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' "Your guv’nor’s 3
make over just a lost dog..."
Mark had hated him for his lack of
sympathy. He knew he should never
have another dog, and he believed that
he would never again feel the same
friendship for Bishop. ,Iie registered a.
himself, or got Miss Midlan to invite him.
r some reason or other Miss Midian
liked Bishop, and Bishop
Mark often-wondered why. seeing that
his own hatred of her increased instead
of diminished. When e was at home
he hardly spoke a. word to her, and be-
cause of his painful remembrance of
that scene in the study when he had lain
on the floor and subbed, he strenuously
avoided his father also, tho once or twice
John Hellaby had tried to make friendly
overtures to his son. Marlrwas sure
that his father must think him unmanly.
‘so he spent lonely holidays (save for
Jerfrles and his wife). and was always
thankful when the term recommen
Mark hated study. but he did his best,
spurred on by the same fear of contempt
from his schoolfellows.
' oy named Trent. with whom he’
grew rather friendly, said to him once,
man. isn't he?"
"Yes.” said Mark, and remembered how
Bishop had once asked him the same
question. - . < -
' hy 0 you want to swot so hard
for, then?" Trent asked interestedly.
"I shouldn't, if my guv'nor was as ric
“TS.
Mark shook his head. -
"I on't now; I never thought about
it like that." he said. .
But he spoke to Jefrries on the sublect
next time he wen home. -
.“If you were m t would you be
when you grew up!" be asked.
Jerri-ies stared.
“What would I be, Master Mark? Why,
’ nothing!’ There don't seem to be no
need." , >
Mark considered the point.
"Aunt Midian says I shall be a waster,"
he volunteered after a. moment.
" u unt Midian, with all respects,
ought not never to say sich things, Mas-
ter Mark," said Jeffrles firmly.
"Why not?" he asked.
"ledrles. what is a waster?
real. Draper waster.
e considered for a moment.
scratching his head. V
"Well." he.sald at last. slowly,<‘“in
books and theater pieces it's always a
young xentleman what breaks his par-
ent's hearts and makes an unfortunate
marriage, in e manner of speaking.‘
Mark's handsome face tightened.
' e that sort of
“be-
one parent, and he
And as for
the other thing, I never mean to get
married! hate women " He gritted
his teeth and stared ahead of him. w
a face suddenly old. “Except
Mrs. Jeft‘ries," he said again. “I hate all
women! They're wicked she-devils."
Jeflries stared.
"Good God, Master Mark!" he eiacu-
laled hopelessly. . . . “You mustn't
say things like that! Indeed you mustn't!
hey‘re not all e lilies Mldian. you
know; there was your mother, for in-
stance--"
"And 'Annie Ellzabeth'," Mark struck
in. "I haven't forgotten what you told
me about her. you see," he said. with a
grin. as Jeflrles began to look rather
sheepish. '
and then‘:
I mean a
There was a short silence. during
which Mark stared at his feet.
"I should think my mother had that
way. too." he said abruptly. after a mo-
ment. - >
‘ Jeffrics took his pipe from his mouth,
and solemnly spat on the Bath. ‘
‘(What way, Master Mark?"
"The way of asking to be kissed, like
you said ‘Annie Elizabeth’ had," he ex-
plalned.
after a moment. "It's born
from the time they're little girls, as you
might say." ‘ '-
liiark felt the color rising to his face
and his thoughts flew back to the girl
Miriam. and the day at the garden gate
her. -
v in his heart he knew
. CHICAGO LEDGER ‘‘
at Osterway when she had asked him to
kiss her; asked, that is, in A way more
eloquent than mere words could have
done. He supposed that was the sort
of "way" which “An'nie Elisabeth" had
also possessed. . ‘ 1 ‘
“Kissing is all rot!“ he said impa-
tiently. - ,
Jeffries grinned; he thought Mark the
e had'ever met.
Mark."
something about 3. kiss-the
you ever kisses a girl. that is to say. that
you don't never forge
,. ou mean,“- Mark said,.not' raising
his eyes. "that you've never forgotten
’kissing Annie Elizabeth?" -
Jeffries cast a look behind him towards
his cottage door. .
