The Pensacola journal., May 27, 1911, Page 7, Image 7

About The Pensacola journal. (Pensacola, Fla.) 1898-1985

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TUT
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n9 Tr
OT far from the
kitchen door, the fire
wood was cut and
corded where the Pol
lard twins' grand
mother could just step
out and get it easily,
a chunk at a time, when there was no
one there to do it for her. There was
one big, quite high pile, and from this
jutted toward the door two low
smaller piles and made between them
such a nice playhouse. The little
Pollards had carpeted it with autumn
leaves.
"They make the most heavenly-colored
carpet " Narcissa Pollard gave an ec
static little gasp.
""I know it," her sister Valora's thin little
hands clasped in a passion of admiration,
all their blue veins, stood out. " I know it,
Nardssa, I feel all dizzy looking -at them,
same as when I see the beautiful rag rugs in
the loom that Betsy Smith weaves for the
rich Spencers."
They had just renewed the carpet with a
. crisp sprinkling of beautiful dull browns and
flaming scarlet. Valora threw herself face
downward, rooting and sniffing. '
"Quit, or you'll dig through to China,"
warned her sister, " and there's the youngest
child crying."
Valora got up quickly, her eyes, with a
solicitous, almost maternal light, fixed upon
an outstanding block, of wood.
"Don't cry, baby dear." She swooped
down upon it, applying her pinafore to the
wooden one's imaginary tears and catching
it to her with gentle hushings.
"It's colic," said Narcissa, "pat him on
!heback."
Narcissa stalked away. Valora sank
down among the rustling leaves and softly
crooning, rocked to and fro over the block
of wood. In the course of a few moments
it was apparently hushed to sleep and she
rose cautiously, placing it in a reclining
posture, with loving pats and fond glances.
Suddenly the voice of Narcissa, rancor
ously representative of the father of the
' household, was raised waveringly in ribald
song and round the corner of the wood-pile,
staggered this young person.
" You've come too soon, Narcissa," ob
jected her sister, "you must always allow
me to see the baby."
r " Play I don't," said Narcissa. " I'm play
ing I'm like Betsy Smith's husband. I've
been drinking and I'm not responsible."
"Oh, goody!" There was one thing
about her sister Narcissa, Valora liked
especially; she had such good ideas. " Come
on in, pa." She stepped out and essayed
, , to assist the drunkard within. " Don't scuff
up the beautiful new carpet."
"Play your saying that makes me
mad," bade Narcissa. " Who paid for the -carpet?"
she demanded, shamdessly imitat
ing the manner of poor Betsy's husband,
"I'd like to know!" She raised the stick
she had been walking with, a shower of
blows fell. And as though beneath them,
bent Valora, lower and lower, crying as
poor Betsy Smith might cry for mercy and
shame upon such a husband. Sobs that
rendered her speechless and tears that were
" genuine, were interrupted by the sudden
, opening of the kitchen-door.
' "Nardssa Pollard!"
"We're only playing, Grandmother,"
Narcissa shrilled, breathless from her ef
forts. "Then what's Valora crying for?"
Grandmother Pollard stepped forward and
caught Valora's arm.
A tremor shook her little body, a checked
sob and the tears that trembled upon her
lashes were dashed away fiercely.
"I I was playing Betsy Smith," she
stuttered gailtvly, " and Narcissa was Him."
"Him came home intoxicated," added
Nardssa.
"What have I told you, Nardssa?"
r Nardssa could think just then of so many,
many things her dear grandmother had told
her.
"To use intoxicated instead of drunk,
when speaking of people like old Smith
Mr. Smith," she answered politely. ,
"Haven't I told you to use the sense
you've inherited from your papa and keep
from playing things that throw your sister
- into these tantrums she inherits from your
mamma?"
Nardssa nodded. Valora's head drooped
shamedly.
"That's the way Betsy Smith must fed
When he beats her," she murmured.
"Why can't you play something nice?
Be the rich Spencers and sit quiet like you
" were out driving," Grandmothe said.
Narcissa sighed.
" It's not so much fun."
"It ain't so real," whispered Valora.
"Well, if you can look poor Betsy Smith
a the face after the way you've been play
Jing her," thdr grandmother said, "why,
; it's time to go across for the milk. The
4 pail's in the pantry."
Looking Betsy Smith in the face over the
evening's warm milk, was-the twins' cus-
torn, and of too long standing to be dropped
i for this slight breach of etiquette.
