Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 244, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 October 1910 — In a Summer House [ARTICLE]

In a Summer House

By MABEL CLAIRE SMITH

Burton Kuhl shrugged his shoulders with amiable surprise when he realized .what a storm of objections he had brought down on his head by the simple announcement of an important happening. ‘What a fuss you are making, Grace?” he interposed, hastily taking advantage of a momentary pause In the flow of eloquence. “Really, one ■would think I had committed a crime ln daring to engage myself to the dearest girl in the world. Your only objection to Miss Floyd, as I understand you, is her profession. Well, what’s the matter with it? A doctor Is a handy person to have around, I think. I’d trust my life in Esther’s hands a good'deal quicker than in the hands of some masculine practitioners I could name.” Mrs. Trevelyn sighed expressively and elevated hgr eyebrows. "Can’t you understand?” she cried vehemently. “That’s just why you should not marry her! Just think what sort of a home you’d have with a wife riding around the countjy at all hours of the day and night, at the call of anybody and everybody! She can’t be a true woman when she deliberately chooses a profession like that, ru warrant she hasn’t a spark of taste ln dress, either! I can’t understand your choice, I’m sure. It’s hard to be disappointed in an only brother,” she mourned. "Oh, nonsense!” frowned Burtqn. “Esther wouldn’t keep up her practise, after we were married, of course. At least, not to the extent of answering night calls. I wish you’d look at the matter in an unprejudiced light, Grace. I never interfered with You and George, though I knew all the time that he was as poor as poets usually are and never would amount to a row of beans. You’ve had time enough to find that there’s plenty of truth in that, I reckon. If it were not for the tittle dowry you brought him I fancy life would be ,a work-a-day job for George instead of his present easy, rhyme-making existence. Why can’t you show the same generous spirit toward me?” “The two cases are quite unlike. Burton!” flashed his sister, with an indignant toss of her head. “George and I get on beautifully together, and we are both home-lovers. He likes to write poetry and I like him tp do it. If so little of it is published it isn’t because it lacks merit, I’m sure, for all the rejection slips say It isn’t. I’m thankful that George doesn’t have to go away from home every day and slave In some hot, stuffy office.” “Well, each for his or her hearthstone!” yawned Burton, gathering up his reins and lightly feeling the bit. “I wish you would call on Miss Floyd, though, Grace. She would like to know you, I’m sure. Perhaps she could prove to you better than I that a lady does not have to relinquish feminine graces and accomplishments to become a member of the business world." "When I do it’ll be a red letter day,, Burton Kuhl!” claimed Mrs. Trevelyn. “I suppose you’re riding over to call on her this afternoon?” “Yes, I’m going to take Esther to look over Woodlawn this afternoon. If she likes the place I mean to buy it for our future home. We shall be near neighbors of yours them, Grace; two miles and a half between the two places. Better make up your mind to be a sister to us.” “You’ll know it when I do," nodded iMrs. Trevelyn, as she tossed him a irose and watched him canter out of sight down the dusty road. Left alone, the little lady returned to her fancy work in the hammock at one end of the cool porch and pondered the disturbing news Burton sad brought. She sighed restlessly, and finally bundled up her fancy work and stared thoughtfully at the tips of her white-slippered feet. “I wonder whether the girl has small feet and hands?” she mused, ■with a dubious shake of her “Suppose she is a big, awkward creature with a wide smile and a grip like a man’s! Suppose she has a loud, hearty voice and a compelling manner which nobody dares resist! Just suppose poor Burton has been fascinated by a muscular Amazon and means to make her my sister-in-law! Horrors! If George wasn’t busy composing a new poem I’d run up and ask him if he knows what sort of a person this Dr. Esther Floyd jg George hates to be bothered when he's writing, so I reckon I’d better not interrupt him. Oh, dear! I wish I knew how she looks! I shan't have a bit of peace until I find out, I know. I’d go to call on her this very afternoon if Burton hadn’t made such a fuss about „it, and if he wouldn’t find it out. Why couldn’t he have taken her to Woodlawn some other time?’’ Suddenly Mrs. Trevelyn sprang to her feet, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. Whisking indoors, she ran blithely upstairs and hurriedly changed henhouse dress for an outdoor gown of a pale yellow shade, with hat, parasol and belt to match. Then, popping her head In at the door of her husband’s den, she Informed him that she was going for a walk, Having received an irritated grunt by way of response, she softly -dosed the door and ran down the gtalrs and out to the road.

