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Show CASTER Dorolotijlcis REV. MILTON Davis entered his study after having eaten a lonesome Easter breakfast and threw himself into a big chair by the window for a few moments of quiet before beginning his strenuous day. He heaved sigh as he glanced at the empty chair on the opposite side empty save for the mind picture the young ministe. was wont to draw on occasions when the world would seem well lost for the possession of one particular woman But that woman had not, as yet, appeared ap-peared upon the ecclesiastical heart-stone heart-stone of Rev. Mr. Davis. There were many fair parishioners who would gladly have been that fortunate maid; their inclinations, however, were restrlcte'd tc the gifts which constantly found their way to the rectory. The wide couch in the rector's study was a heterogeneous collection of sofa pillows; the walls were lined with biblical subjects, evidently evi-dently considered the only art appropriate ap-propriate for ministerial eyes. Rev Mr. ' Davis had been the recipent of eighteen pairs of slippers and three house coats. ' In his turn, he sought diligently among his flock for the girl who might do; she apparently sunned herself her-self in another fold, for she certainly did not thrive in his pasture. The choir, which weekly occupied four Beats facing the pulpit, gave forth to the little church such quartet quar-tet music as it felt equal to. It was comprised entirely of village talent. Jlmmie Langhorn, the tenor, considered consid-ered the world and all its machinations machina-tions a joke; if the soprano felt a jolt in her side when sustaining a high G it was nothing more nor less than Jimmie's elbow prodding her along. The contralto was a small maiden to whom the tenor made love during the darkness of the sermon; the bass singer was also the choirmaster. choir-master. The soprano, a young matron, and Jimmle Langhorn were fast friends, and many a plot against ministerial bachelordom was hatched between them.' It seemed to them a shame that so good-looking a minister should remain a bachelor. So It happened that as Rev. Mr. Davis bemoaned the singleness of his own state and others bemoaned it for him, the god of love entered his study. His buxom housekeeper was the literal liter-al bearer, and she offered it to him as a package, labeled and wrapped in much tissue paper. Upon being unswathed un-swathed the Easter gift proved to be a small marble statue of Cupid. "And which of your lambs is it this time?" she asked with motherly interest, in-terest, and noticing surprise on the rector's face. The minister read the card: Trom the soprano, Easter greetings." "And her a married woman!" sniffed Mrs. Mallory. "It's a wonder some of them don't offer themselves Heaved a Sigh as He Glanced at the Empty Chair. as housekeepers!" She made her exit wth high scorn for the susceptible sex of which she was an humble member. mem-ber. "It certainly seems odd," reflected Rev. Mr. Davis, casting a quizzical glance at the small god of love. "I had not suspected Mrs. Wade of a secret attachment for me but you represent a subtle hint of some kind." He smiled. He called up Mrs. Wade. No; she had not sent it. Her voice, over the phone, sounded more or less indignant indig-nant at the idea. Rev. Mr. Davis prepared for his Easter service and dismissed the thought of tlM mysterious gift. The door leading to the chancsl faced the choir. As the minister catered, ca-tered, his eyes lifted a moment and met those of a girl who occupied the soprano's usual place in the choir, j and for a moment he had apprehensions. apprehen-sions. Was it possible that the Easter music, after all the careful preparation, prepara-tion, was to be sung by the substitute a stranger? Where was Mrs. Wade? But as the service progressed thi I minister realized that his fears wer groundless. And that was not all he was keenly conscious of the presence pres-ence of the new soprano. After service, while he stood shaking shak-ing hands with his departing parishioners, parish-ioners, according to his usual custom, he anticipated with unusual pleasure his meeting with the girl who had so graciously assisted the choir. He was anxious to congratulate her and thank her. ( "Doctor Davis," said the voice of Jimmie Langhorn at his side, "I want to present you to this sister of mine. Muriel, our rector, Doctor Davis," he said turning to the girl. "She cried to be allowed to sing in our choir, so we had to let her. Mrs. Wade has a cold, you know, and was glad of an opportunity to be excused. Sis, here, has just returned from Germany and was anxious to try her wings." Jimmie" Jim-mie" Langhorn joked even with the minister. Muriel cast an indignant glance at her brother as her hand met that of the minister "It isn't so, Doctor Davis," she said with mounting color, for the young minister's gray eyes had not once left her face. "He and Mrs. Wade made dire threats until I consented." "For which they deserve a gold medal," affirmed the dominie. "Don't!" explaimed Jimmie "She is conceited enough now, between her voice and her collection of Btatuary!" "Statuary!" inquired the minister. "Then perhaps I can thank you, Miss "Ye," Returned the Girl. Langhorn, for the dainty bit I received re-ceived this morning?" Jimmie became suddenly interested in the arrangement of the music for the evening service. "I'm sorry," laughed Muriel, "but I happen not to be the guilty party." "Some one sent me Easter greet-' ings in the form of a little marble god of love; and I have already in-; suited Mrs. Wade by accusing her of ' sending it." "And me! An absolute stranger I like that!" Muriel spoke with some ; asperity and her manner, the minister min-ister noted, was much like her brother's.- "Oh, please, Miss Langhorn," begged the minister contritely. "I'm really awfully sorry." "Well I'll think about It." She cast him one glance and turned to Jimmie. "Come, brother mine, or we won't get any dinner." She turned again to Doctor Davis, "Can't you take dinner with us?" "Under the condition that you will all come and eat cold turkey with me after the service tonight. I have a housekeeper who must be appeased." Since Muriel expected to be in Lee only a month before going to the city to start a concert career, Rev. Dr. Davis lost no time in laying siege to her heart. The minister's decisive chin denoted that when he knew what he wanted he' went straight for it. Luckily, they lived in a healthy, cheerful community where calls upon the world-weary were not necessary and the dominie robbed no one in the time devoted to courting. Since it was nearing the end of the opera season, sea-son, he took Muriel frequently to that realm of wonderful music. When she sang at concerts in the city, he was always' there to escort her home and carry her floral tributes. trib-utes. These flowers invariably lent their sweetness to some humble dwelling in the village. , "Isn't it wonderful to be blessed with the power to help our fellow men?" Rev. Mr. Davis voiced this sentiment one evening as they walked home through the lanes after having called to see old Mrs. Gabel, who didn't get to church often on account of the distance. Muriel had sung some of the familiar old hymns for her until the dear old soul had wept from sheer happiness. "Yes," returned the girl with tears not far from her own eyes. "I have wondered lately if all the applause of a great, clapping audience will ever bring me one-tenth of the joy that the tears in M'-s. Gabel's eyes brought?" She looked out over the broad country. "Anyway, I shall often of-ten look out over the footlights and see not a swarm of faces but this!" Muriel's gesture swept in the starry heavens, the moonlit road and the great arch of trees. Suddenly the dominie turned and took her in his arms. "You are not goir.g on any stage! It would take you too far from me. You may do all the concert work all the church singing you like but always I Trill come for you when night falls. Yo-r Brother Jim sent me the god of love and I am going to hold on to it! What do you think about it, dear?" "Evidently I am not to be allowed to think," murmured Muriel, but with finality in her resignation. ) (Copyright, 1913, by the McClure New-j New-j paper Syndicate.) |