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HARRIET and the PIPER By KATHLEEN NORRIS Copyright by K«thle«n Norris MRS. CARTER, NO. 2 Synopsis.—Harriet Field, twenty eight years old. and beautiful, is the social secretary of the flirta tious Mrs. Isabel Carter, at “Crownlands.” Richard Carters home, and governess of seventeen year-old Nina Carter. Ward, twen ty-four years old ar.d Impression able, fancies himself in love with his mother’s attractive secretary. Mrs. Carter’s latest “affair” is with young Anthony Pope, and the youth is taking it very seriously. Presiding over the teacups this summer afternoon, Harriet is pro foundly disturbed by the arrival of a visitor. Royal Blondin. Next day, at a tea party in the city, Blondin makes himself agreeable to Nina, and leaves a deep impres sion on the unsophisticated girl. Harriet’s agitation over the appear ance of Blondin at “Crownlands” is explained by the fact that he had been a disturbing element in her life ten years before and she fears him. The man is an avowed adventurer, living on the gullibility of the Idle rich. He frankly an nounces to Harriet his intention of marrying Nina, and urges her to aid him. is in a sense in his power, and after pleading with him to his uphrme agrees to follow a policy of neutrality. Knowing the tender feeling she has inspired in Ward Carter. Harriet is tempted to marry him for the position and wealth he can give her, though realizing she does not love him. Blondin lias Ingratiated himself with Madaine Carter, Rich ard’s mother, and she is whole heartedly in favor of his marriage with Nina. Ward urges Harriet to marry him. She procrastinates. Mrs. Carter elopes with Pope. Blon din threatens Harriet. She prays to do what Is right. Blondin and Harriet agree to keep silent about their past relations. Richard Car ter proposes a marriage, entirely businesslike, to take place as soon as he is divorced. Harriet says “No,” and goes to visit her sister. The elopement ends in Mrs. Car ter’s death. Harriet secretly mar ries Richard Carter and returns to Crown lands. CHAPTER X—Continued. “Mr. Eaton,’’ Harriet said, in an un dertone, making another strategic de cision, “come in here to the library, will you? I want to speak to you." “When you speak to me thus,’’ said Corey Eaton, passionately. “I can re fuse you naught I” But lie sobered Instantly into tre mendous gravity at Harriet’s first con fidence. She loid him simply of Isa belle’s death. “Well, that surely is rotten —the poor old boy !*’ said Co» °y, affectionate ly. “Ward’s mad aboi t his mother, too! Well, say, what do you know about that? We’ll beat it. Miss Field, Nixon and I. We came In my car, and we’ll go to the Jays’ for dinner. Say, that is tough, though. Isn’t it?” It was not eloquent, but It was sin cere, and Harriet made her thanks so personal and so flattering that the young man could only fervently push his plans for departure, swearing se crecy, and evidently touched by being taken into her confidence. The fast nesses were yielding one after anoth er; Harriet could have laughed as she left him at the foot of the stairs. Bot tomley, the butler, respectful." ad dressed her as she turned back Into the hall: “Miss Field, I wonder if you’d be so good—?” She nodded, and accompanied him instantly Into the pantry, where they could be alone. “It’s Madame.’’ said Bottomley, bit terly, “she’s just ’ad me up there agine, it’s really tryln’—that’s what it is. It’s tryln’!” “Now, just wait one moment. Bot tomley,” Harriet said, soothingly. “I want to talk to you and Pilgrim. Is she in her room? Suppose we go there?” Pleased with the consideration in her manner, the outraged Bottomley led the way. The housekeeper was enjoying a solitary cup of tea; she bustled hospitably for more cups. “I want to tell you that your cornin’ has taken a load off my sou>,” said Pilgrim, a gray, round-visaged woman who had a sentimental heart, “and so I said to Mr. Carter not three days since I It’s been very bad. Indeed, Miss, since you went, as we was fellin’ you a bit back. Impudence, orders this way and that, confusion and what not, and Mr. Ward very wild, really very wild, and so at last Bot tomley said he couldn’t stand It.” “I’m hoping he will reconsider that," Harriet said, pleasantly, with a glance at the face Bottomley tried to make inflexible. “For I’m going to tell you two old friends some news.” With no further preamble Harriet an nounced Isabelle’s death. The servants were naturally shocked. There were a few moments of ejaculatory and sorrowful surprise. When this had died away, Harriet had more news. “I’m going to tell you two some thing,” she began. “You are the very first to know, and I know you’ll be glad. Before I left the house last Oc tober, Mr. Carter did me the—the great honor to ask me to—to marry him.” It gave her Inward delight even to vo’ce It; It made the miracle seem more real. Bottomley and Pilgrim ex changed stupefied glances in a dead silence. “I met him at eleven o’clock today,” Harriet