"And," Grandmother Pollard murmur
ing, looked doubtfully about her at the
wood as the children moved away, "I
wish you'd play with your dolls instead of
chunks of wood for children; how do I know
what I dare burn up?"
Valora turned swiftly back to the wooden
chunk buried in the leaves.
" Don't ever burn this one, Grandmother
dear," she raised it for dose inspection, " see
what a lovely baby it makes. It's heavy
enough to be real, and these little knobs on
each side are like arms and the holes are eye3
and this little knot is a mouth oh, it's a love
ly face. I really have a feeling here " she
placed an eager hand upon the pink-yoked
little chest," a strange feeling about this
block-of-wood baby. If it got burnt up "
' No adequate words were forthcoming,
only little throaty gasps.
And Grandmother Pollard could not
speak either. There were things she did
not understand. She watched the child
. bury the block of wood lovingly in the
leaves and vanish.
" It's that Something," she murmured un
certainly, "that's like her mother and no
body understands." The old lady gath
ered slowly an armful of the wood. "It
seems to last so long lately," she com
plained, "and he won't come till it's near
gone. I ve been thinking of the boy all day."
With her gray head thoughtfully bent
she tntered the house.
After knocking three times at Betsy
Smith's door without getting an answer,
the Pollard twins lifted the latch gently,
and, Valora first, slipped into the kitchen.
Betsy was not at the carpet loom and the
evening's milking was done, for there were
the bright tins of it in a row waiting to be
put away. j
Then, Betsy Smith's querulous voice was
raised in the next room. And high-pitched
above hers, the rich young Mrs. Spencer's.
The door between the rooms was ajar. The
twins stood, waiting; thay always waited
when Betsy was too busy td give them the
milk and she was, they knew, weaving some
heavenly-colored rag rugs for Mrs. Spen
cer. . . Through our apple orchard into
his mother's yard and cuts and piles that
wood up for her" -Mrs. Spencer's words
caught Valora's attention "regularly once
every month. Why should he sneak ?"
Betsy Smith interrupted; her words were
always hurried and indistinct because of
false teeth.
"His wife's running away . turned his
head?" Mrs. Spencer laughed at what old
Betsy had said. "He was warned of her
before he married her; what did he expect
of a poor, little, cheap, wandering thing;
of a "
"Of a W,hat?" Valora had not caught
it. She held up a finger to Narcissa.
"Renegade!" came from Mrs. Spencer.
Whatever it was, they were calling her
mother that, too. Betsy Smith began
speaking. Valora strained to hear.
"Wdl I s'pose if old Mis' Pollard can
stand it takin' care of his twins and keep
thdr mother's picture on the wall turned
face out, we can; it's a year now too, since
she went off an' there her picture hangs
same's if she was respectable dead. Poor
old Mis' Pollard! Not that she wants for
anything. He's always been a dootiful son
that way."
"But his sneaking "
A piercing shriek rent the air. Valora's
outraged senses, her overstrained nerves,
had given way. She drew back and hurling
her little milk pail at the door of the ad
joining room, cried out:
"It's a big lie! My papa don't sneak.
He don't s-sn !"
She turned and burst from the kitchen,
hands outstretched gropingly before her.
Silent, stunned to speechlessness, Nardssa
followed back across the street and into
the house to Grandmother Pollard. Her
arms, her dear, soft, -tightly-buttoned
breast, was an ever-ready haven for the
storm-tossed Valora, and there now, with
out questioning, was she held tight, tight,
until the words could come.
Over her sob-shaken tow-head, the
grandmother's old eyes looked out at Nar
cissa Narcissa, who looked back with the
soft, blue-eyed gaze of her father. Like
him, she bore her sufferings silently, se
cretly; only in her eyes dwelt a dull, ques
tioning wonder at the 'things that hurt.
And while Grandmother Pollard's heart
yearned for this child, her arms comforted
the other the passionate, not-to-be-understood
Valora.
"Why," Nardssa began, "we didn't get
the milk "
This was not the point, but the delicate
pink in Grandmother Pollard's cheek had
faded and she looked suddenly, angrily
expectant.
"What's Betsy Smith been saying?"
She pushed Valora round and looked into
her face.
"That my papa's a sn-sneak and my
mamma's picture ort to be turned to the
wall!" Valora's eyes deepened, from their
grayness to brown; she was wringing her
hands.
