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Show CLARK MCMFFKIN Jm THE STORY THUS FAR- un.iu . . ' ' W.N.W. ItHVICt V taed that he was a different kind of 5?" rm the "ne he Is. I thought that thing, would be right and hap-Py hap-Py between us. I understood that you were just a kind friend to him, I an older woman who was fond of nim and whom he admired." Half an hour later the adieux were made in the square parlor. UWt offered one of his remaining gold pieces as payment for their entertainment. en-tertainment. The Misses Hastings declined it haughtily, and Lark took it and gave it to Cupsie whose, Lawd, bless you, honey," lent the one pleasant and warm-hearted note to a painfully strained leave-taking. For some time after they left Mara Hastings' gloomy square house, Lark and Gait rode along quietly. qui-etly. The hoofs of the mare, Dosta, and Red Raskal echoed softly on the street. The towering rusty magnolias mag-nolias drooped stiffly over them. Lark could sense Galfs sympathy with her, his embarrassment for her, turned out by Mara, unwanted by David. Once he said, "Lark, I wouldn't take what Mara Hastings had to say too much to heart. Maybe, if we'd waited till North came back from Baltimore " Lark said, "Oh lord! Do we have to talk about it?" "Gait, I'm sorry." They pulled their horses up, to walk the curving steep hill ahead. "There's no call to be sorry. I think Mara Hastings was lying about being engaged to North." "No," Lark said, "she wasn't. David Da-vid was funny about her in Eng- "You acted all right toward Mar Hastings," Gait snapped. Gait's easy silence made talk easier eas-ier for Lark, gave her the release of words, plain words. "Sometimes I think David does care about me. Sometimes I know he doesn't. Yet I came to this new land without any plan of my own, beyond David. I couldn't picture it, see It, I mean, the way we see that valley down there, or saw the town of Norfolk, or the oyster coast. It was just big and fresh and wonderful with no form or detail I could vision." Gait said, "Lark, you couldn't for a minute think about letting me take care of you? I mean, all the time, Lark. I know I've got nothing compared to North. But when I try to think of a better thing than working to care for you" He hushed, watching her face. Lark said, gently, "I'll never forget the way you have cared for me already, al-ready, Gait." He pulled up Red Raskall from munching weeds, headed down hill. "We've got twenty-five miles to go," he said. "That doctor fellow said we couldn't miss Greatways. And you said Squire Terraine was friendly to you on the boat. He might know the very thing for you to do, here. Lark . . . And you'll have a little money, and Dosta's yours. You're not to fret, you know that?" It was about four o'clock when they stopped to rest a while In a shady grove below a mill. They unbridled un-bridled the horses, supping on their soft rope halters, tethering them to a young tree, taking off the saddles sad-dles and laying them in the deep shade to cool, near a rocky stream. The girl and boy walked to the stream and cupped up the cool water, wa-ter, drank and drank again, lay down in the deep fragrant grass in the shade of a huge gold sycamore that was losing its bright leaves. The old tree, warm, sleepy, contented, stood with its feet in the water, it big bald body bleached by the October Oc-tober sun. Behind it the water rushed over the dam, losing itself in the deep pool, reuniting here with the sullen leaf-flecked brown water of the mill race. Lark said, "I wish we didn't have to go on. I wish we could just stay here, forever. ..." The horses were tethered on long ropes. Red Raskall went quite far into the water, quite deep into it, until only his head was above It. His breath ruffled the water. Gait pushed up, watching him. "I'll hate to give him up. Won't you. Gait?" THE STORY THUS FAR: While voyai. fng from England to America Lark Shan-non's Shan-non's ship foes down. She Is cast upon an island, and Gait Withe, a bound servant, serv-ant, rescues her. At the Inn where she ts taken she Is made prisoner but escapes and Is found by her sweetheart, David North, who is disguised as a gipsy to get a line on one Dr. Matson and his shady dealings. Lark and Gait fall Into the hands of Dr. Matson, and at a gipsy camp he requires each male gipsy to pass before him and her In review. Lark Is re quired to say, "That li not David North." As the last man passes In front of her Lark faints. Lark and Gait escape from Dr. Matson on swift horses, and make their