finished, simply, “and we drove to Greenwich In Connecticut, and we were married at one o’clock.” Bottomley and Pilgrim glanced again at each other, glanced at Har riet, opened their mouths slowly. “To think of you bein’ Mrs. Carter!” Pilgrim marveled In a whisper. “Oh. sh-sh-sh! You mustn’t say It even!” Harriet caught both their hands. “No one must know. I only told you so that you would help me, so that you would understand! There will be no change, anywhere—” Bottomley shook a dazed head ; but Pilgrim looked at the other woman with kindly eyes, and presently said : “You’d have been a very silly girl not to take him, and —as I always tell the girls—love’ll come fast enough aft erward !” The words came back to Harriet, hours later, when the house was quiet, and when, comfortably wrapped in a loose silk robe, she wns musing be side her fire. Nina was asleep; to Ward, who was headachy and fever ish, she had paid a late visit. Madame Carter had not come down to dinner, and when Harriet had sent In a mes sage, had asked to be excused from any calls, even from Nina and Miss Field, this evening. Nina had chattered constantly dur ing the meal. Grnnny had had a ter rible time with them all. And Ward and Nina and “Royal”—the name sud denly leaped between them again— had been arrested for speeding. And Daddy had threatened Nina with a boarding school, and Granny had cried. "Where Is Mr. Blondin now, Nina?” Harriet had asked. “Oh, he’s round!” Nina had said, airily. “I suppose you put Daddy up to saying that I wasn’t to see so much of him!” she had added, with her worldly wise drawl. “Not at all,” Harriet had said. “Ladybird and I are planning a trip,” Nina had further confided. “I shall be eighteen in February, you know, and we want to go round the world. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go with her, for she’s been about fifty times!” “Wonderful!” Harriet had been obliged to concede. “But, dearest child, what does your father think?” “Father —” Nina had shrugged re gretfully. “But I shall be of age!" she bad reminded her companion. “Yes, I know, dear, but Father’s ward for another three years, you know!” “Why, Ladybird says”—the girl had been ready, and had spoken with flushed cheeks—“ Ladybird says that In that case we’ll go anyway, and she’ll pay all expenses! That’s the kind of friend she Is!” • •••••• “Love’ll come fast enough after ward !” Pilgrim had said, and Harriet thought Pilgrim was rather a wise wSSL u feta? HwiWfW Mi “It Isn’t Exactly What I Expected Marriage to Be.” woman. In her homely way. The girl stirred the fire and settled herself to watety it. After what? Well, certainly not after anything so short, simple and unconvincing as that three minutes with the clergyman today. The utter unreality of that had seemed to blend with the silent, snowy day, and with the dulled and dreamy condition of her own brain. Snow was falling softly when she had met Richard Car ter at the office, at half-past ten, and snow lisped against the windows of the limousine* ns they two, with Irving Fox, Richard’s kindly, middle aged, confidential clerk, were whirled out of the city, and on and on through the bare little wintry towns. Fox had had some papers to which they occa sionally referred; the odd clerk was the only person to congratulate Har riet warmly when the brief and be- wildering business was over and she hail her wedding ring. It was alone with Fox that she made the return trip. Richard came back by train, saving an hour, and was at the office when they got there. Harriet did not see him again; he was In conference; and presently she quietly got back Into the motorcar, and on her way to meet Nina she slipped the plain circle of gold !:<ro her handbag. She had It out tonight, and put It on her bare, pretty hand, and held It to the fire, and slowly the events of the bewildering and tiring day wheeled before her, and only the reality of the ring assured her that It was not all a confused dream. Married! And all alone before the glowing coals, weary from hostile encounters, on her mar riage night! She had Intended to write to Linda tonight; Linda was vexed with her, and small wonder! For Harriet had left the little New Jersey house al most without farewells, had come down to an earlier breakfast even than Fred’s, and had said briefly that she was returning to the Carters, and would see them all soon. Why hadn’t she told Linda? Well, for one reason, she had hardly be lieved her own memory of the talk on Christmas day with Richard. Then she had feared opposition, feared Linda’s shocked references to decent intervals of mourning; Linda’s frank belief that there was no strong per sonal feeling involved on Richard’s part; Linda’s advice to a bride. Harriet’s face burned at the mere thought of it. No. siie couldn’t tell Linda yet; she was too tired to write tonight, anyway. Linda and Fred had not been at all approving, Christinas night. David had reproached her, had disappeared earlier than was expect ed or necessary; they