Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 304, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 December 1914 — TANGLEOFTHREADS [ARTICLE]

TANGLEOFTHREADS

By CLARISSA MACKIE.

Delia Leslie was buying embroidery silks in Miss Smith's little shop. "And I shall want another spool of that rose-colored knitting sijk,” she added as Miss Smith tied up her purchases. “You needn’t bother to wrap it up—l shall want to match it over at Pryor’s." Della pulled out an end of the silk thread, tested it between her sharp ■white teeth, looked at It with a blrdlike motion of her trim little head and took her departure. As she passed down the three steps into the village street the spool of knitting silk slipped from her fingers and rolled along the brick pavement, unwinding a long rose-colored thread an it went. Delia hastened after it, but the •way led down hill and the spool rolled away with most exasperating perseverance. It was a warm summer afternoon and the long street was almost deserted. | Suddenly tlje gate in the brick wall that surrounded the parsonage opened and a man stepped out and walked briskly down the hill. Delia recognized him as the new minister. She was glad that he had not seen her nor discovered her predicament, for her rose-colored silk was a tangle of threads for many yards ahead. Rev. Mr. Flake was very absentminded; he was walking with his eyes fixed on the blue waters of the harbor at the foot of the long street, consequently he did not know the precise moment when bne of Delia’s tangled threads caught around one of the buttons of his neat boots. “What shall I do?” worried Delia, as the reverend gentleman proceeded on his way unconsciously dragging a tangle of rosy threads and the apparently exhaustless spool in his dignified wake. “If I could only catch the spool and wind it up I might snap the thread and prevent an accident. Suppose he should get both feet tangled in the threads.” Before Delia could reach that idiotically dancing spool, Mr. Flake was standing helplessly enmeshed. He was peering near-sightedly down at 'his feet while Delia came timidly up. “I am sorry,” she said breathlessly. Mr. Flake could smile with his brown eyes, and he did sb at this moment, the smile spread to his lips, and presently he was laughing heartily. “I’m afraid you’ll have to help me 'out, Miss Leslie," he said at last. “If you could take my penknife and cut 'some of those threads it would enlable me to proceed on my way unfettered. Thank you—l’m afraid some lady is mourning the loss of her embroidery silks. Are you going my 'way—may I accompany you?” Delia was blushing deeply. “Oh, no, I was going over to the West side,** she said hastily, and without one regretful glance at the now empty spool she hastened away. Mr. Flake watched her with interested eyes until she had disappeared. Then he stooped and pulled out several threads that still decorated his boot buttons.

“If I were a romantic man,” he mused smiling, “I would attach some significance to this happening—l might suspect that Cupid himself had set this trap to catch my unwary feet. I am not a sentimentalist — but I’m going to keep the trap anyway.” And he promptly swept the tangle into one of the pockets of his coat So Mr. Flake went on his way, quite unaware that from one of his pockets peeped a skein of rose-coloted silk. Old Mrs. Petty, upon whom . tye called during the course of his, walk, spied the threads and pointed a playful finger at them. “Jdr. Flake, I reckon you don’t do no fancy work,” she remarked innocently. “Why, no, Mrs. Petty; why do you ask that?” he inquired. “Seeing that you carry embroidery silks around with you,” she went on, “I thought maybe you did. I haver heard of gentlemen doing fancy work, and them as has seen it say they take to it real handy. Of course, you not being a married man, it did seem funny to see that silk." Mr. Flake looked annoyed for an Instant. But he carefully crushed tfie silks into his pocket and explained that he had found it in the street. “I want to know?” marveled Mrs. Petty, whose curiqsity was insatible; “I wonder' who has lost a spool of silk? I can find out from Melissa Smith, who keeps the store. She could tell by the color. I suppose whoever lost it Is looking for it this very minute," “I hope not," said the minister, rising to take bis departure. “However, I think your advice is good, Mrs. Petty; I will leave it with Miss Smith at the shop; she can return it to the owner. lam very glad to bear that your rheumatism is better." Thereupon Mr. Flake forgot all about the silk threads. It chanced to rain the following Sunday, and the reverend gentleman wore under his mackintosh his second best black coat. Before he began his sermon that morning he drew forth a handker-

chief, and with the handkerchief came a rosy tahgle.of silk threads. He looked helplessly down upon them and his embarrassed face seemed to reflect the rosy glow. Somebody tittered and , looked around at Della Leslie. It was Melissa Smith’s little clerk. Delia’s face was scarlet' and her long curling black lashes swept cheek as she stared at the tips of her little shoes. When Delia lifted her eyes the minister had carefully wrapped the silks in his handkerchief and returned them to his pocket. All his embarrassment had fled, and he was cool and collected He delivered his text with a fine unconsciousness that it subtly applied to his adventure of the day before. Again the little clerk giggled and glanced at Della. But Delia did not see or hear. The sermon sounded like the distant murmur of drums; the deep, rich tones of the minister were blurred to her ears. All she could hear was Eva Hawk’s, silly giggle. She remembered that it was in front of the Hawk’s little cottage that she had knelt to cut the threads from Mr. Flake’s feet. And she was sure that Eva Hawk knew that the spool of silk was Delia’s; they knew everything at Melissa Smith’s shop! Delia Leslie was the first one to leave the church when the .service was concluded. She fairly skimmed over the ground on her homeward way. She didn’t go to the evening service and the very next morning she boarded the early train and went to her sister’s, in Branchville. Della didn’t know that the minister missed her dark, vivacious face from Its accustomed pew. She didn’t know that he called twice upon her Aunt Harriet, with whom she lived, for Aunt Harriet wasn’t given to letterwriting, and believed firmly in the adage that “No news is good news.” And after several weeks had elapsed, and Aunt Harriet had at last written and suggested that she was needed at home, Delia reluctantly came back to Glenwood. It was just at twilight when she arrived and, without waiting for the clumsy station stage, she walked down the long hill toward the white cottage on the shore. A whippoorwill was singing in the orchard and there was the fragrance of roses mingled with the salt savor of the sea. Delia paused at the gate. She felt a quickening of the pulses in the sense of being home once more. Some one came down the path from the front door, but she heard no sound save the rush of waves on the beach and the throbbing notes of the '■hippoorwill. A warm hand was laid over her own on the gate, and she started and looked up into the tender eyes of the minister. “I thought you were never coming home again,” he said softly. Delia blushed and hung her head. The moon came out and searched her face and betrayed something to Jeremy Flake. He put a finger beneath her round chin and lifted her face so that he might look Into her shy eyes. “When one has snared a victim with rosy threads —it Is cruel to run away and leave the captlVe, bound,” he whispered. And when the engagement was announced the gossips of the parish said they were not a bit surprised. “When a man carries a girl’s embroidery silks in his pockets, what can you expect?” they asked, but even then they did not know the whole story. (Copyright, 1914. by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)