Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 235, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 September 1916 — The IDYL of TWIN FIRES [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The IDYL of TWIN FIRES

by WALTER PRICHARD EATON

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CHAPTER Xlll—Continued. The train started. It left New York behind it, it ran into the suburbs, then Into the country, and at last the hills began to mount beside the track, and a cooler, fresher air to come in through the windows. Still her eyes smiled Into mine, but she said little, save now and then to lean forward and whisper, “Is it true, John, is It true?” So we came to Bentford station, in tile early dusk of evening, and the air was good as we alighted, and the silence. Suddenly Buster appeared, undulating with joyous yelps along the platform, and sprang at Stella’s face. He almost ignored me. Peter was waiting with the buggy-. We sat hlaf^e tween us and drove home. T '” ¥ “Home —your home, our home.” I whispered, pressing her hand behind Peter’s back. "Sold a lot o’ peas and things," said Peter. “I got ’em all down in the book. Gee, I drove over ’most every d*y t *n’ I’m goin’ to be on the ball team in the village, an’ I wanter join the Boy Scouts, but ma won’t let me Mess you say it’s all right, an’ ain’t itr “We’ll think it over, Peter,” said I. Stella was bouncing up and down on the seat with excitement as the buggy rattled over the bridge. Lamplight was streaming from Twin Fires. On the kitchen porch stood Mrs. Pillig. dressed in her best, and Mrs. Bert and Bert. AS we climbed from the buggy. Bert raised his hand, and a shower of rice descended Stella ran up the path, and Mrs. Bert's ample arms closed about her. Both women were half laughing, half crying, when got there with the grips. “Ain’t that Jest like the sex?’’ said Jert, with a Jerk of his thumb—“so durn glad they gotter cry about it!" “You shet up.” said Mrs. Bert “For all you know, I’m pityln’ the poor child!” Mrs. Pillig had an ample dinner ready for us, with vegetables and salad fresh from the garden, and, as a crowning glory, a magnificent lemon pie. , “This is much better than anything at Sherry’s,” cried |tella, beaming upon her. We sat a long while looking at each other across the small table, and then we wandered out Into the dewy evening and our feet took us into the pines, where in the darkness we stopped by a now sacred spot and held each other close in silence. Then we went back into the south room. “Oh, if the curtain stuff would only burry up and come!” cried my wife. “You must learn patience—Mrs. Upton,” said I, while we both laughed •illily over the title, as others have done before us, no doubt. Presently Mrs. Pillig’s anxious face appeared at the door. She seemed desirous of speaking, and doubtful how to begin. —What la lt, Mrs. Pillig?” I asked. “Well, sir,” she said, hesitantly. “I suppose now you are married you won’t need me, after all." She paused. “I rented my house,” she added. “Need you!” I cried. “Why, now 1 ■hall need you more than ever!” She smiled faintly, still looking dubious. Stella went over to her. “What he means is, that I’m a poor goose who doesn’t know any more about keeping house than Buster does about astronomy,” she laughed. “Of course you’ll stay, Pillig, and teach me.” “Thank you, miss—l mean missus,” said Mrs. Pillig, backing out “Be careful,” I warned. “If you let Mrs. Pillig think you’re so very green, she’ll begin to boss yon/’ “That would be a new sensation ” laughed Stella. “I like new sensations as much as Peter Pan did. Oh, it’s a new sensation having a home like this, and living In the country, and smelling good, cool air and—and having you.” She was suddenly beside me on the settle. We heard Mrs. Pillig going up to bed. The house was still. Outside the choral song of night insects sounded drowsily. Buster came softly in and plopped down on the rug. We were alone in Twin Fires, together, and she wonid not rise to go up the road to Bert’s. She would never go! Bo we sat a long, long while —and the rest shall be silence.

