Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 174, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 August 1918 — THE LITTLE LADY [ARTICLE]

THE LITTLE LADY

By JACK LAWTON.

(Copyright. 1018, by Western Newspaper Union.) That Is what the people of Farmsdale called her, speculating as to her choice M their village as a place of habitation., With some, the words had an affectionate sound, but there were ‘others who omitted the “little” and spoke of her with sarcasm. The appropriateness of the title, however, could not be disputed. -“Little lady” was the new inmate of the old Parsons place. Farmsdale young people were accustomed to labor in homes and factory, theirs the problem of living. But the great old Parsons place was opened, muslin curtains showing behind gleaming windows. The tangled garden was coaxed into order, the town boy scouts spending tfielr spare time In the effort. Happily the little lady directed them and repaid their labors. “What’s she here for anyway?” they said, and “How is she going to spend her time?” But the little lady only hummed, her tunes, bending idly over the sundial. A young officer home from camp was tempted to turn in at the gateway to ask for a drink from the fountain; , the day was hot. “One does not realize in this peaceful setting,” he said, the suffering, the privation that others are enduring across the water. War seems very unreal and far away, yet it is there.” The eyes of the little lady were sympathetic. “Yes,” she agreed, but site stopped as she spoke, to train a rose about the sundial. The official frowned as he went on his way. She had been much, too much, In his thoughts, since they had poinfecTTher out to him, the beautiful stranger who had leased the old Parsons place. WJiy should he sit In judgment upon her. If she chose to remain carefree in times of seriousness and self-denial, what was that to him? A girl stood just outside the entrance looking into the garden; she was one of the girls from factory and her face looked wan and tired. “I was waitin’ for you,” she told the soldier; “I wanted to ask about Jim. When do you go over to France?” “That we cannot tell, Josie*” the officer replied. “But your brother is feeling fine. You are a brave girl to spare him for your country.” “The doctor thought I wouldn’t be strong enough to keep on at the factory through the summer,” the girl said, “but I reckon I wouldn’t try to hold Jim back ’cause of that.” She motioned wearily toward the white-clad figure by the fountain. “Pretty soft, to be like her!” said Josie.

And as the soldier went on down the path he paused to greet a pale woman in a wheel chair. Her tall husband propelled the chair and his tense face brightened eagerly at sight of the soldier’s uniform. “When are you going back to camp?” he asked, and when upon some pretense the wife had sent her husband away she raised patient eyes to the officer’s face. “It’s so hard for him not to be able to go,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for the accident to my hip he might have gone with the rest. I think Bert feels tied to this chair with a ball and chain. But If I am better, as the doctor promises, next year— ’’ “You are the kind, Nell I” the soldier exclaimed, and he pressed her hand. Yes, she yas “the kind.” Old Henry was glad to see him. He asked, as he made way on the porch stone, if Jed’s boat had got over safe; Jed hadn’t written yet. “And If ’twa’n*t for Mattle here,” he went on, beckoning an old neighbor from the next cottage, “her boy Ben would a-been In the fight too. Mattie’s lameness held Ben back.” “If I could only get along alone,” said the old woman regretfully. “But I can’t,” she added and sighed. Yes, there were those in this fair 1 country also who realized the necessity of sacrifice. As the officer strode on his way he thought about these familiar people of his boyhood, anxious in the time of need to do their best. Across his memory flashed a vision of the little lady, but he banished the picture with firm-pressed lips. There would be one more visit to the town before sailing; when he came again he would avoid the road which led past the great house, so he told himself ; but that was the very road which he chose. The grounds had been cultivated wonderfully he noticed, and In the background worked a man’s bent figure; “she" was not lingering near the fountain. The fast brought unaccountable disappointment But toward him, down a winding pathway came Josie—-Josie, brow*, radiant, wheeling an invalid chair and in the chair was Bert’s wife.

The color came and went in her face when she saw the soldier. “Come in,” she called, “and let us tell you about it” “The little lady has befriended us all,” she answered his questioning gaze. “It was what she had planned, she says, to make it possible, perhaps, for one or two men to serve their country who otherwise must have remained at home. Bert has gone and Mattle’s son too. Josie helps old Henry here with the vegetable garden, while I prepare things for Mattie to cook. Soon we will be a self-support-ing family.” ' n “Here comes our little lady now, whispered Josie, and the tenderness of her tone found answer Ip the light of the soldier’s welcoming eyes.