"‘1n nner of speaking, and with
no disrespect to Mrs. J., that's what I do
mean," he said. 'jYou'll find it out for
yourself some day, Master Mark."
'Mark did not answer, perhaps because
that he had found
it out already; knew that no matter how
long he might live, Miriam and the un-
willing kiss he had given her could never
be wiped from his memor
He remembered how she had said that
some day they would meet again, and his
own violent answer. “I know we shan‘t."
and a little feeling of superstition passed
thru him; but it w
Mrs. Jeffrles came to the door of the
cottage behind them, and called out that .
tea was ready.
Iar.k rose with alacrity from the over-
W 1'
as ‘
‘W:
.
. ' 1
Still Got 1!, Then?” She Snld
n Laugh. “I Always Knew “‘e
Should Meet Again."
“"nII‘vc-
bV It
turned barrow upon which he had been
sitting. . ’
"Have you made the cakes?" he asked
eagerly: for hot cakes at that moment
were of far greater importance in his
life than kisses.
CHAPTER XI.
IT WAS during the following Christmas
holidays that Mark had his first
glimpse of real home life.
The boy Trent, with whom he had
grown rather friendly at school. got his
mother to write to Miss Midian. inviting
Mark to stay with them for a wee .
If’ Miss Mldian herself had not been
anxious to o away to spend a few days
with the widowed Mrs. Jope, she would
probably have refused the invitation for
her nephew, for Trents were not
wealthy, or anybody in particular. and
Mrs. Trent had written from No. 9 Dis-
raeli road, Streatham (without even the
dignity of A Drinted address on her p
per), and s e stated quite frankly that
they were simple and homely people, but
that if Mark cared to visit them, he
would be more than welcome.
so Mark went, and, fortunately for
m, was arrange a he should
travel to London alone. where he was to
be met by Trent Senior, for it is a sure
thing that had Miss lilidian seen No. 9
Disraeli road, her snobbishness would
have had the shock of its life. for the
Treats were gentlepeople who were con-
tent to sacrifice everything for the future
of their children (of whom there were
three), and they did not mind a. shabby
house. or shabby clothes for themselves.
as long ‘as their sons could receive a.
good education and a sufficient start in ‘
fe.
At first Mark stared in frank amaze-
t at the worn carpets and much-
mended He thought the room
allotted to himself the smallest and bar-
est he had ever seen nor could he believe
.-- 4
, .
his ‘eyes when Trent's mother herself
cooked the supper and brought it
able.
“Haven't you got any servants?" he
asked young Trent afterwards. and im-
mediately wished the words unspoken
when e saw how red and uncomfortable
his friend looked. - -
But if there'was not a staff of servants
as at Mark's, home, there were many
compensations. ‘ .. ' . .
For instance. Mr. Trent was entirely
the linest and most satisfactory thing in
fathers that Mark had ever dreamed of
i t moments. He was more
like a Jolly elder brother to his sons than
a. parent, and they all three adored him.
Mark was not long in following suit.
and the days that he spent in Disraeli
road were some o
own housework, after the lirst iour-and- a
twenty hours Mark privately considered
Mrs. Trent to be an ange .
He loved her voice, which was still
young and girlish. tho her hair was
turning gray; he loved her eyes. which
were soft and brown, and reminded him
a littl?of Slnner‘s (tho he supposed she
would not have been‘ flattered had he
told her so): he
and to him: in fact. he loved everything
about her, the he was far too shy to give
expression to his feelings.
It was not a very exciting holiday per-
haps. but Mark was perfectly happy, and
the days passed all too quickly. .
Perhaps the best time of all were the
evenings, when supper Was cleared sway
and chairs drawn up to the fire, and Mr.
Trent would say to his wife-
“Wan't you sing something, Alice
ear '
And lilrs. Trent would smile and de-
clare that she could t sing a note
really, and was ashamed to try; but al-
ways allowed herself to be persuaded in
t
C II . .
