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Show When Fate Relented By Ellen Heney CoDjrieht. igio, by Associated Literarr Preu "Oh, it's a sweet little room," said Miss Stiles Ironically. . Her gaze roamed pensively over the little hall room she dwelt in, from the plump divan cushions to the book shelf above her cretonne-concealed washstand. A trunk bumped on the landing outside her door and then proceeded pro-ceeded with a series of smaller bumps up the stairs and landed with a final crash overhead. "Some one new." Faint hope flickered flick-ered up, to die Instantly. "But of course no one worth while would come here to live," she mumbled scornfully. Bitter distaste of her surroundings, of her daily grind, of her colorless days arose within her and jogged her momentarily mo-mentarily out of the rut of dogged cheerfulness and acceptance of environment en-vironment that she had forced herself iDto. "I hate 'em," thumping her head Into the pillows viciously. "I hate everybody." Rising, she faced herself accusingly In the wavy-surfaced mirror. mir-ror. "I hate myself, too. I'm even beginning be-ginning to crook my little fingers like them they'll be calling me genteel next. Ugh, I'd rather be bad downright down-right horrid than genteel, with a cotton cot-ton wool brain and a sawdust heart." A soft wind stirred the ruffled curtain cur-tain and whisked her hair, and, turning, turn-ing, she thrust her head out into the sunshine. "Pooh, Sally girl, but you've got the blues," she informed herself, sniffing the crisp air eagerly. With the stirring of spring sap conies an eagerness in the blood mayhap, may-hap, but it's the fall for the recklessness reckless-ness and zest of adventure, with its Insistent warning whisper of departing depart-ing days, its urge to make haste, that opens one's eyes to fleeting youth, Its fanning breath charged with the last faint scents of summer1 sweetness. And it moved unwontedly in Sarah Styles's heart as she sniffed the keen air and softened the repression of her lips. "Gird up your loins and put on your tan pumps, Sarah, and fare thee : stw? AVar fc III : ' V iorth," she murmured, "and perhaps adventure will hit you on the shoul-ers, shoul-ers, you poor, lonesome thing, and Introduce In-troduce you to an affinity. Any way, the fall air is glorious." From the woods came the tingling ting-ling scent of autumn leaves and sun-warmed mosses and cool-shaded depths. A woodpecker accentuated the silence In sharply tapped measures meas-ures and a squirrel darted across the aun-fiecked road. Miss Stiles kicked her heels against the fence she' was perched-on a."'! ia uncontrollable abandon threw back her head, pursed her lips and poured forth a lilting, whistling refrain of her long ago school days. Faintly floating from the distance another whistle chimed in, and she paused, the edges of her soul shell drawing together Instinctively, but a smile lingered on her Hps. Plaintively Plaintive-ly rising and falling, the notes came nearer. Softly the girl crept to the fringe of bushes overhanging the road and watched the whistler swinging along, his head tilted back, his hands buried In his pockets. "I wonder," she whispered nervously, nervous-ly, "if I dare urn. He looks er Intelligent and nice. I believe I will." Her sweet, shrill whistle joined his; breathlessly she peered out, when suddenly the earth crumbled beneath her feet and laughing, hair-blown, clutching the willowy saplings In her path, she descended Into the very arms of the approaching whistler. While she put straight her hat and tucked In stray hairpins he picked up the scattered crimson leaf clusters and presented them to her. "Did you learn 'The Farmer Boy' in a little red school house, too?" he wondered, and at the honest wistful-ness wistful-ness In his voice the last remnant of Sally's caution melted. "Foolish, reckless, horrid." The world's thousand voices crooned It warningly in her ear, but she smiled back into the boyish eyes. "It was a gray stone school house with a boys' yard and a girls' yard, and a pump In front where we all waited our turn for the tin dipper." "But there was a boy who cleaned your slate and left pink, mint hearts on your desk." "Engraved 'I love you,' " she assented. as-sented. "And was there a girl you made cart wheels In front of all the way home all whirling hands and legs?" "Gee, I wished you'd gone to my school!". His eyes were shining delightedly, de-lightedly, and Miss Stiles sobered suddenly. sud-denly. "But we're grown-ups now," she sighed. "Only sometimes we forget." "Wouldn't it be great to slide back to those kid days, when everything was what it seemed, when we cried when we were hurt and laughed when we were glad, and believed in everybody every-body we knew and everything we were told?" he asked. "Now I smile when I'm hurt and cry when I'm glad," she said. "Well?" he challenged, his hands still thrust deep in his pocket and his eyes dancing eagerly. "You don't look like a girl who would take a dare." "I'm no 'fraid-cat," she boasted. "I know where there's a birch." The laugh in her eyes flickered anxiously. "Oh-o!" Her little squeal of delight was genuine. gen-uine. "And we might find some win tergreens. Tough, old ones, you know, with red berries. Oh. it's fine to be a kid." "Yuh betchyu. 'Tain't no fair to talk like grown-ups, though," he protested. pro-tested. To think there was a man like this in that grubbing city beyond! Her eyes were as childish and blue as the autumn sky as she protested. "I'll beat you to that sumac, there, little boy," pointing with outstretched finger. "One, two, three, ready go " With lhac mad scamper, Sarah Stiles began an afternoon of unalloyed, foolish fool-ish fun that never flagged until she was homeward bound, loaded with the gorgeous foliage of the autumn woods They paused at a bend in the road, where cottages below were glimpsed through the leaves and a sky of molten gold poured itself into a glittering river. The laughter curves fell away from Miss Stiles's lips in a tired, satisfied satis-fied sigh. "But it must be good-by," she wa9 insisting. "Miracles cannot bear repetition. repe-tition. It's a rainbow afternoon for memory let's not touch it with the stupid finger of reality and shatter it, boy. Besides, if fate is eager and willing." "You're a silly, little girl," said the man softly. "You're cruel, too. Haven't we grown up together?" "Very Improperly In one afternoon," after-noon," she pointed out. "But, don't you understand? I can't be the little girl atoy more. Any way, I'm afraid, I know it wouldn't last." "I can't lure you any more," he said ruefully. "But I am sorry. Here," he drew out a card and rapidly wrote a line upon It. "At least, you'll take this. And If you relent I'll be waiting." wait-ing." Running lightly, she started down the road. Then she looked back and while he watched, with a wistfully regretful re-gretful smile, she tossed the card into the wayside bushes. She had paused a scant moment In the boarding house hall to survey her tumbled hair when through the curtained cur-tained door she saw him coming, fumbling a bunch of keys In his hand. With a smothered cry, she fled up to her own room and waited, peering breathlessly through a tiny crack. It was the same gray figure, with hands deep In his pockets the vry whistling man Into whor; irms ahe had almost fallen t. o hours before. His heavy tu mounted slowly and eoufiad in the room overhead, where the crash of a trunk had driven her to despair that same day. She buried her head in the cushions, laughing hysterically. Then arising, she surveyed sur-veyed her radiant face In the tiny mirror. "What a dear, . sweet, lovely old thing fate is," she murmured. |
