Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 February 1917 — The Sand Pile [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Sand Pile

By KATHERINE HOWE

(Copyright, 1917, by W. G. Chapman.) When Jacob Ward failed, and short.* ly afterward passed on to a more pea.ceNul worldi not evqn being troubled with the final settlement of affairs, people wondered what was going to become of the widow and daughter. There were quite a good many to wonder, for the Wards had a town house and’S country home and consequently were pretty well provided with acquaintances. When two women who have been kept in fine clothes, automobiles, servants and other luxuries find themselves suddenly denied of these things, nine people out of ten generally ask: “What is to become of them?” They seldom detach the people from the things; but seem to regard the human entity as helpless, or a cipher without its belongings, when In fact Lt . sometimes happens the soul needs to be detached from “things” to become something more than a cipher. “Well,” said Mrs. Ward to her daughter one morning, after the settlement of affairs had made it plain that they had less than a thousand dollars in the world, “here’s a letter from Cousin Newell at last. He has asked us to come there.” “Come there?” echoed Brenda doubtfully. She had large gray eyes that grew very dark when she looked at you - intently?- and au adorable mouth that was now slightly parted in expectation of further enlightenment. “Yes. Don’t you understand —come and live with them,” said her mother. “Not for me,” answered Brenda with decision. Mrs. Ward looked up with intense surprise. She had felt greatly relieved at the offer, had thought it a solution of their problem, and had not dreamed her daughter would object. “Brenda!” she cried, “you don’t seem to comprehend that we're just about

penniless. Why the left won’t much more than provide y<Ju with winter clothes.” < 2 “f m not -going tohave any winter clothes,” calmly responded Brenda. “I have plenty." . “My child! Go through the season with those old-fashioned thiiigs!” “There isn’t likely to be any ‘season’ with no money to entertain, or keep our end up,” said Brenda. “Oh, but you mustn't drop out of society now —now at your age when—” “When I ought to be married,” finished Brenda grimly. “Well, you know there’s Blake Farrar —” “He has never been anything but a friend,” broke in the girl. But the mounting flush which she turned away to hide, would have told a less observant eye than her mother’s that something more than friendship had crept into her heart. “No," reiterated her_mother. “you mustn’t drop out. You ihuM be a|>ie to meet him, and—others.” “If he wants to find me he will. Besides I’m not going into Newell Grant’s house to be dependent on them. How would yqu stand it with Mrs. Newell, and I with the girls? As the poor relations? Mother we couldn’t put up with it.” “But there’s nothing else to do,” wailed Mrs. Ward. “Yes, there is. I’m going to see if I can’t earn our living.” “Darling, don’t bank on that. You don’t suppose you could teach?” “No, I don’t know anything well enough to ev'eu teach a dog to do tricks. As for being a stenographer, I wouldn't be one if I could. The woods are full of them, likewise the >Olll6B, mostly starving to death. I’ve got to think up what I can do. Heavens! Was there ever a more useless creature on the face of the earth than a society ; girlf’ “You’ll come to my way of thinking yet, dear,” - “Darting don’t bank on that," and Brenda kissed the perplexed’face and went out to think It over. I

| A few days after this Brenda had to 1 go out to Farborough to attend to some [business regarding the country place i which had passed into other hands. On her return her mother began to tell her of the evening dress she had been planning for her which really could' be managed under a hundred, and other interesting details of needed wardrobe, when Brenda broke in with: “Mother! you know that little house of ours up by Taylor’s?” “Yes, it's a wonder the creditors didn’t grab that,” exclaimed the elder woman bitterly. “But I suppose it 1 wasn’t worth the trouble. I wonder if we could rent it for a few dollars a month.” “No. but. I think, we could live in it.” “Live in it!” shrieked Mrs. Ward in genuine horror. “That' little old shack ! That laborer’s shanty! Are you crazy?” “Now listen, dearie,” Brenda. “I’ve been- looking it over, and less than a hundred dollars will make It real cozy. I’ve been to workmen and got the figures.” “What about that horrid sand pile we’d ha ve to took at aitvfay?*’ “Well. I’d rather look at a sand pile than the faces of relatives who are giving me my board and keep. Besides we own the sand, and I may do something with it.” “While We are residing in that palatial abode, how do you propose to provide ‘board and keep’?” asked Mrs. Ward with stinging sarcasm. “Oh, I’m going to open a little shop and sell papers, magazines, candies and all sorts of things to the school children. It’s so near the schoolhouse, you know.” When Mrs. Ward sufficiently recovered from a state of speechless stupefaction to be heard, she said: “You don't mean you’d have a shop ih the house?” “Of course,” responded Brenda cheerfully. "We would live back of it, and

over it.” It was no easy matter to reconcile the elder lady to the plan, but when Brenda was determined to try it alone, her mother consented, and in less than six weeks, the Wards were in their new home, and the shop opened. Brenda had discovered herself. She was executive and efficient. The little house was even attractive, and the business, though on a small scale, began to prosper. But there were days when Brenda •wondered why Blake Farrar never had found his way to the little house opposite the sand pile. Perhaps he was like the others, thinking of those in his own “set,” or money and position. If he were like that, she told Herself, she was glad she knew, though the knowledge was bitter in the gaining. One day from her shop window, behind the lollypops and papers* she noticed two men standing over by the sand plle ldbkrng atlt. and bccasidnany glancing toward the house. Finally one entered the shop and made known his errand. He wanted to know if she owned the sand pile and if so could he buy the sand, Brenda’s short business experience had sharpened her wits, and before committing herself she endeavored to find out what it was wanted for. Building material, the man said, and wanted to know her price. Brenda said she would have to think it over, whereupon he said he would send the boss to negotiate. The next day a car drove up and a ' young man stepped briskly into the i shop. “Brenda Ward !” he exclaimed. “Why no one seemed to know where you were!” “It wouldn’t have been’so very hard to find out,” she said quietly. “But I've been up in the northwest till about a month -ago and terribly busy ever since organizing. this.... company. We’re going to put up a plant near by—that is if we-can-buy that safid.” ~——

Brenda thought he could, though the price ho offered seemed out of all proportion to the value, but he insisted it was only reasonable. It seemed to require a good many visits to conclude the business, and then the visits went on. One day Farrar asked her to go with him in the car to look at a piece of ground he intended buying. “Oh, it is beautiful I” she exclaimed. “I want to build a home there,” he said, “but never unless it is for you.” _ The house is going up now.

“Live in It!" Shrieked Mrs. Ward in Genuine Horror.