CHAPTER XIV. We Build a Pool. It vu the strangest, sweetest sensation I had ever known to wake In the morning and hear soft singing in the room where a fresh breeze was wandering. I saw Stella standing at the window, her hair about her shoulders, looking out She turned when 1 stirred, came over to kiss me, while her hair fell about my' face, and then Cried, “Hurry! Hurry! I must get out Into the garden!” Presently, band in band, we went over the new lawn to the sundial which stood amid a ring of brilliant blooms —which, however, had become unbelievably choked with weeds in the ten days of my absence. The gnomon was throwing a long shadow westward across the VII. We filled the bird bath, which Peter had neglected. We

hurried through the orchard to the brook, to see tbe flowers blooming there, and there, alas! we found the volume of tbe stream shrunk to less than half its former size. We ran to the rows of berry vines to see how many had survived, and found the greater part of them sprouting nicely; we went up the slope into the rows of vegetables and inspected themf we rushed to see if ail the roses were alive; we went to the barn, where Mike had Just begun to milk, and sniffed the warm, sweet odor. “Yes, it’s better for any mon to be married.” I heard Mike saying to her, as I moved back toward the door. Then he gdded something I could not hear, and she came to me with rosy face. “The horrid old man!” She was half laughing to herself. The goodß we had ordered began to arrive after breakfast, Bert bringing them from the freight house in his large wagon. I took the day off, and devoted the morning to laying a stair carpet probably the hottest Job I ever tackled. Tbank goodness, the stairs went straight up, without curve or angle! As I worked, small feet pattered by me, -up and down, and garments from a big trunk In the lower hall brushed my face as they were being carried past—brushed their faint feminine perfume into my nostrils and made my hammer pause In midair. After the carpet was laid there were a thousand and one other things to do. There were pictures of Stella’s to be bung, and them we put In the hitherto vacant room at the front of the house, next to tile dining room, where Stella’s wall desk was also placed, and a case of her books, and some chairs. “Now I can work here when you want to create literature in your room, or I can receive my distinguished visitors here when you are busy,” she laughed, setting some ornaments on the mantel. “My, but I’ve got a lot of curtains to make! I never did so much sewing in my life.” Bureaus were carried upstairs with Mike’s assistance, and the ivory backs of a woman’s toilet articles appeared upon them; open closets showed me rows of women’s garments; glass candlesticks were unpacked and set upon the dining table, and the new dining chairs “dressed up” the room remarkably. Everywhere we went Mrs. Pillig followed with dustpan and broom, slicking up behind us. When night came it was still an incomplete house—“ Oh. a million things yet to get,’t cried Stella, “Just one by one, as we can afford it, which will be fun!” — but a house that spoke everywhere of a dainty mistress. Outside, by the woodshed, was a pile of packing boxes and opened crates and excelsior. “There’s your work, Peter,” I said, pointing. Peter looked rueful, but said nothing. That evening I tried to work, but found it difficult, for watching my wife sew. __ __ _ “You’ve no technique,” Ilaugbed. She made a little moue at me, and went on hemming the curtains, getting up now and then to measure them. “Why should I have?” she said presently. “You knew I was a Pb. D. when you married me. These curtains be on your own bead! I’m doing the best I can." There was suddenly the suspicion of moisture in her eyes, and I ran to comfort her. “I—l so want to make Twin Fires lovely,” she added, pricking her finger. “Oh, tell me I can. if I am only a highbrow!” Of course the finger had to be kissed, and she had to be kissed, and the hem had to be inspected and praised, and now, long, long afterward, I smile to think how alike wq all of ns are on a honeymoon. It was the next morning that we resolved to begin the pool. “I don’t expect to be married again for several years.” said I, “and so I’m going to take a holiday this week. We’ll carry the vegetables to market and bring back the cement, and begin on our water garden.” Mike loaded the wagon with peas, the last of the rhubarb, and ten quarts of currants picked by Peter, and off we started. " ~ “What is this horse’s name?” asked Stella, taking the reins to learn to drive. “He has none, I guess. Mike calls him ’Glddup.”* “No, it’s Dobbin. He looks Just like a Dobbin. He has a kind of conventional. discouraged tail, like a Dobbin. Glddup, Dobbin!” The horse started to trot “There, you see, it is his name!” she laughed. On Bentford Main street we passed several motors and a trap drawn by a prancing span, and all the occupants stared at us, or rather at Stella, who was beaming from her humble seat on the farm wagon more like an eighteenth century shepherdess than a New England farmer’s wife. We added over three dollars more in the account book with the market, and read with delight the grand total of $40.80 already in two weeks. “Next year,” said I, “I’ll double it!” Then I spent the SB, and some more, for Portland cement

