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Show V The Little Glass House By MARY WORTH McClure Syndicate WNU Service.) STORM PINES, the big farm, lay a quarter mile back from the highway, at the end of a fairly good graveled road. Melissa Storm, its present owner, wished that it were more accessible. She loved it the rambling old white clapboard house that had been built by her greatgrandfather, great-grandfather, the sighing pines that sang her to sleep with the song of the sea on windy nights and that, winter and summer, gave their rich color to her outlook of field and meadow. But now that she was in possession she wanted very much to put the place to use that would augment aug-ment the meager income her father had left to her and her invalid mother. Melissa did not farm the big place. She had sold off some of it to neighboring neigh-boring farms and estates. Some of it lay fallow. One man worked enough of it for their own needs and to give a little for the markets. But with bad investments and not very good managing on Melissa's part and heavy expenses, there was just about enough to get along on. Sometimes real money was missing. Melissa thought out her plan in the long winter evenings which she spent so often alone Maggie, the one servant, dozing in the kitchen until an early bed time, Mrs. Storm resting or sleeping on the couch in the big, fire-warmed living room, until she went to rest or sleep in her adjoining bed chamber. Different, Differ-ent, these somber evenings, from those of the winter before, when the cheery presence of her father and brother killed in the same accident had made the big house alive. Or from those evenings of the preced- |