way to Norfolk. CHAPTER XV Mara said, "Don't be ridiculous, I ir. Where would you go?" Lark said, "Oh, Gait, I don't know j what to do. I'm so tired, I could I die." "Come, child," Mara's tone soft-! soft-! ened a little now. "I'll send Cupsie j up with the kettles. You'll feel bet-; bet-; ter after you've had a bath and a nap. Dinner is at three. You'll mee t my sisters then and we'll discuss ! sensible plans for your future." Dinner was something of an ordeal. or-deal. The food was sparse and not very well flavored, Lark thought, but In spite of that fact she ate it with keen relish. The eyes of the Misses Hastings seemed to say, "My, what greedy young people!" as they watched Lark and Gait accept Cup-sie's Cup-sie's urgings of second and third helpings. Lark, herself, felt extremely young, untutored, and hoydenish, as she accurately folded her fringed napkin In emulation of the Misses Hastings. They were, she supposed, forever conscious of having to be an "example to the young." How trying try-ing that must be, she thought. On the impulse she said, "I'd thought maybe I could help out with the teaching, Miss Hastings. David suggested that, but now . I wonder ..." "I don't think Captain North quite realized the situation," Mara began, choosing her words carefully. "Norfolk "Nor-folk is an extremely conservative town. My sisters and I cater to its most select clientele." The two older Misses Hastings Inclined In-clined their heads condescendingly. "Lark knows a lot," Gait said truculently. truc-ulently. "She's a parson's daughter daugh-ter and can read whatever she's a mind to." Lark smiled at him gratefully as Mara said, "We'll give her a trial, Mr. Withe. My sisters and I wish to , accede to Captain North's requests re-quests in every way." "Indeed we do," Miss Sara broke In enthusiastically, "He's such a lovely, lovely, gentleman!" Mara rose with a frown ana motioned mo-tioned Lark to follow her into the adjoining room where the hum of young voices could be heard. Gait excused himself to see to the horses. The children shuffled to their feet as their preceptress entered and stood at attention like little puppets. Their clothes were exact duplicates of their mothers' and fathers', and "Lark." Gait said, "listen, Lark, If Red Raskall really belonged to us the way you said it, Just now, we could race him, and breed him he shows his blood lines if he belonged be-longed to us. . ." "While you're about it," Lark said, "why not pretend that big farm we just passed belonged to you?" "You said, 'belonged to us' a minute min-ute ago." "All right, suppose we owned the whole valley and all the horses!" He sighed. "I remember when I was little, my father got me a Chin-coteague Chin-coteague pony. I thought I'd burst with pride. I used to love to keep him nice. He was a right pretty little lit-tle pony, at that." they were prim-faced and solemn. A pale shadow of a teacher rose quickly from behind her high desk and bowed nervously. "Miss Mimms," Mara said. "This Is your new assistant. You may put her in charge of your classes while I observe her capabilities." She seat-, seat-, ed herself at the desk while the star-! star-! tied Miss Mimms whispered instruc-; instruc-; lions to a bewildered Lark, and j handed her a rhetoric book. At the end of an hour Lark was I quite ready to acknowledge her inadequacy in-adequacy as a teacher. The children chil-dren had tripped her on many points and, feeling her lack of po'se and assurance, had behaved like thoroughly thor-oughly undisciplined young cubs. "I failed, didn't I?" Lark lifted discouraged eyes to Mara's unemotional unemo-tional face. "I didn't know what it was going to be like, any of this. I thought David would be here, that he would be so glad to see me I don't know why I thought you'd welcome me. that there would be a place for me. I guess I was stupid stu-pid to think that ..." Mara stood looking down at the ! younger girl consideringly. "I do ! welcome you." she said, stiU with I her air of complete detachment. 