had not failed of their suspicions. “Well! I must go to bed,” she said aloud, suddenly. She stood, one elbow on the mantel, her beautiful eyes fixed on the dying fire. It was midnight, the room and the house very still. “It isn’t exactly what I expected marriage to be,” she mused. “But after all," she said, to herself, beginning to move about with last preparations for bed,” “I’m married to the man I love—noth ing can change that. And if he doesn’t love me, he likes me. I’ve done noth ing wrong, and if my life is just a lit tle different from most women’s, why, I shall have to make the best of it! And I did tell him—l did tell him—” And her thoughts went back to the first few minutes she had spent in Richard’s office that day. They had been alone, discussing the last details of their astonishing plan, when she had suddenly taken the plunge. “Mr. Carter, there is just one thing! Os course,” Harriet’s cheeks had flamed, “of course, this marriage of ours is not the usual marriage, and yet, there Is Just one thing of which I would like to speak to you before we —we go up to Greenwich.” And find ing his gray eyes pleasantly fixed upon her she had gone on, confused but de termined : “I’m twenty-seven now— and perhaps I might have married some other man before this —except that —when I was seventeen—l did fall In love with a man I And we were to be married —!” She had stopped short; It was Incredibly hard. “He had—or I thought he had, brought something tremendously big and won derful into my life,” Harriet had con tinued, “and I was a stupid little girl, just taking care of my sister’s babies and reading my father’s bocks—” “You are under no obligation to tell me anything of this,” Richard had said, kindly, far more concerned for her distress than interested in what siie was saying. “I must have known that there were admirers! I assure you that —” “No, but just a moment!” Harriet had interrupted liiin. “I was infatu ated —I knew that at once, God knows I’ve known It ever nlnce! I went away with him, little fool that I was!” A gleam of genuine surprise had come Into Richard Carter’s eyes, and he looked at. her without speaking. "I was taken ill the day I left with him. While I was getting well I had time to think it over. I knew then I was too young and too ignorant to be any man’s wife. I was frightened and I —well, I ran away; I went back to my sister. Both she and her husband regarded me after that as In some way marked, unprincipled, unworthy—” “Poor child!” Richard hud said. “They naturally would. You were no more than Nina’s age!” “So that’s my history,” Harriet had finished, simply. “I thought I had done with men. And there have been men, men like Ward, for Instance, to whom I could have been married with out feeling that I need make any men tion of that old time. But I wanted to tell you.” “Thank you very much.” Richard had said, gravely. “If the protection of my name and my house seems wel come to you, after some battling with the world, it will be an additional sat isfaction »o me.” And then before another word was spoken Fox had come In, announcing the car, and they had begun the long, strange drive. She got into the luxurious bed, put out rhe bedside light, and lay .with her hands clasped behind her head, thinking. The clock struck one; snow was still falling steadily outside, but In here the last pink glow of firelight flickered and sank —flickered and sank lazily. Some sudden thought made Harriet smile ruefully. She Indicated that it was unwelcome by turning over to bury her bright head in the pillow, and resolutely composing herself for sleep. CHAPTER XI. Morning found them half-burled in a bright dazzle of snow, the midwin ter miracle that sets the most jaded heart singing and the weariest blood to moving more quickly. Harriet was through with her housekeeping and her luncheon, and meditating a letter to Linda, when Ida Tabor fluttered in. Harriet heard the gay voice at the foot of the stairs: “Oh, sweetheart! Where’s my little girl?” Mrs. Tabor looked a trifle dashed when only Harriet responded, although she immediately assured Miss Field cordially with bright insincerity that she had known of her return, and was “so glad!” “I’ve been a sort of big sister here,” she said, laughingly, “and. my Lord, these kids have managed things won derfully! But I suppose sooner or later the machinery would have stalled without your fine Italian hand!” “Mr. Carter asked me to come back,’’ Harriet stated, simply. She thought the best weapon, but Mrs. Tabor was ready for her. “Mary Putnam told us that you were just resting and looking about,” she said, Innocently, “and Dick—gen erous that he Is—couldn’t feel com fortable about It, I suppose!” Richard had telephoned Harriet at three o’clock that the morning pa pers would have “the news.” and that be was coming home to tell his chil dren of their mother’s death, tonight. But she must get rid of this woman now, somehow. It would be fatal to have Ida Tarbor here when Richard Carter returned. “I might run up now and see the old lady!” said Mrs. Tabor, who had flung off her furs, and beautified herself at her hand-bag mirror. She pressed her lips together for the red coloring. “Mr. 