"It wasn't meant for us to hear, dear
Grandmother," Nardssa's embarrassment
colored her small face and ears painfully,
"and we weren't listening," she hurried on,
6fYft)&MTCD 1911
"we were a-waiting for Betsy to finish with
Mrs. Spencer young Mrs. Spencer and we
heard."
"Wash your faces and hands." Grand
mother Pollard turned to the little table set
for them near the kitchen fire.
Something in her manner imposed silence;
even Valora made her toilet in the adjoining
wash-room quietly, with only an intermit
tent sob.
As she hdped them to supper there was
a trembling in their grandmother's hands.
With a pang, Narcissa saw it. It was what
they had told her that made it. " Poor old
Mis' Pollard!" She recalled Betsy Smith's
words. Her poor, dear granny made to
suffer for what? Anyway she would
speak to Valora arid no matter what they
heard again 1
"And she called my mamma a-a ren-a-gade!"
It burst from Valora, as the full
force of the outrage freshly occurred to
her, "and my papa a sneak!"
Beneath the table Narcissa's slim little
foot swung out towards her sister's ankle;
the contact was painful, but brought Valora
up, expectant. Their eyes met.
"Your father is not a sneak," quivered
the grandmother's voice, "and he loved
your mamma."
Valora controlled the maddening im
pulse to go on.
"And " a little voice said, "could
there be much wrong if your papa and your
mamma loved "
The kitchen door opened and closed with
firm gentleness.
"Henry!" Grandmother Pollard cried
out, joyously.
The twins waited. Their father stood
there, smiling at them all. Smiling as
though but for something, he would smile
more, as though there was a reason why his
arms did not open, why he did not laugh
out and call to them.
Grandmother Pollard rose and went to
him. He took her in his arms and she
kissed him as though he were a little boy in
stead of a very tall man. He came to the
table and bent over each of the twins, kiss
ing them too.
"Papa!" Valora's little tongue dung
whisperingly to the word.
"I came across the river on some busi
ness," he said to his mother, "so I got away
to see you."
"Your room's all ready "
"Oh!" thought Narcissa, "if Grand
mother's face could be like that all the
time."
"I can't stop," he said, "they need me
now, we're so busy at the factory."
He wanted no supper and he did not sit
down. Hat in hand he walked back and
forth in his great high boots, talking to his
mother. He did not seem like any little
girls' papa he seemed like their grand
mother's son, a boy, with hair curling back
from such a white forehead, and then below
the line made there by his hat, brown tan.
He stopped again and looked down at his
children. Nardssa watched her sister. It
might be that Valora would cry out to him
the words of Mrs. Spencer. But she was
looking up from her plate shyly, smiling
engagingly at him. From his pocket he
drew two bright new chinking silver dollars
and put one down before each of them and
turned away. .
There was something, he told his
mother, in his rooms up-stairs that he
wanted, and he left the kitchen. It was
when Narcissa rose from the table and was
placing her chair back against the wall,
that she peeked past her grandmother into
the little parlor and saw before she could
be firmly drawn back, her papa, standing
before her mamma's picture. There was
positive warning in her grandmother's
eyes, as at the tight clutch of her arm,
Narcissa looked into them.
Then she knew why the picture hung
there, not turned to the wall, and she whis
pered it that night when they were in bed
to Valora. "Because papa loves it like
he loves mamma."
And Valora understood.
"The only way we can get even with
Betsy Smith," said Valora the next day in
the leaf-carpeted playhouse, "is to play
her."
"I'll be Smith," agreed Narcissa, "only
if I get drunk and beat you, you mustn't
cry too real; you always spoil "
"I'm going to play her lovely." Valora
was hugging the block of wood. "Of
course Betsy hasn't any children, but I
couldn't play any lady without a child."
" Just play Betsy has." It was simple to
Nardssa and while Valora could play
animal or tag or anything of the kind like
others did, she could not play a childless,
human grown-up. "I'm off to my shoe
shop." Nardssa took up her crooked stick
and hobbled away.
And Valora's fancy, quite out of keeping
with the Betsy Smith's circumstances,
dothed the block-of-wood child in embroid
eries and lace, frills upon frills of it, bows of
shell-pink, booties of it in leather and socks
to match. And it was such a beautiful
baby too, with cutis and blue eyes. And
how it could cry and had to be walked with,
up and down on the rustling leaf carpet, and
held tight the way Valora herself some
times needed to be held. And then she
V V V 1 I ill If 11 I II i
VV VwvWlLJl
placed it gently in the cradle of leaves.
