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Show 0 unci Ae r Peggy L)e fin w.n.u. release MiMk to rise to it. "It's only that well, you have taken me a little by surprise sur-prise " "Oh, come, now, Meggie not 'this is so sudden,' " he protested mockingly. "I know I do sound like a fooL" she admitted quite honestly. The raillery was gone from his voice and his eyes when he spoke again. His tone was quiet and steady, his eyes gentle and warm. "You have known all along, Meg-gle, Meg-gle, that I love you. I think it first started when we were kids. Every man has somewhere in his mind or his heart, or both, a picture of the ideal and there's never for a moment mo-ment been anyone but you In that place for me. Everything I've done, every thought I've had for the future, has had you all woven into it and through it. It's been pretty bad these last two or three years watching you struggle to hold on to things here and not being able to help you. But now well, all that's changed, Meggie. I've got an income in-come that is modest enough in all in the back of the barbershop, which, she knew, was a favorite meeting place for some of the rather raffish citizens who were his particular friends. And with that explanation, she crawled into bed and finally fell asleep. The news of her engagement to Laurence was accepted without any surprise whatever in Pleasant Grove. Mrs. Stuart summed up the attitude of the town when she said, comfortably, "Well, It ain't no surprise sur-prise to none of us. 'Course, we're all mighty glad and we know you and Laurence are goin' to be happy. He's a fine boy and you're both lucky to get each other." i Megan, doing the Saturday morning morn-ing baking, with Annie's assistance, felt her cheeks warm as she managed man-aged the conventional reply. "You all goin' to live in Meaders-ville, Meaders-ville, I 'spose?" Mrs. Stuart went on, accepting with relish a slice of the hot gingerbread Annie offered. Megan paused in her kneading of the smooth white dough that was going to be hot rolls when she had finished with it. "I suppose so," she admitted almost al-most reluctantly. "It wouldn't be very sensible for Larry to try to go to and fro, on the bus. It's too uncertain." un-certain." Mrs. Stuart nodded understanding. understand-ing. "I reckin then you'll sell t the farm," she contributed wisely. "Sell the farm?" Megan repeated repeat-ed in astonishment. "We really haven't had time to discuss that," she admitted finally. "We aren't going to be married until the spring, and that will give us plenty of time" "Well, now, I dunno," Mrs. Stuart countered, licking the last fragrant, spongy crumbs of the gingerbread from her fingertips. "Folks that's going to farm a year always wants to get in and settled by January, or February at the latest. If you're going to sell, you better let folks know right away. Reckin you won't have no trouble gettin' a good price for the place, farmland bein' higher than it ever has been before." "I suppose so," Megan agreed. She was secretly, if unashamedly, glad when Mrs. Stuart took herself off. With the last of the baking in the stove, and Annie safely in charge, Megan stripped off her apron, went out of doors, and whistled to the dogs. Reaching the top of the hill, where the big flat stone lay at the foot of the tallest, most majestic pine, she sat down and drew up her knees and encircled them with her arms. The dogs rushed about, delirious with joy. Below her to the left she could see the roof and the backyard of the Westbrook place. There was the remnant of an orchard on the slope back of the house; shrubbery that had never been pruned and so grew riotously tall, formed a sort of hedge along the front. The nearest neighbor to the Westbrook place was Stevens, which was around a bend in the road and so out of sight of the shabby little old house. Behind her, Megan knew the Ridge sloped into a valley that was threaded by the small brook that watered her own meadow, and that widened out a little so that there were rich bottom lands bordering it. It was a peaceful scene in the mild autumn morning. Here in this sheltered shel-tered coastal country, winter played a mild hand; there was hardly ever any ice, seldom a killing frost Two crops a year grew from the farms, and life was peaceful and placid. Or it had been until Alicia Steven- THE STORY THUS FAR: Alicia is a caller at the MacTavlsh borne, and Jim MacTavlsh, alwayi with an eye for a pretty woman, finds her attractive. He Is flattered when the widow asks him