could make of that,"
Edith said, ** ‘The Proud Lady." "
“Do you know," Jane's voice was
also lowered, ‘when I look at her,
I feel that it is she who should
marry your uncle.”
Edith was frank. “I should hate
her. And so would he in a month.
She's artificial, and you are so
adorably natural, Jane."
Adelaide had reached the circle
of light that surrounded the foun-
tain. “The men have come and
have gone up to dress,” she said.
“All except your uncle, Edith. He
telephoned that he can't get here
until after dinner. He has an im-
portant conference.”
“He said he might be late.
came, of course?”
“Yes, and Eloise is happy. He
had brought her all the town gossip.
I hate gossip.”
that pose. No one
Benny
Edith knew
Adelaide of her neighbor's affairs.
But she did it, subtly, with an ef-
fect of charity. “I am very fond of
her,” was her way of prefacing a
ruthless revelation.
“1 thought your brother would be
down,” Adelaide looked at Jane,
poised on the rim of the fountain,
like a blue butterfly, —~"but he
wasn’t with the rest.”
“Baldy can’t be here until tomor-
row noon. He had to be in the of-
fice.”
“What are you going to do with
yourself in the meantime, Edith?”
Adelaide was in a mood to make
people uncomfortable. She was un-
comfortable herself. Jane, in bil-
lowing heavenly blue with rose rib-
bons floating at her girdle, was
youth incarnate. And it was her
youth that had attracted Towne.
The three women walked towards
the house together. As they came
out from under the arbor, they were
aware of black clouds' stretched
across the horizon. *‘I hope it won't
rain,” Edith said, “Lucy is planning
to serve dinner on the terrace.”
Adelaide was irritable, “I wish
she wouldn't. There'll be bugs and
things."
Jane liked the idea of an out-of-
door dinner. he thought that the
maids in their pink linen were like
rose-leaves blown across the lawn.
There was a great umbrella over
the table, rose-striped. ‘How gay
it is,”” she said: ‘1 hope the rain
won't spoil it.”
When they reached the wide-pil-
lared piazza, no one was there, The
wind was blowing steadily from the
bank of clouds. Edith went in to
get a scarf.
And so Jane
left alone.
Adelaide sat in a big chair with a
back like a spreading fan; she was
statuesque, and knew it, but she
would have exchanged at the mo-
ment every classic line for the ef-
fect that Jane gave of unpremedi-
tated grace and beauty. The child
had flung a cushion on the marble
step, and had dropped down upon
it. The wind caught up her ruffles,
so that she seemed to float in a
cloud.
She laughed, and tucked her whirl-
ing draperies about her. "I love
the wind, don't you?”
Adelaide did not love the wind. It
rumpled her hair. She felt spite-
fully ready to hurt Jane.
“It is a pity,” said,
pause, ‘‘that Ricky can’t
us.”
Jane agreed. “Mr. Towne always
seems to be a very busy person.”
Adelaide carried a little gauze
fan with gold-lacquered sticks. When
and Adelaide were
she after a
dine with
“Do you always call him
‘Mr. Towne?"
“Of course.”
“But not when you're alone.”
Jane flushed. “Yes, I do. Why
not?"
“But, my dear, it is so very for-
mal. And you are going to marry
him."
“He said that he had told you."
“Ricky tells me everything. We
are very old friends, you know."
Jane said nothing. There was,
indeed, nothing to say. She was not
in the least jealous of Adelaide. She
wondered, of course, why Towne
should have overlooked this lovely
lady to choose a shabby child. But
he had chosen the child, and that
settled it as far as Mrs. Laramore
was concerned.
But it did not settle it for Ade-
laide. *‘I think it is distinctly amus-
ing for you to call him ‘Mr. Towne.’
Poor Ricky! You mustn't hold him
at arms’ length.”
“Why not?”
“Well, none of the rest of us
have,’”’ said Adelaide, deliberately.
Jane looked up at her. ‘‘The rest
of you? What do you mean, Mrs.
Laramore?”
“Oh, the women that Ricky has
loved,” lightly.
Jane's frock, fluttered her ruffies.
The peacock on the lawn uttered a
Adelaide and the burnished bird.
She spoke of the peacock.
“What a disagreeable voice he
has.”
Adelaide stared. “Who?”
“The peacock,” said Jane.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Boulder, Colorado town, claims it
is the “only city in America—and
perhaps in the world—tha! owns a
glacier for its water supply.”
Boulder, home of the University
of Colorado, 30 miles northwest of
Denver, and one of the ‘‘gateways’
to the northern Colorado Rockies,
holds the unique position of having
an unmeasurable and unlimited sup-
ply of water for public use, stored
up in one of nature's best refrigera-
tors—the Arapahoe glacier and five
smaller companions.
By an act of congress in 1919, the
city of Boulder was given full title
to the glacier, and since that time
has built up ene of the most elabo-
rate and productive water sys-
tems of any city its size in the
United States.
