THE OMAHA BEE: THURSDAY. JULY 20, 1922.
I
ft
Marriage of Barry Wicklow
Dy KUBY M. AYRES
Copyright. 1922.
itoailauM from )trrf
"Ye, it t; and you who lept
him; and you and llarl who picked
him up at tome tiieatrr without
knowing who he wan, rr what hit
name n, I should have thought,
Mary, that you'd ben taught bet
ter than that ly thi time, Vour
own nurnagc-"
Sli broke in tmiinluly. "We
don't Main to sprak about that. I
made a mi-t.ikr. I know, but it'
mrr and Hone with, and Harel isn't
married, or thinking of getting mar
ried "
)anirl krowled, ".hton remind
me of Jim Hriittry, anyway. He'a
tjc)t tint vim sioft way of looking
at a Kir I; that same toft tongue.
Hali! It make tut Kick. There are
plenty decent lad round Hcdmund
it he want a huihand, without
iMiikmnK aller grntlcinrn in posi
tion above her own. That young
Norman Wiiklmv ha asked her
more than onre, I know."
Mr, itentley flushed. "Oh, no!
She would Mitely have told me if
Iv had."
The farmer looked miperior. "No
girl tell her mother any more than
she thinks she wilt," he aid un
kindly. Hi Histcr's eyes filled with
tears; Hazel was all that was left
to her from the wreck of her pitiful
marriaite; and she could not bear
to think that perhaps she had not
got all the girl' confidence.
Joe Daniels kicked off his boots.
"It's bedtime," he said gruffly.
He went off upstairs, hut Hazel's
mother sat for a long time lost in
thought, the tears dropping fast on
the dainty work she was doing.
The tragedy of her own marriage
was a thing long since ended and
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Ink. : llll
111 ft "MrW llll
III I' till
forgotten, hut it wis in endleis dread
with her that tome day her own life's
ttory might find an echo in her
daughter'.
Young at Hazel was, the had al
ready had half the boys of Bed
mund at her heeli, and the had turn
ed up her noe at them all.
"A if I could marry any of them.
mother," the aid, with a faint disdain.
i hey re to rough. I don t want
to live on a farm all my life. If
ever I marry it must be a man in
a Kn,"l position a man who can
take me to live in London."
"She's beginning to talk like they
do in London." her uncle said once,
disgustedly. "I don't know where
she get her fine words and man
ners front."
Mrs. Fientley know; knew that
the refinement and charm with
which Hazel's father had captured
her .'() yrars ago had been inherited
hv his daughter. He had been a
fitklc ne'er-do-well; he had made
her more miserable during the three
years of their married, life than the
had ever believed it possible for a
woman to he; and yet down to the
day of his death she had loved him
and thought him the most attractive
man she had ever met.
Over and over again she could see
him in Hazel, some littler-trick of
speech, some expression in the eyes,
and back would come the old heart
ache. Her husband had been thrown from
a restive horse he was trying to
train, and had broken his back.
They had brought him home to her
on an improvised stretcher and laid
him down at her feet in the little
parlor where she had spent so many
lonely hours, and there he had died.
It had been impossible to move
him; impossible to do anything to
prolong his life.
She could see it all as plainly
as if it had been but yesterday,
though it was 17 long years ago.
He had looked- up at her as he
lay there with a little flash of his
old smile. i
"Scud for the gov'nor; he'll come
now," he said weakly; and he had
been right. The old man who had
refused to acknowledge her or his
son's marriage, came a few minutes
before that son died.
There had been no time for ex
planations, or even for forgiveness.
Jim just looked at his father and
pointed to Hazel a little curly-haired
mite of 2 years then, hiding shy
ly behind her mother's skirts.
"Don't be hard on the kid," he
said with a touch of anxiety in' his
weak voice. "She's all a Bentley, any
way." And a moment later he had died;
without a word to his wife, without
a look for the girl who had loved
"him so devotedly.