'Carter be here tonight?” she asked, casually. Bottomley caused an interruption. Harriet turned to him with relief. But unfortunately he answered the very question she was trying to evade. “Mr. Carter had just telephoned ’m, and says that ’e’ll be ’ere at about six. ’m!” “Oh, thank you. Bottomley!” Harriet turned back to Ida. to see her compla cently looosening outer wraps. “I came in the Warrens’ car,” said she; “they were to run over to say Merry Christmas to the Bellamys, and then pick me up. But —if I won’t be in the way!—perhaps I might stay and see Nina; we’ve become great chums. I suppose I’d better go to the room I always have? Then I’ll run up and get the latest news of the Battle of Shiloh from Madame Carter It was now or never; Harriet's heart began tq beat. “Madame Carter has gone driving,” she said. “She may be In at any moment, but before she comes, I want to speak to you. W*’ve had terrible news here, Mrs. Tabor. Mr. Carter Is coming home to tell the children and his mother tonight. Mr. Pope cabled from Paris on Christmas eve that Mrs. Carter suddenly died that day!” Ida Tabor never felt anything very deeply, but her emotions were accessi ble enough, and violent while they lasted. She grew white, gasped, some how’ reached a chair, and burst Into honest tears. Isabelle—! Why, they had been friends for years! Why, she had been so wonderfully well and strong! “Nobody knows it,” Harriet said. And not quite innocently she added: “The Fordyces, the Bellamys—every one who knew her—are in total ignor ance of it! If you do tell them, Mrs. Tabor —and there is no reason why you shouldn't —” “Oh, I shall stay here with Nina to night, anyway!” the visitor said, de cidedly. “She’ll need me, of course! Poor little thing!” “It seems too bad to spoil your New Year’s plans,” Harriet said, smiling, “but you know Nina I She will put. those long arms of hers about you— and she won’t hear of your leaving her for days! With Nina,” Harriet pur sued, thoughtfully, “it isn't so much that one can’t find a good excuse, as that she won’t hear of excuses at nil! I remember when Mrs. Carter first went away, there were days of It — weeks of It! —just talk, tears, and talk —my arm used to ache from the weight of Nina’s arm ! Mr. Carter Intends to leave for Chicago tomorrow, Ward will probably go up to the Eatons’—” Harriet rambled on, not unconscious that she was making an Impression. “Anyway,” she finished, “we shall be fearfully quiet and alone here, and your being here would simply save the day for Nina!” “Oh, I really couldn't stay over New Year’s.” Mrs. Tabor, looking slightly discomfited, said slowly. “You see, the Fordyces—” She looked undecided, and bit her under-lip. “One wonders —?” she said, musing ly. “Os course, I shouldn’t want to In trude tonight—it would be merely to have them feel that I was here —” “Mr. Carter has asked me to see that the family Is alone tonight,” Harriet said, courageously, “but of course he may feel that you are an exception,” she added, with the Impersonal air of a mere employee. “I only to be able to tell him that I repeated his request, and told you the reason for It. That’s”—and she smiled pleasantly— “that Is as far as my authority goes, of course. I shall say simply that you know of his wishes. 4 and if you remain. I know I can say that It was to please Nina !” And now the two women exchanged an open glance that needed no pretense jfi “When I Visit This House It Is Not At Your Invitation, Miss Field!” Said Mrs. Tabor, Frankly. and no concealment, and It was a glance of enmity. “When I visit this house It Is not at your invitation, Miss Field!” said Mrs. Tabor, frankly. “I am aware of that,” Harriet said, simply. “Will you be so kind as to tell Nina and Madame Carter,” rhe visitor was resuming her wraps, and arranging her handsome hat and veil, “that I will bp here tomorrow, and that anything I can do I will be so glad to do!—ls that Mrs. Warren’s car, Bottomley? Thank you. Good afternoon. Miss Field!” “Good afternoon, Mrs. Tabor!” Har riet followed her to the hall door, and heard a Parthian shot, addressed in a cheerfully high voice to kindly old Mrs. Warren, Mrs. Fordyce’s mother, who was m the limousine: “Nobody home! All my trouble for nothing!” Old Mrs. Warren leaned against the frosted glass; waved from the holly dressed Interior at Harriet, and the girl saw her lips frame “Merry Christ mas 1” The door slammed ; Bottomley came with stately footsteps up to the hall again. Harriet gave a little laugh of triumph. .Now the coast was clear! Thus It was that Richard Carter found only his mother and his children at the dinner table that night, and no guests under his roof. Miss Field, to be sure, was at the head of the table, but then Miss Field was a member of the family. He interrogated her briefly as they went in. "Ward’s