The Ladies' Magazine.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2110, 8 February 1908, Page 4 (Supplement)

The Ladies' Magazine.

to come to me. None id them I over read about asked his lady it he were the first.”

■•Well, I'm glad you've never liked unv other boy,” he said contentedly. "You mu.'t always like me .Beth. I flashed a glance of promise at him from eyes that were grave with the distinction ot the moment. 1 would always he true. Never, never could L look at any othed. And if he should die, 1 should die, too, for life would not be worth the living it lie were gone from me. o Hrf fjwenr- 1 crhho eh va b liriuu Sixteen and in love! AYlmt, fairer thing can this world offer? The birds caroled to me alone as l went .tome from school. ‘I ho years ahead were filled with royal visions, because I was in love, and was beloved. Oh, I would study nigth and day, so that he migth not he ashamed of me when hat glorious time should dawn and lie should claim me for his own.

1 thought again of mother ; then of the neighbors who lived on both sides of us. Though they all smiled they did not scent to he living in a world of bliss. 1 pondered. AYh.v not? Did they not love their husbands? 1 drew a deep breath. Such sustained happiness a smarriage should make on stuile and smile and sing and—l whispered the words tenderly-—thank God because lie lias made Love. And so my days pasesil, each one with changing, but ever lovely dreams. Rob sometimes brought me flowers plucked from his mother’s garden, and all day 1 wore it at my throat. AVlieu its petals fell away f gazed deep down into it-s heart and knew its story. Then came the school picnic, the thought of which ha kept me awake for many hours. Mother packed my basket, and I rebelled at the cheese sandwiches. “Just a lew vanilla wafers, mother,” I protested. "1 know I shall be satisfied with the flowers and the sky.” "I remember the little smile on nether’s lips. ‘ Take them anyway,” die said. ‘'Harry may be liunry laer, ilt.hough I have packed a dozen sandwiches for lum.” So 1 took the distasteful basket and die sandwitclies. I slipped into the basket a little book of poems—bound in white and blue. Per* aajis Rob woilld like to hear a lew verses—verses that told ol immortal love. * * •* * * The day was fair and the woods lay spotted in green and gold. Rob mil 1 soon left our companions and wandered away. By a little brook and under a sighing tree he arrangd his coat so that I might sit lown. He sat oil the grass and 'assed'out on the water. Finally 1 spoke. “Rob,” I murmured, ”1 brought some verses. I think I should like to read them ;o you. There are cases like ours, ■on know.”

He fiixed his eyes on the basket 'Have you any good sandwiches ’ ho asked.

My heart sank like lead. He saw ny disappointment. “We’ll eat a few sandwiches,” he mid ; “then read.” I stifled my feelings, and handed him a sandwich, while- I bit into i wafer. I remembered that he ate three sandwiches, and then dipped ill co the brook for a drink of water. Then when he returned to me he seated himself comfortably, “ready for the poetry,”

I opened the little book lovingly. (I have it yet) “Here’s one,” I began, “about a lover who stole his mistress from beneath a stern father’s roof. He placed her on lus noble white steed and rode forth with her into the night.” I was pale and trembling with the excitement of it; tlie color always faded from my cheeks when I -rend tho story of the daring lover. '“Why did "ho steal her?” ho askad.

“Why?” I echoed in amazement. “Why, Rob, because her father would not let him have her. Here’s another telling of a girl who died brokenhearted because her lover was killed in the war.”

My voice, weighed with the travail of the story, sank into a whisp-

“Read that,” Rob said. And'"l read in tho mournful voice of sixteen the touching love story. Bin. the tears welled up and blurred the page, and 1 could not finish. Rob touched my arm gently, and bent his head till his eyes met my tearfilled ones'and compelled their gaze. Thep I knew what lie meant to do. I put out my hand, but he did not heed the tentative gesture. The green and gold of that perfect day blushed to coral-pink as I felt his lips on mine, the first such kiss that I had ever known. With a little cry I covered my face. Then suddenly a passionate, gratitude filled me. I lowered my hands and looked at him. “Does every girl feel so thankful when she is kissed?” “Thankful?” he repeated, greatly puzzled. “Yes. When you kissed mo I felt so thankful that 1 was alive, that God was good, that all the earth was green, that flowers smelled sweet and that the stars shone at- night. Yon understand, don’t you, Rob?

“I understand, Both,” lie answered soltly, after a pause. (Now I know that for him no meaning attached itself to my words.)