They made a covering like Grandmother
Pollard's best pieced silk quilt and she tip
toed away.
Along nobbled Narcissa as the drunkard
Smith.
"I'm very much intoxicated," she an
nounced vidously.
" But I'm out to the store," called Valora,
"you never stay away long enough."
"Play I get home while you're out,"
cried Nardssa, brimful of good ideas,
"get home and beat the baby."
She pounced instantly upon the block-of-wood
child, drew it from beneath the leaves
and landed a blow. A shriek, and on the
wind, tow-hair flying, Valora curved round
the wood-pile. She tugged for her cher-'
ished wooden possession. Nardssa, drunk
too, with the fervor of truly impersonating
her character held on, striking again until
over her little hands, frenzied with maternal
instinct, bent Valora, and bit bit her sister.
Narcissa, now herself, drew back, silent,
scared, holding up the attacked Jiand, and
between them fell the shadow of Grand
mother Pollard.
"Heathen!" she called Valora, "you're
just a Chinese heathen, worshipping a
wooden idol."
She caught up the wooden idol and erect
and stern reentered the house.
"Grandmother, don't, don't burn it
please don't." It was Narcissa pleading, as
she ran in pursuit. "She didn't bite me
hard."
But the block-of-wood child was already
in the midst of leaping flames as Grand
mother Pollard replaced the stove lids.
In the doorway behind Narcissa huddled
Valora, her eyes darkened in horror of the
spectacle.
" I'll die now," she said. " I don't want to
live."
"Play is play," said her grandmother,
"but it isn't play when it's carried too far.
Go to your room, Valora, and stay until
you make up your mind that you don't
want to die."
Valora dragged her frail body tremblingly
away, while Grandmoftier Pollard inspected
the hand she had bitten.
"It didn't go deep, dear Grandma,"
urged Nardssa. ' ' Valora didn't mean it."
Nardssa was drawn close to the dear,
soft, tightly-buttoned breast that more
often recdved her sister. She could feel
the heart beating, beating, beneath her ear,
and vaguely sensed a struggle going on
there, beneath the row of flat pearl buttons
pressed to her cheek.
"I s'pose she can't help it," her grand
mother said shakily. " Go tell your sister,
once and for all, there'll be no more wooden
images. If she understands that, she. is to
come out to supper. There's molasses
cake. After supper we'll start sewing the
carpet rags for the new rug."
Narcissa went. It was not at once that
she came back, leading Valora, calm, but
plainly touched by a real grief.
"I don't want to die or be a Chinese
heathen." Her eyes with the stormy shad
ows underneath, looked out fearfully.
Grandmother Pollard's arms opened and
received her.
Once a year the Pollards had a new rag
rug, woven by Betsy Smith. Joining the
many colored rags, torn into strips, was
begun in the autumn, and just before
Christmas came the bright fluffy strings of
them were taken across the street to Betsy.
By Christmas Eve the rug would be ready.
Pladng it was an event, but of almost equal
importance was the autumn night the sew
ing of the rags began.
To their seats each side of the rag basket,
hurried the twins, thimbles and needles
ready. Grandmother Pollard adjusted the
lamp and joined them. Little hands flew,
needles flashed in and out, gathering, gath
ering, quick chattering tongues recalled the
pristine beauty of little frocks and of grand
mother's ginghams, of which there now re
mained but the rags going to make the rug.
"Valora," spoke Grandmother Pollard
in a silent moment, "what you making that
whole stripe black for what you thinking
of?"
"It's 'a mourning stripe for my burnt
child," returned Valora.
The old lady's hands dropped, working
helplessly in her lap.
"Put the rags away," she commanded
finally. " Put down your needles, children,
till Valora comes to herself."
"Oh, Valora " with a flood of tears
came Nardssa's reproach, "it's mean to
spoil everything over an old block of wood.
You you are a heathen."
In her lap her little fingers frantically
entangled in the string of black, Valora
looked with wilful eyes and grieved mouth
at the fire, sitting silent.
"Come." Grandmother Pollard took up
their little lamp. "Come to bed."
The sobbing Nardssa was led away. Va
lora slid from her chair, holding up the
string of black.