And often she sang a song which she
said was very old-fashioned, but which
Mark liked immensely, and the words of
which ran-
Oh. don‘t you remember sweet Alice. Ben
Sweet Alice. with hair so brown?
liow s=o.wrnt with delight when You save her
i with fur at your frown.
in the old churchyard In the valley, Hen unit,
In a. corner obscure and alon
They had fitted a sub of Rranlto so gray,
And sweet Alice lies under the alone.
A very pretty sons’. dear." Mr. Trent
always said. as if he had never heard
' 5
it in all his life before. and Mrs. Trent
would always answer:
"Oh. but it's such an old one! Why. I
remember my mother singing it!"
But Mark liked it; liked, too. to watch
Mrs. Trent's face in the light of the
candles from the piano sconces as she
sang. and he thought that the sweetness
of her eyes was wonderful
- He thought, too. that Jeftrios‘ "Annie
I-Elizabeth" must have had eyes like Mrs.
H
-1
m
Mrs. Trent and Mark had many little
talks together, and in her
ly way she graduallydrew from him the
disconnected story of his lonely life. of
his father, and of Miss Midlan, and last
of all-for now Mark seldom spoke of
the tragedy of his boyhoodeof the dog
5 nor. - .
And when the first week was ended,
she wrote and asked that Mark might be
allowed to stay for another week, and
as Miss Mldlan was in no hurry to see
he nephew again, she said yes, to
Mark‘s infinite Joy.
was evening when the letter of per-
mission came, and Mark was in the
kitchen looking on while Mrs. Trent
made a pudding for supper.
to sit on a. corner of t e
table and watc
s unspeakably thankful
presumption immediately afterwards. but
she only laughed and looked pleased.
“You don't want to go home. then?"
she said. "You're not tired of us yet,
Mark?”
And Mark said. "No Jolly fear."
rller brown eycs smiled at him across
the littered table.
' o glad that you and Jim are
friends." she said. "I hope you always
will e.
And Mark nodded.
“I hope you will come and see us again,
often." she said. '
And Mark answered that he would love
to, adding awkwardly that he should like
im to come to “my place" next holidays.
“Not that he'd care much about it after
hi. ' he said dispnragingly.
Mrs. Trent opened her eyes wide.
“But Jim tells me you're such a lovely
home, with a beautiful . garden, and
horses ‘and stables. . " '
, Mark agreed.
"0 . es. there are some horses, and
the garden's all right, but it's not a.
this I haven't any.
u see." he added.
lie was merely stating a fact, not ask-
ing for pity. but the brown mother-eyes
been in the saucepan, Jim’s mother do-
serted her task for an instant, in come
round‘the table and give Mark his kiss
BEE fl.
"Some day I hope there'll be a dear
woman who will love you nearly as well
mother would have done had
so well as your mother. Mark, but
day . . . there will
oman. . . ."
She broke off.
of the boy's eye
“You mean when I get married," he
said. "VVell, I shan‘t ever get married!
I hate women." 7
"Mark!"
"Well. so I do-all except you,“ he said
"And you're different. You're
not cruel. as most women are."
struck by the hardness
a.
spoken, there was the sound of a latch-
key in the front door, and a man's voice
calling.
Mrs. Trent hurriedly wiped the flour
from her hands and went to meet her
husband.
Mark stayed where he Was. He felt
vaguely Jealous as he heard the sound
of a kiss-of many kisses: and then,
"Well, Alice. dear!" in Mr. Trent's cheery
nice.
Why was it that there was somebody
for everybody in all the w
for himself. Mark wondered.
ays going to be the same?
cheery little kitchen
strewn table.
t he ate his share of the homely
pudding at supper without loss of apps.
me. and slept dreamlessly afterwards.
staring at the
’I'liE second week sped away on winged
feet. and on the last day of all Jim's
father took the whole family to the pan.
om me.
Mark had been to the pantomime be.
fore several times. with Bishop and M15;
lildian,
Mr. Trent had tried for better seats‘.
but the only ones available were heyond
his purse. as he very frankly admitted:
so they Went in the ' . ‘
They managed to secure seats in the
(Continued on Page 18.)