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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, August 09, 1912, Image 18

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1912-08-09/ed-1/seq-18/

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. By Margaret Walters.
The alert individual looked
from the -two men just ahead of
him to the small jlain woman
walking down the village street.
"Yes, that's her, Agnes Alder
son," the village 'squire was say
ing. "All right," said the city law
yer. 'Til be back in about a
month. There are some little de
tails to be looked up. It will be
time enough to tell her then."
Then they separated, and the
alert individual mentally shook
hands with himself. "I've lit on
my feet this time," he said. "That
forlorn little person is an heiress,
and she is not to know it for a
month. That means that I have
a month to work in. If I can't
make good in that time I don't
deserve it. Let me see. I reckon
church would be the best place to
begin an acquaintance fn
this case. Tomorrow's Sunday.
At the Sunday morning service,
Agnes Alderson looked up to see
a good looking stranger entering
the pew where she sat alone. For
the neighborly sharing of her
hymn book he thanked her with
a look that set her heart beating
faster. He walked out of the
church with her, and well, you
can't refuse to answer when a
stranger in your house of wor
ship asks questions. So he walk
ed down the street with Agnes,
and when he said good-bye with
hat in hand at her gate she turn
ed to enter the cottage with pink
cheeks and bright eyes. She
wasn't such a very old maid. They
wouldn't have called her so at all
in the city. But in the old vil
lage, life had passed her by. Her
set was married and settled down,
and she was one of the leftovers.
It was years since a man had
looked at her as if she could by
any possibility be interesting.
After her solitary dinner she did
her hair more carefully, loosen
ing it about her face, and then
she tried the effect of a bit of
white lace on the collar of her
dark dress. But she would not
have owned to the daring hope
that she might see him again. But
he came that afternoon in the fate
of all wondering Westport. He
sat in Agnes' little parlor, and
Othello-like, told her of strange
lands and adventures.
"You've been everywhere," she
said, breathlessly. "How wonder
ful it must be to have really lived .
like that."
"It's lonesome fun traveling
alone," he said, looking straight
at her. "I'll never start out again
without company."
She was angry at the hot flush
that came over her face. She as
sured herself that she was not so
silly as to think a man like that
could mean her. When he arose
to go it was so late in the after
noon that with half startled hos
pitality she begged him to stay
to tea. He agreed promptly,
and with the facile ease of a man
at home anywhere he came into
the kitchen to help her. "A fel
low can sort of cheat himself into
thinking he's got a-home some
times," he told her.
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