We got Into our Oldest clothes when we reached home, I put on lubber boots, and we tackled the pool. Even with tbe brook as low as it was, the engineering feat was not easy for our unskillful hands. Peter soon Joined ns. and lent at least unlimited enthusiasm. “Peter.” said I. “you never worked this hard splitting kindlings.” Peter grinned. “Ho, I like to make dams,” he said. The first thing we did was to divert the brook by digging a new channel aboVe the spot where we were to build the dam, and letting the water flow around to the left, close to one of tho flower beds. Then, when the old channel had dried out a little, I spaded a trench across it and two feet into the banks on each side, and with Peter helping, filled the trench nearly as full of the largest, flattest stones we could find, which we all then tramped upon to firm down. Then, a foot apart, we stood two hoards on edge across the space, to make a mold for the concrete above the stones. I sent Peter with a wheelbarrow to pick np a load of small pebbles In the road, of the most Irregular shape he could find, and I myself dug deeper in the hole where I had got the sand when we built the bird bath, and brought loads of it to the brookside. We dumped sand, .pebbles and cement into a bix box. one pall of cement to one pail of pebbles and three of sand, and Peter and Stella fought for the hoe to mix them, while I poured in the water from a watering pot, for I had read and seen the reason for the fact that the success of the cement depends upon every particle being thoroughly mixed. As fast as we bad a box full of mixture prepared, we dumped it into the mold between the boards. It took an astonishing quantity of cement—quite all we had, in sact —and to finish off the top smooth and level I had to get the quarter bag left from my orchard work and th< bird bath. It was evening when we had it done, and Peter, who had deserted us soon after dinner to play ball, returned to beg us to take the boards away, and grew quite unreasonable when we refused. That night there was a shower, and the brook rose a trifle. When we hastened down through the orchard after breakfast the new channel had curved itself still farther, as streams do when once they get started off the straight line, and had washed tbe southeast flower bed half away. Stella, with a cry of grief, ran down the brook

Into the pines, and came back with sadly bedraggled Phlox Drummond! plants in her hands, their trailing root* washed white, their blooms broken. “Horrid brook,” she said. “Let’s put it right back into its proper place. I don’t like it any more.” “A sudden change of habit is always dangerous.” said I. “Put tbe plants in the mud somewhere till we can set ’em In again.” We now took away the boards from the new dam, which had begun to harden nicely. The next thing to do was to stake out the pool above It. As the dam was ten feet below the line between the proposed bench and the front door of the house, the other end of the pool was marked off 20 feet upstream, and between the two extremes we dug out the soil Into an oval basin. This was easily accomplished by chopping out the turf with a grub hoe and then hitching Dobbin to the drag scraper. The soil was a black, loamy sand, which came up easily and was hauled over and dumped for dressing on the site of our little lawn beyond the pool. When we had the basin excavated to a depth of about a foot, all three of us (for Peter was once more on the Job) scattered to find stones to hold the banks. ' New England farms are traditionally stony—till you want stones. We ended by taking some here and there from the stone walls after we had scoured the pasture behind the barn for half a barrowload. When once the circumference of the pool had been ringed Mth stones, stood upon edge, we raked the bottom smooth, sprinkled clean sand upon it, and were ready to let the water against the dam as soon as the concrete hardened. We gave It one more day, and then shoveled away the temporary dam, filled up the new channel where It turned out of tbe old, and stood beside the dam whils the current with a first muddy rush, whirled against It, eddied back, ttf began very slowly to rise.

(TO BE CONTIMVBOJ

How Alike We All of Us Are on a Honeymoon.