Her husband's people had offered
to take Hazel, but the offer had been
refused indignantly, and Mary Bent
ley had never seen any of them
since. It was then that Joe Daniels
stepped into the breach and brought
her back home to Cleave farm, and
she and Hazel had lived there ever
since.
And Hazel was more "all Bentley"
every day. Lately, too, she had asked
a great many questions about her
father's people.
"I don't know anything about
them," her mother told her. "They
never recognized me. I only saw
youj grandfather once in my life,
and then he did not speak half a doz
en words to me."
ttnf chp Irnw that in a nuiefr wav
Hazel had tried to find out some-5
thing about them. Once she, had
found her poring over some old
books of her father's an old Bible
with a list of names written on the
blank page in front.
She had looked up at her mother
with puzzled eyes. "If ,my father
was James Bentley," she said, "he
must have had all these brothers and
sisters. Where are they all? They
can't all be dead?" Sirs. Bentley
turned away from the eager question
ing witTi a little pang a her heart.
"I know nothing about them," she
said again quietly. "They did not
consider I was good 'enough for
them."
Hazel heard the hurt tone in her
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moiher't voice; the got up and kitt
ed her impulsively.
"Poor little mother! But then
thev didn't know you."
Mrs. Bentley lived through all
thee little incidents again as the tat
alone in the lamp-lit parlor and
thought over her brother'i words.
oe loved Hazel, the knew, and per
apt for that reason he was preju
diced against Norman Wicklow and
Mr. Ashton. teeing in both of them
possible tuitort for hit niecr
She rose presently, turned out the
lamp and "w ent upstairs. She passed
Hazel't door, and ttood for a mo
ment outside, but there was no sound
from within, and the went on to
her own room.
After all, age and grev hair can
not make a woman's heart old; and
tonight Mary Bentley felt herself to
be once again the girl who had crept
out of her father't house in the early
dawn of a spring morning to he mar
ried to Hazel's father; and she took
his portrait from the locket she al
ways wore round her neck and kiss
ed it before she Rot into bed and
cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER VIII.
"There's a letter for you. Mr. Ash
ton," Hazel said the following morn
ing, meeting Barry in the doorway.
It was quite early only just after
7, but Barry had developed an as
tonishing taste for early rising since
he came to Cleave farm. From his
window he had seen Hazel out in
the yard feeding the chickens, and
he had raced through his toilet and
come down in time to meet her at
the door.
"A letter for me!" he echoed
blankly. He could not think who
could have written to him; he had
given his address to nobody except
his uncle. It was something of a
relief, therefore, to :ee that it was
his uncle's writing.
"Dear Barry," Mr. Wicklow wrote,
"as I have not heard anything of you
I thought I had better write and ask
how you are progressing. Norman's
ankle still keeps him a prisoner, I
am glad to say, but he has written
several times to a certain ladjr. who
shall be nameless, and, needless to
say, the letters have not been posted.
I had a note from Mrs. Dudley this
morning asking very urgently for
your address. She rang up yesterday
when I was out. What am I to do?
Please let me have instructions,
Wishing you good luck. Your affec
tionate uncle JOHN WICKLOW."
Barry frowned. "You don't look
very pleased," Hazel said, smiling at
his teriout face "It it bad ne?"
Bairy tore the letter across and
acroks.
"I ha'e letters from people," he
taid, irritably. "I hate anturrinit
them. I came away for a holiday.
don't want to be bothered." Hi
brow cleared and he smiled. "I
shan't answer it anyway," he taid,
boyishlv.
"Is that the way you tteat all your
correspondents?" the asked.
"I hate letter writing," Barry
said again, evasively. He wondered
what the dickent Anne wanted his
addresa for. He had done with her.
It teemed ages and aget tiitre he had
danced obedient attendance at her
heels.
It was strange how a man could
change in a thort time; hit eyet
wandered to the girl beside him. For
the first time he saw that she, too.
had a letter, which the was folding
and refolding rather nervously in her
hand.
"Who has been writing to you?" he
asked, abruptly.
She looked up startled, flushing a
little. She put her hands behind her
back.