The ride homo! Oh, to be young again and dreaming of primrose days that reach to the horizon of the limitless! To believe that everything is good—-to know that God lias made tl>o world for you and for him. With a sacred feeling in my heart I bade him good-uiglit. The glow ...{' my love transcended him and made of him a god. Deep in an inner sanctuary 1 locked the rememberance of his kiss. We two alone knew and the secret was holy. I said mv prayers that night with a greater sense of uplifting that I had ever known. Next- morning I lay dreaming till the breakfast bell sounded. Then hurriedly I dressed, for father did not like us to bo late. When I reached the dining-room he had gone, liowearlier, train, than .usual._

THE SIX CHEAT MOMENTS IN A WOMAN’S LIFE.

Til K FIRST—S 1 XTKKN AM' IN 1.0 VIA; AY 11 AT FAIRER THING L AN THIS WORLD OFFER A

(Bv Emily Calvin Blake* in the "I,adies Home Journal.”

Once within the memory of my glowing yesterday 1 stood enthralled nt the light ami joy ol life. I looked Irom the window of my little white bedroom and saw that the flowers in Mothers rose garden nodded in a living fragancc of understanding. i wondered suddenly il 1 had changed Swiftly 1 went to the mirror anil .veered at the young face gazing bat'k * at me. No. there seemed no change even though this great tiling had come to me. Ihe same long-lash-ed looked out from beneath the auburn curls, the same red lips curved

in smiles. At the sound of the luncheon bell 1 wondered if Hob were eating his noonday meal. The warm color crept up into my checks. I could not imagine my knight sitting in prosaic attitude before a table. As I went down the broad staircase of my fnthe’s home ltob s words, with their faint accent of caress, chanted themselves in my happy mind:

“1 like you, little, girl. Do you like me?”

In pink conlusion I had nodded, unable to meet liis eyes, my lingers lying content within his hardened

palm. Mother smiled fondly at me as 1 slipped into my place at the table, and she asked no questions. Perhaps she remembered when sixteen summers claimed her lightly and Romance stirred her soul with its soft mu rmurings. But Big Brother grasped the situation with ruthless hands. He gaz* ed mischievously at mo for a moment, then blurted forth his cruel inquiry. "In love, Sis?” lie asked. Even now I can feel the warmth of the crisuion tide that surged over my face and neck at his question. I looked appealingly at mother, for I c-ould-aiet answer with the usual aptitude of a sister who all her life has possessed a big brother. I prayed fervently that my tormeuter would not mention Rob. ‘‘Harry, don’t tease Beth,” mother expostulated. "Oh, I know the signs,” the boy relentlessly pursued.” “I should think you ought to,” mother answered, her eyes meeting ihr roguishly. For mother never failed me; and at her words. Harry with damped ardor .was silent. Once more busy with my thoughts, I nibbled delicately at my cake. That I should shortly meet Rob again filled me with a trembling delight. I wondered if mother would let me wear my pretty blue lawn dress, hut I knew that it would be useless to ask, for while mother was kill'd, she never forgot; and 6lie had told me that the diess must be reserved for state occasions, such as Sunday wear and parties. * * * * * *

When I was starting for school 1 lcissed mother lightly. ' (Now the thought of that listelss kiss fills my eyes with tears). As .i left hei a vagrant thought stirred me. Should I tell her of this wonderful thing? But surely she would not understand a great romance! Mother, who met father in the hall and 'kissed him quietly; perhaps asked him if he were tired, and then told him that a good dinner awaited him. Oh, r,o, mother could never understand. Oh, if Bob were coming home to me! If he were coming home to me I should fly down the stairs —all athrill—glowing with this divine love. v I should hold out my hands as he neared'me —I closed my eyes—l should kiss him. There should be no mention of dinner. I decided that mother need not know for years and years. Then Rob should go to father, and, pleadingy artistically, should be granted the boon of my-hand. At the corner I met him. Mv heart beat faster as I saw his manly figure. His noble lips semed to me to express a determination to die for me if necessary, as I knew I could for him. For did I not love him? ‘’You’re on time,” were his first words to me, and I gazed back reproachfully at him. “Did you think J. might be late?” I inquired. ‘l’ve been here for five minutes,” ho confided, and I rejoiced. “Jean Allen just went by,” he continued; “she had on a pretty green dress.” Al my shyness suddenly left me; imepetously 1 put my baud on nis arm. “I was going to wear my blue lawn, but I thought mother wouldn’t like it. She worked on tho lace for three days!” “You look" nice in white,” lie answered. “And you like me don't you, Beth?”