"I didn't start out to do it," she said
aloud, "an' I wonder what made me. It'd
spoil the rug too. Oh, dear "
She threw down the evidence of her grief
and went guiltily to bed.
It' was the stormy shadows continuing
beneath Valora's eyes, the droop of her
little shoulders and the perceptible coolness
between the twins, with their avoidance
of the enchanted wood-pile, that dedded
Grandmother Pollard. The children needed
a change.
A thrilling melodrama was coming to
town to play one night and a matinee.
By a strange perversity in Grandmother
Pollard, that was not, however, misunder
stood by the twins, she employed her se
verest tone and manner when about to con
vey the best possible news. Thus it was the
late afternoon of the night of the great sur
prise she called sternly for them to come
into the house.
"Sit down by the fire and try to keep
quiet for awhile," she commanded.
But how could they keep quiet when there
she was with her hair in a silvery puff, held
by the new white comb of her last birthday
a-top of her head, and her best doth-top
shoes on?
"Stop squirming, Valora, learn to sit
quiet," she insisted, while she bustled about
with maddening unusualness. " Have you
seen any picture advertisements of what
they'll do in the show?"
Simultaneously the twins leaped from
their chairs.
" Now look here," said their grandmother
when she had admitted what was in store
for them, "go for the milk and don't tell
Betsy Smith where you're going. Under
stand there isn't any reason why she
shouldn't know, except it's nobody's busi
ness. We're going to-night 'cause it's
Friday and you can sleep late in the morn
ing and I never was one for matinees. I'm
not f riv'lous , but I can understand a good
time."
All the way to the Grand Union Opera
House, each of them holding to grand
mother's warm, black-gloved hand, peeking
past her for exchange of joyous glances, they
tripped on in the smoky, leaf-scented dark
ness, softly, softly. It was nobody's busi
ness, so Betsy Smith mustn't know.
Ah, the brilliant wonder of the Grand
Union Opera House! Lights and more
lights, from away down the main street they
sparkled and glowed and invited and told
in great scintillating letters what was within.
"The Power of Good."
"A stirring Melodra-ma-
-" Valora
spelled out and Narcissa pronounced.
Grandmother Pollard was silent. She
led them firmly along, her head so high,
her chin so set, it seemed she must be
thinking: "I don't care if Betsy Smith
does find it out. We're going, going, no
matter what!"
Then within and on down the aisle with
such gay music going, she drew them,
pushing one and pulling the other and int6
the seats to which the boy showed them
she hurried them almost angrily, but she
was just determined. And then for one
dark moment she bent and whispered that
she had forgotten her glasses. But they
all as quickly brightened because the twins
could read her the programme and she
could see well enough without glasses.
The curtain rose upon a splendid red-plush-chaired
room. Instantly a lady
entered; a tall lady with black, black hair
and eyes and a dress that trailed magnifi
cently. From her manner it was plain
that she would make a lot of trouble.
And when a great tall masterful gentleman
with a white diamond-studded waistcoat
came in, she began telling him of the
trouble she should make.
She was very bitter against one
Pauline.
The great masterful diamond-studded
gentleman went out thoughtfully, pulling a
black mustache, and at another door Pau
line came in.
"Ah, little Pauline ," the dark one be
gan in a very deceitful voice.
Pauline was a lovely creature in pink.
She was small and pink-cheeked, and her
hair of gold was a mass of little curls. Her
eyes
"Lady Dugdale " Pauline had begun
in the softest voice, when Grandmother
Pollard straightened, gripped the twins each
by a little hand and waited.
To them the rest of Pauline's words were
lost, just her voice, soft and tearful,' her
cheeks brightly pink beneath the gleam of
her hair, a pathetic vision from which in
terrified astonishment the twins were torn
by Grandmother Pollard. Out of their
seats, up the darkened aisle, past the rows
of faces she drew them along into the
street, hurrying from the lights and joy to
which she had but brought them.
Presently she slackened her pace and her
grip of the little hands.
"I may be mistaken," she said; "I
didn't have my glasses. WTien you keep
thinking s'pose a thing might happen,
you're apt to imagine it is happening."
Valora was crying softly.
"Don't cry," said her grandmother.
It was a request more than command.
"Some day Grandma'll tell you about to
night. Don't cry. Narcissa isn't."
Narcissa was glad of this. She wanted
' to, but she hadn't.
