Sunny Slopes | Page 7

tell him honestly
that of the two evils I prefer the roaring.
"No, Carol, I am not counting on marriage in my scheme of life. Not
yet. Sometimes I think perhaps I do not believe in it. It doesn't work out
right. There is always something wrong somewhere. Look at Prudence
and Jerry,--devoted to each other as ever, but Jerry's business takes him
out among men and women, into the life of the city. And Prudence's
business keeps her at home with the children. He's out, and she's in, and
the only time they have to love each other is in the evening,--and then
Jerry has clubs and meetings, and Prudence is always sleepy. Look at
Fairy and Gene. He is always at the drug store, and Fairy has nothing
but parties and clubs and silly things like that to think about,--a big,
grand girl like Fairy. And she is always looking covetously at other
women's babies and visiting orphans' homes to see if she can find one
she wants to adopt, because she hasn't one of her own. Always that
sorrow behind the twinkle in her eyes! If she hadn't married, she
wouldn't want a baby. Take Larkie and Jim. Always Larkie was healthy
at home, strong, and full of life. But since little Violet came, Lark is

pale and weak, and has no strength at all. Aunt Grace is staying with
her now. Why, I can't look at dear old Larkie without half crying.
"Take even you, my precious Carol, perfectly happy, oh, of course, but
all your originality, your uniqueness, the very you-ness of you, will be
absorbed in a round of missionary meetings, and prayer-meetings, and
choir practises, and Sunday-school classes. The hard routine, my dear,
will take the sparkle from you, and give you a sweet, but un-Carol-like
precision and method. Oh, yes, you are happy, but thank you, dear, I
think I'll keep my Self and do my work, and--be an old maid.
"Mr. Orchard offers himself as an alternative to the roars every now
and then, and I expound this philosophy of mine in answer. He shouts
with laughter at it. He says it is so, so like a baby in business. He
reminds me of the time when gray hairs and crow's-feet will mar my
serenity, and when solitary old age will take the lightness from my step.
But I've never noticed that husbands have a way of banishing gray hairs
and crow's-feet and feeble knees, have you? Babies are nice, of course,
but I think I'll baby myself a little.
"I do get so homesick for the good old parsonage days, and all the
bunch, and-- Still, it is nice to be a baby in business, and think how
wonderful it will be when I graduate from my baby-hood, and have
brains enough to write books, big books, good books, for all the world
to read.
"Lovingly as always,
"Baby Con."
When Carol read that letter she cried, and rubbed her face against her
husband's shoulder,--regardless of the dollar powder on his black coat.
"A teeny bit for father," she explained, "for all his girls are gone. And a
little bit for Fairy, but she has Gene. And quite a lot for Larkie, but she
has Jim and Violet." And then, clasping her arm about his shoulders,
which, despite her teasing remonstrance, he allowed to droop a little,
she cried exultantly: "But not one bit for me, for I have you, and

Connie is a poor, poverty-stricken, wretched little waif, with nothing in
the world worth having, only she doesn't know it yet."
CHAPTER IV
A WOMAN IN THE CHURCH
And there was a woman in the church.
There always is,--one who stands apart, distinct, different,--in the
community but not with it, in the church but not of it.
The woman in David's church was of a languorous, sumptuous type,
built on generous proportions, with a mass of dark hair waving low on
her forehead, with dark, straight-gazing, deep-searching eyes, the kind
that impel and hold all truanting glances. She was slow in movement,
suggesting a beautiful and commendable laziness. In public she talked
very little, laughing never, but often smiling,--a curious smile that
curved one corner of her lip and drew down the tip of one eye. She had
been married, but no one knew anything about her husband. She was a
member of the church, attended with most scrupulous regularity,
assisted generously in a financial way, was on good terms with every
one, and had not one friend in the congregation. The women were
afraid of her. So were the men. But for different reasons.
Those who would ask questions of her, ran directly against the concrete
wall of the crooked smile, and turned away abashed, unsatisfied.
Carol was very shy