"Nobody very much," she said,
quickly. "I get very few letters, but
oh 1' the had dropped the letter.
Barry grabbed for it. He glanced
at the writing on the envelope as he
returned it to her. It was Norman's.
For a moment he did not speak.
There was a bitter feeling of jealousy
in his heart. So, in spite of his father,
Norman had managed to get one let
ter through?
"I suppose it's from that chap in
the photograph?" he said, shortly.
She did not answer.
The blood rose to Barry's face. "Is
it?" he insisted.
She looked up at him. "Really,
Mr. Ashton, I can't see what it's got
to do with you." She moved past
him into the house.
He stood where she had left him
till breakfast was ready. He was in
no mood for company. Hazel
glanced at his sullen face as he took
his seat at the table and a little smile
lit her eyes.
Joe Daniels had had his breakfast
earlier and gone out. Barry and the
two women were alone.
They were all rather silent. Mrs.
Bentley looked a little pale, as if she
had not slept very well.
"Any letters this morning, Hazel?"
she asked, presently.
"Yes, mother, Mr. Ashton had one,
and there was one for me from Mr.
Wicklow." She glanced at Barry as
she spoke.
Mrs. Bentley looked up. "From
Mr. Wicklow it it quite a long lime
since we heard from him. It there
anv newt?''
Barry' spoon tinkled agitatedly
againt hit cup for a tecond at he
waited for Hazel't reply.
"He tavt that he hat sprained hit
ankle," she taid, evenly, "but that if
it is better he hopei to be able to
come down tomorrow for the week
end." Barry raised startled eyet from hit
eggt and baron; hit face had flushed
crimson.
"Coming here, for the week-end,"
he stammered.
Hazel looked at him calmly. "So
he says if hit ankle it better.
"There wat a poignant tilence.
"Does Mr. Ashton know Norman?"
Mrs. Bentley aked in faint surprise.
Hazel ahook her head.
"You know he doesn't, mother."
"I thought it might be possible,"
the elder woman answered. She
looked at Barry. "Once or twice I
have thought that Mr. Ashton and
Mr. Wicklow were somehow alike;
only in expression, of course."
Hazel laughed. "Mother! They're
not a bit alike."
Rut Mrs. Bentley stuck to - her
point. "It's only an occasional ex
pression, of course." she admitted.
"But every now and then something
in Mr. Ashton's eyes"
She broke off apologetically.
"I am flattered," said Barry, dryly.
He had noticed that Mrs. Bentley
had alluded to his cousin as "Nor
man." They must be on very friend
ly terms for them to call him by his
Christian name, he thought, jealously.
As soon as breakfast was over he
went out for a long walk by himself.
He knew that Hazel came to the
door and looked after him as he
strode away down the garden, but
he did not turn his head. He was
smarting with jealousy. He believed
that she had deliberately tried to
hurt him by her frequent reference
to his cousin.
(Continued In The Be Tomorrow.)
Tree Bore Apples Last
Year, Cherries This Year
Clearfield, Ta., July 19. Horticul
turists are puzzled over the variety
of fruit produced by a tree on Wil
liam Bagley's farm, near the Osceola
Mills community.
Last year the tree is said to have,
borne three apples.
This year, according to Bagley,
the tree produced many cherries. .
Pagley purchased the tree five
years ago from a tree nursery, he
says, and it has never been grafted.
E
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On the
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About 400 pair
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Every Sale Final
In the
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About 250 pairs,
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Events for Thursday
200 o) Our Better
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Low-waist models of colored dotted Swiss com-'
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Choice of entire stock
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Sport Blouses
Striped percales and
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6 knives and 6 forks, set, $2.25.
. Burfeii-Nuh Silver Shop Main Floor.
Sheffield Silver
Roll Trays '
Beautiful oval tray, turned edge,
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Burfeu-Nath Silver Shop Main Floor.
The" Orpheus"
Light as a Feather
The very latest port
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Summer Blouses
Eadi 57C
Lovely voile blouses that excel even our
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Boorti Dawnetairs Star, '
3