Something had happened to their grand
mother. They hurried on in the darkness,
up their own street with glances across at
the darkened house of Betsy Smith, glad
now she hadn't known of the going.
In the little bedroom they were dis
mantled of their splendor even as they had
been robbed for some strange circum
stance understood but uncontrolled, by
Grandmother Tollard of their evening's
joy
She left them the lamp to go to sleep by
to-night, not even referring to brave chil
dren who did so in darkness.
"To-morrow," she promised, "we'll do
something to make up."
If they'd play out all day nice and not
bother her, she said they might have a taffy
pull that night and invite any two in the
neighborhood they liked; The invitation
had been early personally delivered to the
desired guests and accepted.
"Ah," sighed Valora in a resting moment,
throwing herself down beside her sister on
the leafy carpet within the two little juts
of piled wood, "won't you call me Pauline,
Narcissa, when we're alone?"
"She was lovely, wasn't she?" Narcissa
said, her eyes meeting Valora's raised with
a sudden conscious evasiveness, staring afar.
"Narcissa," came Valora's whispering
question, "have you thought of anything
of anyone Pauline is like?"
After a moment, without looking at her
sister, Narcissa nodded, slowly. Valora
gave a quick little gasp.
"A picture of somebody we both know?"
Narcissa still nodded.
"And love?"
Violent nodding from Narcissa.
"Our m "
"Shi" Narcissa motioned violently.
" Pauline !" cried Valora.
"Yes," said Narcissa, rising, "it is
Pauline." H
Curls, yellow and bright, escaped from
the little blue cap with the red wing, and her
cheeks the deep pink spot glowed there as
brightly as last night. Hands' in coat pock
ets, she stood there before them, eyes star
ing . ir-S.
" Pauline," Narcissa said invitingly. '
"But, ah" Valora's delicate body
quivered forward, " it's m-mammal"
Out of her pockets and over her face flew
the blue-dad lady's hands. She was crying ;
her shoulders drew upward, hard sobs shook
her body. !"
"Oh, don't!" quivered Narcissa, "Can't
you come back is that it? Oh, mamma, ;
how we want you!"
The kitchen door opened, softly. Grand
mother Pollard stood looking out.
"It's Pauline," said Valora.
"Who are you?" her grandmother asked
coldly of the woman.
" I'm their mother," she sobbed, and then
in an instant added, raising her head a little
proudly, "and your son's wife."
"Then," said Grandmother Pollard, "if
you mean that," her arms opened, "come
into the house."
With a cry the pretty lady reached out
blindly, and Grandmother Pollard caught
her; then, keen little ears catching a foot
beat upon crackling leaves, Valora turned
and saw coming through the orchard, with
swift, long stride, ax upon his shoulder
her father. 1
Already weak with happiness, she raised
and pointed a finger. He came on, vault
ing the fence, and into the yard. With a
quick, unbelieving glance he lurched for
ward and stopped. t
Swiftly around, the pretty, young, sob
bing, blue-eyed mamma of the twins, was
whirled in Grandmother Pollard's strong
hands. . She saw him. Quickly the damp,
wadded little handkerchief she grasped
touched fiercely at each hectic cheek. Did
they pale ? Who could be sure of any
thing, anything at all, except the way she
flew to his ready arms? j
"You come right in the house now, chil
dren," with tears coursing down her cheeks,
Grandmother Pollard still managed her
authoritative tone.
They slipped in obediently.
"Go right up stairs," she said, "and put
on clean aprons and let your hair down.
I'll open the piano and light the parlor
lamp."
From their bedroom window up-stairs
the twins peeked down at the enchanted
wood-pile. He still had his arms about her.
His hat was off, showing his curling hair
and the white forehead above his tan.
" It don't seem they can be a real mamma
and papa and not any older'n that," mar
velled Valora.
" G-God knows! " Narcissa felt certain of
this at least.
"Oh, to be forgiven and taken back like
this what can I do to make up to you?"
their mamma was saying, and their, papa
drew her to him and answered:
" Never leave me never leave me again."
"I couldn'tf-ever," she answered. I
And he led her toward the house
"Ah," sighed Narcissa, "we've got our
mamma back again."
" Forever," mused Valora. " Didn't I tell
you if she felt being a real mamma like I do
being a play one well, then , didn't we know
she'd come back? I can't get over it now,
about my burnt -up child. It wasn't
real." t i
L "Let's hurry down," urged her sister.
tin