1 "Any friend of my nance, Captain i Worth, is naturally welcome under this roof." Lark said, "Oh!" in a fiat, small voice and sat down quickly on a ,ear-by bench. "I didn't know-I thought " , It was then that Cupsie, who had een eavesdropping, came forward and, with a black look at Mara, put a kindly arm about Lark s w a s t and helped her to her feet . You come down to my cabin, chile, she aid tenderly. "Vou'se ktn ee it ain't much, but such as it U open to you an' young matter. Id he proud to home you. Mara said sharply. "Cupsie you forget yourself. Miss Shannon is our guest Take her to bed at one e give her a glass of wine. We wfll -all Dr. Selden to see to her. Lark said. "Miss Hastings, nothing noth-ing I do seems to please you. " because you think David loves me I know now that he doesn't It taken me a long time to realize that He wasn't very frank with mtO u i ici Kelieved what 1 warn perhaps I just &e"cve t ioved Bd to believe, und because i aim .inc. I was a little girl, 1 It was four o'clock when they stopped to rest. land. If I'd used any sense at all I would have known." "There's a point I want to settle with you, Lark. When if we get the hundred pound reward for this horse," he laid his hand on the Ras-kall's Ras-kall's neck, "it's yours. You caught him, and that's the way it's going to be." "You really think I'd take it, don't you?" "Why, Lark, honey why Lark" "You'll send forty pounds to Mat-son," Mat-son," Lark said shortly. "You're certainly not going to run any risk of him or the Vurneys making a claim on your service again. I won't let you." "Won't you?" Amusement was in his voice. There was surely nothing noth-ing of the bound boy In Gait now. The change, subtle at first, was plain in his look, his talk, his manner . . . He said. "I'll get work and send Matson his money, don't you fear. The thing I'm afraid of, is that you don't realize what you've done for me, Lark." For heaven's sake don t thinkyou have to try to make me feel bet-teri bet-teri I didn't do anything for you, and please don't tell me I did! You'd been trying to get away from that place for years. One day you'd have made it. I didn't help you. I slowed you down. You'd have caught the horse alone." you did help me get away, Gait said quietly. "And you caught the horse But I didn't mean that, Lark Maybe I couldn't quite tell you what I do mean." You mean you feel sorry for me. It wouldn't do any good for me to ask you not to. Yet the last thing anybody wants-" Gait said, "I do feel sorry for you. lark but not that way. Not the w3av you mean I feel sorry that the things you want aren t put into your hands. I'm sick and sorry I can't put them there. I want to so very badly. That's why I hope you'll be slow to believe Mara Hastings Has-tings When North comes" !fj don.t want to see him." Lark aid "Oh. Gait. I want to find some nlace to go. some work to So. Because Be-cause David wiU come, and he'll feel bad about my leaving Mara's-and fheway I acted That showed how I felt Jealous and hurt and t A man wearing a big dusty smock came out of the mill door and stood on the tiny bridge over the race, looking down at the two by the creek bank. When Lark smiled, he waved, and cupped his hands and called, "Strangers here?" Gait nodded. He got to his feet and shouted, "How far is it to Great-ways Great-ways plantation?" "Twelve mile . . . Can't miss it. Two hills and then Dawes Ferry place. Couple mile from that's Minnie Min-nie Buxtree's toll-gate, and then you're headin' for Greatways. You goin' to the weddin'? Big weddin' up to Greatways, I hear tell. Miss Dana an' " His voice was lost in a breeze that rustled the sycamore leaves and stirred the water. He called something some-thing else unintelligible and waved again, disappearing into his mill. She and Gait rode at a good clip until they saw the black shadow of the toll-gate bar far ahead. There was a foot path that dipped Into a ravine near-by, and seemed to skirt the gate. They turned their horses there, a quarter mile from the toll-gate toll-gate and the low rambling whitewashed white-washed house on the very lap of the pike. Lark could see a man in a straw jimmy and overalls guarding guard-ing the gate, could see a white chicken strolling leisurely across the narrow porch of the house. Then the ravine dipped below the level of the road, the path cutting away among blackberry bushes and undergrowth. un-dergrowth. They followed It for some time, and then Lark, riding ahead, reined Dosta in sharply. Something was blocking the path, just ahead, just beyond a big russet apple tree. It was something enormous enor-mous and dressed in violent pink, a figure shapeless and relaxed in a big split-bottom chair set directly across the little path. The woman In the pink dress was Minnie. She was sleeping comfortably in her chair, head back, mouth open, snoring deeply. Lark tried to turn Dosta back quietly, qui-etly, tried to motion Gait back. But it was too late, of course. Minnie stirred, leaped from her chair, inning inn-ing toward them, shouting: (TO BE CONTINUED) |