gang? That Eaton ass?” “Oh, they went yesterday 1" “Speak to Bottomley?” “Yes. He and Pilgrim are quite rec onciled to remaining.” Harriet but toned a culT, to hide a dimple that would come to the corner of her mouth. “And Mrs. Tabor came, and would have stayed," she could not re sist the temptation to add, “but I per suaded her that some other time would be better!” “Scene with Nina about It?” Rich ard hud asked, curiously. “Nina was not here,” Harriet an swered. And there was a faint smile in the deep blue eyes that she raised suddenly to his. “Ah, well, I knew, of course, that you would manage it!” he said, con tentedly. “It seems black art to me. I had enough of It!” She smiled again, and went quietly to her place. But when he summoned Ward and Nina to his mother’s room, after dinner, she had disappeared, and the family was quite alone when he broke the news to them. “Her eye» were fixed on ■pace; she hardly breathed—“ (TO BE CONTINUED.) Take* Root Easily. The willow Is one of the most adapt able plants. A willow switch merely stuck in wet suitable ground is sure to take root. WEDNESDAY, JULY 5, 1922. Home Town #lldps§ A..* «i 1 * SPLENDID fßr THE Flower Known as “Painted Tongue” Will Well Repay Time and Trouble Bestowed on IL No more gorgeous bed for August and September and until the hard frost comes In October can be planted than one of the Painted Tongue, Sal plglossis, the flower with the veins of gold. This annual Is one of the most beautiful of the summer flowers and Ls not often met with, although florists are using It very largely for cut flow ers the last two years; its gorgeous, purple, maroon, scarlet, rose and bronze shades, all with veins showing a glint of gold, a metallic shimmer found In no other flower, making a brilliant display when cut. The Improved forms show a great increase In size over the older forms end resemble the finer petunias in general appearance, although the blooms are more trumpet shaped than those of the petunia. The Painted Tongue is a native of Chill. One reason for the rare appearance of the Painted Tongue in the garden Is that many people have tried to grow it and have had difficulty. It should not be coddled. Planted indoors to get an early start, they have a disap pointing habit of dying off inexplica- ___ SALPIGLOSSIS -AN ATTRACTIVE ANNUAL BEAUTIFULLY VEINED WITH GLINT OF GOLD. The Painted Tongue. bly after they are transplanted into their beds, leaving blank spots and ruining the appearance. Too muon coddling is the trouble. They should be raised outdoors. It is best to wait until May and plant' them in the open. The seed is fine and germinates quick ly and should be scattered thinly where the plants are to stand and thinned to 15 inches apart. A pinch of seed scattered at 14-lnch intervals would solve the problem, thinning to the healthiest plants in the colony. They can be transplanted successfully if moved with a good ball of dirt so the roots are not disturbed too much. Their growth Is surprisingly slow at the start and they seem to have de cided to stand still. It may take them a month or more to reach a height of three Inches, but after that they start a sprint If the weather is warm and by August will reach a height of from 2 feet to 30 Inches. They need a rich soil and It is well to allow two or three plants to stand In each little colony to select the sturdiest as even with tills care some of them are likely to give up the ghost. They resent any check In growth which is one reason why they stand transplanting badly. Give them liberal cultivation and plenty of wa ter and you will have a wonderful sheet of bloom. The Orderly Country Town. The ordinary country town can not expect to present a fine appearance a< the result of having many costly edi fices. It may have some handsome buildings, but it usually cannot invest any great amount in expensive archi tecture and building materials. It Ihm to acquire a pleasing appearance in other ways largely by a scrupulous care of Its business buildings, home* and streets, with the patient effort to beautify the same. Property that is kept in perfect pair has a finish and trimness about It that counts more than costly archi tecture. You see many towns where a great deal has been spent on ornate and elaborate buildings, but where the streets are not kept clean, and where many people still tolerate dis orderly conditions. A place like that lookr. far inferior to many simply built country towns which are care fully maintained.—Louisville (Texas) Enterprise. Reminder of “Cattle Lifting.” A singular natural curiosity located In the valley of the Annan in Scotland is what is known as the Devil's Beet tub. It is in the form of a hollow or basin, surrounded by high hills which make it so secluded a spot that a large number of persons can conceal themselves in It and remain unseen bj others in the Immediate neighborhood. In ancient timet? it was frequently used as a hiding place for stolen cat tie, and it Is this fact which has given It hame.