to go over to her house to help her. Laurence Lau-rence Martin, with whom Meg has kept company for two years, calls Uiat night. Rejected for military service, Laurence had gone to the county seat to work for old Judne fjraham. Jim MacTavlsh announces an-nounces guiltily that he Is going for a walk. When Laurence arrives he is In good spirits and announces that Judge Craham is going to retire within a year and wants him to take over. "1 want you to marry me, Meg." She hesitated a long time. CHAPTER V He was freshly shaven, Immaculately Immacu-lately groomed and, she told herself, her-self, almost a little surprised, he was downright handsome. He looked less than his forty-nine years, holding himself erectly, as though In an effort to disclaim the threat of Impending overweight. "For a walk? At this time of night?" she protested, surprised. "It's seven o'clock, and there'll be a moon," her father told her almost curtly. Almost before she had finished there was the brisk ring of purposeful purpose-ful footsteps on the old bricked walk, and a moment later the outer door opened and Laurence came In, beaming as he saw her, greeting her eagerly. He shed his light topcoat top-coat and hung it with his hat in its accustomed corner of the closet beneath be-neath the stairs. "That looks good." He greeted the open fire and stood before it, warming his hands. "It's a bit nippy nip-py out tonight, and darker than a pocket. I was glad of my pocket flash before I got here." "There Is no moon?" asked Megan Me-gan In surprise. "Not yet," answered Laurence. "Not before nine, I should say." He stood, tall and boney, and a little stooped, as though his height had run away from his weight. His thick, dark hair was brushed neatly neat-ly back from an intelligent forehead. fore-head. His eyes were brown and steady behind the hornrimmed eyeglasses, eye-glasses, his jaw was square and I dogged, his mouth thin-lipped, rather rath-er generous but pleasant. Suddenly he grinned at her, and said, "Well? Do you see anything different about me? Have I changed?" ! Megan's eyebrows went up a little. lit-tle. "No has something happened?" hap-pened?" "Well, the old Judge called me in this afternoon, and told me that he plans to retire next year," Laurence Lau-rence told her eagerly. "The old fellow's getting on and he is pretty tired. But he wants me to take over, beginning now, so that in a year he can slip gracefully out of the picture and I can carry onl" "That's splendid. Larry but no more than you deserve," Megan told him swiftly and eagerly, t He nodded, his eyes very steady and very serious behind his rimmed glasses. "Thanks, honey," he answered, an-swered, and went on before she could take note of the endearment, "It affects you, too, of course. That is, I hope it does." His smile was confident, assured. Obviously he was so sure of her that his qualification of the statement state-ment had been merely a surface matter. "It's no secret to you, Meggie, that you've been my inspiration all these years, and you must have known all along that as soon as I got to the point where I felt sure I could take care of you, I wanted you to marry me," he went on quietly. "I've got to that point now, so will you, Meggie?" But for some queer reason, Megan Me-gan hesitated before answering. Hesitated so long, her eyes on the fire, her hand lax beneath his own, that Laurence looked at her in sudden sud-den sharp alarm and said quickly, "Hi, look here, lady it's polite to speak when you're spoken to." Laurence turned sharply, so that he was sitting sideways on the lounge, facing her squarely. conscience, but it can take care of you, Meggie, and I promise it will be easier for you than it has been in the past I'll see to that! So will you let me, Meggie? Because I love you and because I can't visualize visu-alize any kind of life without you." There were tears in her eyes, and her heart gave a warm throb as she turned to him and said, "Yes, Larry if you're sure you want me." Laurence said huskily, "As if I could ever be as sure of anything else in my life!" He took her into his arms, awkwardly, awk-wardly, as though she had been something so infinitely fragile and precious that the slightest careless touch might destroy her; yet there was a strength and an urgent tenderness ten-derness in his touch that made her heart stir unaccustomedly. She loved his very awkwardness, loved the fact that when he bent to kiss her, his lips touched her cheek before be-fore finding her lips. She was the one love of- his