I averted my face for a thousand needles pricked me in my embarrament. Rob was al concern. “Vhat- s tho matter?” lie asked. At his words my eyes brimmed with tears, and my lips quivered. . For a moment I could not speak, lor the cause of my confusion could not bo put into understandable words. “I—l wish you wouldn’t ask mo that out hero where it’s light,” finally I , protested. “It was lovely when you asked mo this morning in the cloak-room. It’s dusk iu there, you know, all silver-gray.” He smiled back at me, and I thought ho understood. •“Perhaps you’ll write a note and tell me?” he asked, “Perhaps,” I answered, “when 1 am used to it.” gr if v # And then we walked on together, was small and my head just reached and at times I looked up at him; I his shoulder. And he was the heart and soul of things—tho very imbodiment of everything good. When we reached the school-yard we parted. As I turned away ho called me back. He was .leaning over the picketed fence, and his eyes seaehed mine eagerly. “Say, Both,” he inquired,” have ypujiver liked any boy before?”

hut Harry did not look at me. He was cross, and when he spoke his voice was harsh and his eyes cold.

"You're a nice girl,” lie said, his cones expressing angry condemnation. "You go wandering alone with Bob Allison and rend poetry to him. Fill'll you let him kiss you. 1 tell •on l didn't leel very pleasant about it wlien lie told tlie boys. I licked aim, but that doesn’t prevent everyoody knowing that you did it. ’ I saw mother at the other end of the table fading away in the darkness that fell upon me. As if in a dream 1 saw her raise her hand and try and compel Harry’s silence. But iiis arraignment went on bitterly, recklessly. "He stood there and bragged about it, mother; laughed about it and jeered ; said he could do it any time.” Blindly, yet with wide-open, smarting eves, L saw him gulp ill impotent rage. "Doesn’t she know that she oughtn’t to let a hoy kiss her—hasn’t she been taught better than, that, mother?” N’ow 1 know that the unforgiving youth within him spoke sharply. Again mother held up a forbidding hand, and with a tender thought she came to mo and put her shielding arms about me. "Como upstairs, darling,’’ she whispered ; "come upstairs to mother’s room.” To mother’s room! The words slowly penetrated my dull consciousness ; to mother’s room where as a child I had lisped m.v tiny troubles, mil mother had never failed me. oSutio[ oi(} no .C[TuoH out poaiqd oqg md with her arms still about me slio knelt beside me. “Has not my little daughter learned,” she said, “that mother always understands ?” ****** Something within me snapped, and the stormy sobs tore at my throat. Mother held me close till tho trembling eases had left me still again. One stinging thought lashed me: “He told, mother, lie told!” The words burned my lips. “It was so sacred, so beautiful, and lie told.” “He told Beth, and that was dastardly.” (I can hear mother’s gentle voice as if ’twero but yesterday she spoke!) “But we cannot play with love ever, ever.” “Play, mother, play Oh, you do not know. It was so real to me.” She stroked my hair as she answered with infinite wisdom. “Wholesome companionship is all that my little girl needs now. And she must keep her heart a shrine, her lips untouched, till the right olio collies.” “Wasn’t ho the right one, mother?” “No. dear. At sixteen a girl is simply in love with love. You were as happy away from this boy as when with him, weren’t you?” 1 thought of all the flowers and the woods and the rose-colored days; all had been touched by the same magnetism of my love; and I knew that mother was right.

“He represented an ideal, that is all, Beth, and you could make no distinction. You must wait for the real love. And, daughter, it is so much more beautiful than the"ideal; it was so full, so rich. One must grow toward it, not seize it with impetuous hands.” But suddenly the drowning, suffocating realisation of Rob’s perfidy filled me again. “Oh, mother,” I cried, “I can never go to school again after this. I can’t look at him again. I was ;o happy that ho kissed me that I told God so last night.”

Mother did not answer at once; she only held mo closer, murmuring loving, sothing words. And as the greatness of her undersanding reached me, so also did a quick-born knowledge of the depth of her love. “I can bear anything, mother,” I cried, “while I have you. You do understand, don’t you, even though you only think of breakfast and dinner, and not of love.”

Mother smiled, a tremnlouls, knowing little smile. She patted my hand, the while I saw her eyes rest tenderly on the picture of my father.