Thirty miles west of Boulder,
nestled in the valley between the
North and South Arapahoe peaks,
lies the Boulder watershed--a strip
of land taken from the Roosevelt
National forest, and guarded by
heavy fences—comprising an area
of 6,020 acres of virgin land. Within
this section lies the Arapahoe Gla-
cier and five smaller bodies of ice,
draining into nine large mountain
lakes, at an altitude of from 11,000
to 13,000 feet. The lakes have a
lons of nearly pure drinking
water in storage for use in the fu.
ture by Boulder residents,
Four 12-inch pipes carry water to
the two reservoirs overlooking the
city, passing through settling sta
tions at several points on the 18.
be reduced.
exerts enough pressure to
a stream of water over some of the
the use of fire-fighting force pumps.
Coming as it does from high alti-
tude lakes, the water is virtually
germ free and needs little treat-
ment.
Arapahoe glacier is said by geol-
ogists to be moving at a rate of
from 12 to 27 feet a year.
First Named Rio Bravo
Rio Bravo, the wild and turbu-
lent river, is the name that was
originally given to the Rio Grande
by the first Spanish explorers, in
the Sixteenth century, and is still
used by the inhabitants of Mexico.
"OnceOver
by Hl.Phillips
We got one great break in
this Christmas business . . .
there was no dispute about the
right date.
*. & »
Well, there's just an outside
chance that in a day or two Junior
from popper’'s possession,
» * *
It would seem to some observers
. a *
“To have interned the Graf Spee
deteriorated
Dispatch. Blowing her to bits keeps
her in fine shape, you understand.
* * *
“Mr. Selznick
“Gone With the Wind" took about
four hours, but would not be cut.”
-News item.
Wanna bet?
* dd »
MORE ABOUT THOSE HATS
How to tell whether the snood is
part of the hat or the hat part of the
snood is a major difficulty. In either
case it gives a woman the appear-
ance of having become tangled in
some mosquito netting while putting
on her bonnet,
* - .
Still, the snood isn’t entirely
to blame for the comic angle in
1939 millinery. It's the hats
themselves, They have gone
babyish. They look like those
little things that used to be used
as ornaments on birthday cakes.
" ¥ »
The idea seems to be to get an
adult into a hat designed for kinder-
garten wear.
® *® ®
We have seen old fashioned pen
wipers that would make ideal bonnets
for misses’ and ladies’ wear this sea
son.
* * *
Anything goes as long as it is
four sizes too small and good for a
laugh.
O0T MON/ —~—
H ATS IWOUTE
3% TO PROP 1H
’ » AT LIN(H TIME
A
Zz
:
1
i
Scotland is becoming peeved
because the German bombers
arrive so often during lunch
hour. Those Germans seem to
have no idea whatever of eti-
quette,
* » *
The Dionne quints have five type-
writers. Just wait until Doc Dafoe
is asked to change the ribbons.
» - .
Germany is now weakening pilsener
beer in its economy drive.
Careful now: there's a limit to ev
erything, Adolf! .—a
PROPHECY
of course
Sooner or later will end in divorce.
Edna G. Groskin
* * .
DISTRICT ATTORNEY DEWEY
of New York is out for the presi-
dency. It's going to mean plenty of
trouble if he finds out politics is a
racket,
- - *
OBSERVATIONS ON THE OPERA
The conduct of Carmen
Was truly alarmen—
She deserved what she got
When put on the spot.
The Barber of Seville
Has unusual skill
In arranging affairs
For people in pairs.
But I've often suspected
His own business was neglected.
Rebecca Richmond
- . »
. » »
PSYCHOPATHIC WARD CASES
Case No. 1
Middle-aged stranger who can't
condition. Constantly cries,
his head demands that he be allowed
Has numerous
Case No. II.
Pfaff, Mr. and Mrs. Felix E,,
about 23 years of age; were brought
to psychopathic ward together in
Can get nothing from them except
the words, ‘Never again!” Diagno-
Junior a drum.
- » .
Case No, HI.
Unidentified man, white, 81, says
he is one of the Van Sweringen
Brothers: covered with adhesive
ages; talks incessantly and unintel-
ligibly about “crossovers,” "yards,"
“freight depots,” and “main lines.”
And from time to time demands
tell you there was a big wreck?”
Diagnosis: Obviously has been play-
ing with Junior's electric train set
ever since 5 a. m. Christmas morn-
ing.
Easy Afghan Smart
Done in Two Shades
An afghan for a beginner! In
two shades of a color, it's worked
in single crochet, with rib
ing a herringbone
Pattern 6505 contains
for making afghan;
it and stitches: materials
ju i: color
of section of
glitch
design
schen
afghan.
pattern send 15
coins to The Sewing Cir-
Arts Dept., 2580 W.
es
Nour Yel y
New York, N. Y.
graph
To obtain this
cents In
Chinese Boy Thought One
Letup Deserved Another
In a Shanghai bungalow shared
¥
and polishec
The
taking pot shots at
were
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of which the Chinese sai !
One day they decid
shame to keep worry
alled }
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