life; his inexpert-ness, inexpert-ness, his confusion, told her that. And the fact that he had not had enough experience with other girls to be deft and smooth with her endeared en-deared him to her. There were so many things to be considered, so many problems to be settled. But tonight was no time for them. Tonight it was enough just to know one's self deeply beloved; be-loved; to know that she was first son came to live here. Megan jerked her thoughts away from the unpleasant un-pleasant riddle of Alicia Stevenson, because she had something of far more importance, to herself at least, to think about. Mrs. Stuart had taken it for granted grant-ed that Megan would sell the farm when she married Laurence. Nobody No-body who knew Jim MacTavish could visualize him running the farm or even living there after Me-san Me-san was eone. He'd take the money "I'm sorry, Larry." She turned to him in quick, contrite apology. "It's just that well, I scarcely know what to say." Laurence was surprised and a little dashed. But his hand closed more warmly over hers and he said with an effort at lightening the threatening tension, "Well, 'yes' would be nice." "1 wish it could be 'yes'," she admitted frankly. Laurence turned sharply, so that he was sitting sideways on the lounge, facing her squarely. His thick, dark brows were drawn together to-gether in a puzzled frown and his eyes were apprehensive. "See here. Meggie, what are you giving me? You're not suddenly going go-ing all coy on me?" he demanded anxiously. "Of course not." She tried to laugh at the Idea, but it was not a convincing laugh. "Of course, I didn't do it with the proper build-up," he admitted with a little crooked grin. "Maybe I should have dropped on one knee in front of you, with one hand on my heart, the other outnung in a pleading gesture, and said something some-thing like, 'Miss MacTavish Miss Megan may I call you Meggie? Will you do me the honor to accept my undying devotion?' Shall I do it that way?" "Don't be an idiot! " Megan was grateful for the lightness and tried in Laurence's thoughts, as she had been for a long, long time. When he left, with fifteen minutes to catch his bus, she went slowly up the stairs to her own room and sat for a while in the darkness, lit by the silver square of autumn moonlight that spilled through the window. She was ashamed of herself her-self that she should feel, not the exultant, ex-ultant, delicious happiness of a girl newly engaged, but only a weariness that seemed to drug her limbs and to slow her heart. She was still awake when she heard her father come in, and, puzzled, puz-zled, she looked at the little clock on the dressing table. A quarter past twelvel An incredible time for him to come in from a mere walk, when he had left the house at seven. To add to the surprise of his coming com-ing in so late, she could not but mark the caution with which he mounted the stairs, the wariness with which he walked, heavily on tip-toe, past her door to his own room. Only by straining her ears could she hear his door close. And then she gave herself a mental shake and got up to prepare for bed. The explanation of her father's late return was quite simple, after alL He had been playing pinochle with some of his cronies, probably Megan got from the sale and run through it and be "on" Laurence and Megan's hands for support the rest of his life. Megan was unapolo-getic unapolo-getic for the thoughts; she was not conscious of any disloyalty towards her father in holding such a thought. She was simply facing facts. She knew him so well that she did not make mistaken plans that maybe Jim would look after himself. She didn't even expect it. She looked out over the beloved acres of the old farm. Not to be here when the early spring broke, not to go out with tractor and har-' row and turn back the rich dark earth, to drop the tiny seeds into the ground and witness the age-old, ever-recurring miracle that brought food and sustenance from the dark earth by means of those tiny, hard seeds. She was of the soil; she had been born to it; she had Inherited it, not only from her mother but from her mother's people before her, people who had turned their backs on a known and beloved Scotland, Scot-land, who had faced the terrors and hardships of a brand new world, that they might have land that was their own. Land that had been cleared by her forefathers, land that had been fed and watered by the very sweat of their tired bodies; every inch of the place was part of her. ITO BE CONTINUED) |