Evening Republican, Volume 23, Number 205, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 August 1920 — POTAIRO [ARTICLE]

POTAIRO

By SADIE STULL.

(©, 1920, by McClu.e Newspaper Syndicate.) “Jane Emma Lane, what be you doin’ In thet rubbish heap?” Jane Emma straightened up so suddenly she almost dropped her precious “find.” r “You threw Potairo away!” she accused with quivering lips. “Land o’ love! Wasn’t it time? Th’ old heathen has disfigger’d th’ parlor mantel since yer Gran’father Jared’s last voyage!” “That’s why I loved him —why I believe in him!” “Stuff an’ nonsense!” Aunt Jane’s angular form disappeared from the porch. A moment later her tart voice reminded from the kitchen “Them peas ain’t shelled yet an’ It’s nigh 10 o’clock I” Jane Emma gave Potalro’s ugly bronze visage a final rub with the corner of her apron. Then, with a quaint little obeisance she placed the ancient idol atop the gate-post. The Incongruity of it made her laugh alpud. From the temples of Iris and Osiris to presiding oracle of Aunt Jane’s prim New England garden was Indeed a far cry!

As she surveyed the effect from the porch steps Jane Emma laughed again —this time more softly. The spell the strange talisman bad cast over her since early childhood seemed more potent than usual this bright June morning. As though touched by a flower magician’s wand Aunt Jane’s prize hollyhocks became queenly iris bordering the sluggish Nile. The rattle of the peas in the brightly scoured pan seemed the echo of tinkling cymbals, while'bbove the weird strains of Egyptian music sounded a voice of beloved memory—- “ Superstition and Jared Lane never sailed the same course till th’ day a parcel o’ slick-tongued natives spun their ’good luck’ yam about Potairo. Though one o’ the lesser gods they vowed he wus a mighty powerful one —pertick’ly In affairs o’ th’ heart.” A chuckle invariably punctuated the old salt’s narrative at this juncture. “Ye see, there was a mighty important question I wus goin’ ter ask a certain lass when we reached th’ home port—so I up and shipped the queer little cuss —at their own price.”

A big black touring car had stopped directly in front of the gate. Its occupant, a handsome womqn just past middle age, beckoned to Jane Emma. In her haste to respond the latter nearly upset the pan of peas. “Sly dear, how came you by this ancient Idol?” The voice was the sweetest and saddest Jane Emma had ever heard. It impressed her even more deeply than the stranger’s somber dress. It inspired her to tell Potalro’s story as she had never told it before. When she had finished there was a reminiscent light In her listener’s eyes that banished years from their painshadowed depths. “My dear, I was reared ’mid just such surroundings. That’s why your idol Instantly caught my eye. 11l my girlhood home was a very similar one which my dear sailor father Brought from a far Eastern port. Despite scoffing relatives I regarded it in the same romantic light as you (Jo, Potairo—” The lady smiled as she concluded softly: “My faith was richly rewarded —as I now pray yobrs may be! Ah, is there someone already?” The telltale color deepened in Jane Emma’s cheeks. Ere she was aware, she had confided to this kindly stranger, her heart’s most guarded secret; homely lit#e romance of which Neighbor Peter Wayne was the hero. “He is twenty-six you say?” The misty blue eyes rested on the mourning band on the chauffeur’s arm. “Just the age of my own dear boy!” When the evening shadows bro.ught respite from household duties, Jane stole away to her favorite garden retreat —to live again the scene of the morning.

Came the sound of a familiar step and*Neighbor Peter stood before her. With the old teasing laugh he shook the flower-laden boughs above heij head. Before she could brush the Hinging petals from her hair he caught her dose in his arms. “It’s come, girl—the turn o’ fortune's tide! I’ve found a buyer for that shore property or rather”—his merry’' voice growing serious—“she found me. It’s the dear lady you gave the flowers to. She’S to build a bungalow —where she says her heart has always been —near the sea. Further, she says to watch our growing happiness will give her a new interest in life.”

“We’ll have a wedding the old town will long remember, eh, lass o’ mine? What’s that—l must properly thank Potairo? Sure, I will! No lover of old Egypt ever paid him more willing homage!” ■ They taken but a few steps when Jane Emma uttered a cry of dismay. The gatepost loomed dark gnd unadorned. The little bronze god had vanished! . • Followed a tense moment. Then Atmt Jane’s voice rasped out of the “If you be lookin’ fer th’ old heathen you’ll find him back on the parlor mantel." , Jane Emma laughed* softly at the new tone of apology: “Mebbe I wux a b(t hasty In throwing him erWay—considerin’ what’s happened r -