“I’ve Just got to get a glimpse of that girl this very day, fair or not fair,” she murmured, defiantly. “If I can get to Woodlawn before they do. I’ll hide in the old summer-house and peek all I please without anybody "being the wiser.” She took a short cut through a field and another through an orchard. “Gracious!” she panted, some minUtus later, as, tired and flushed from her unwonted speed, she neared the unoccupied frame house set among stately old shade trees. “It’s a spooky, lonely place! I’ll wager this lawn hasn’t been mowed since the owner went away, three years ago. Everything looks seedy and mildewy to me. It’s just the sort of house Burton likes, though,” she added, as she hurried through the high, tangled grass to a rustic summer-house halfway between the house and the entrance gates. “He always did want to get as near nature as possible.” The summer house was overgrowq with vines and its interior was far from inviting; but there was a rustic seat just inside the door, and Mrs. Trevelyn was very tired. With carefully clutched skirts. and fearful eyes she entered the retreat and seated herself on the mossy bench. The day was unusually warm, for that time of year and Mrs. Trevelyn was not accustomed to so much exercise. Consequently, before she hart been seated in the cool place five minutes, her eyes closed and she slumbered peacefully. Fifteen minutes later she came to herself with a terrified start. Something sinuous and horrible was gild* ing away from her across the flooi of the old summer house and there was a queer numb feeling in the fingers of her left hand. With a gasp of terror she raised her hand and stared at two round pricks on the tip of her forefinger. With a muffled cry, Mrs. Trevelyn sprang to her feet and daßhed from the summer house just as two people came up the walk from the gates. “O-oh, thank goodness for somebody to help me!" gasped Mrs. Trevelyn, thinking of nothing save her extremity. “Do something for me, won’t you, please?” she wailed, appealingly holding out the wounded finger to the wide-eyed newcomers. “I’ve been bitten by a snake—oh, an awful thing! I know I’m going to die—my finger feels so queer! Do something for me!” “Ye gods and little fishes!” gulped Burton, helplessly patting her back. “Grace, poor girl, how’d you do it? You’re sure it was a snake?” “Let me see the bite, please,” said a quiet, low-toned voice from the trimly clad young woman at Burton’s back. She stepped quickly forward and took Mrs. Trevelyn’s shaking fingers. “Ah, yes, I see the two tiny punctures quite plainly,” she observed, after a brief scrutiny of the injured finger. Her brows drew together as though something puzzled her and she looked uncertaintly toward the summer house. "Is the snake still in there?” she asked, expectantly. “Oh, I suppose so!” shuddered Mrs. Trevelyn, feeling cold and ill. “Do you think it’s a deadly bite? Will I die? O-oh, for goodness sake tell me how long I have to live!" The girl’s lips twitched nervously, but her voice was gravely reassuring as she made response. “Many years, I trust,” se said, gently. Then, turning to the equally concerned Burton, she asked him to enter the summer house and see If the snake was still ln there. Burton grabbed a stick and went boldly within the retreat. After a few moments of brisk rummaging he returned bearlpg on the ptaint of the rod a shimmering length of yellow ribbon with two pins sticking in one end. “This is the only snake I can find!” he declared, with much gravity. “From appearances, I should take It to be a summer house serpent of a nonpolsonous kind.” Grace stared at the ribbon while the blood slowly returned to her cheeks and fingers. "Gracious me! so it was Just my belt!” she twittered joyfully. “Well, I might . have died oL fright if somebody hadn’t thought to find the thing. Burton, dear, aren’t you going to Introduce my rescuer?” And Burton, with twinkling eyes, cheerfully compiled.