A CHANGE
OF HEART
By MAUD S. PEASLEE
(Copyright, by Joseph B. Bowles.)
I was the only one who objected to
Sylvie's marriage. Everyone else in
the village thought she did so well.
Sylvie was my sister and several
years »vy junior. We were a large
family once, but now only she and I
were left, and we clung more closely
than ever together.
She was so pretty and lovable, I
could not bear to have her out of my
sight.
When I was young, and had had
some claims to beauty myself, Walter
Whitcomb had thought me fair. For
one bright summer, love may have
made me so. Then came misunder
standings, fault-finding, with bitter re
criminations—and. a parting that
wrenched my heart-strings, though my
lipB smiled.
Sylvie met Dick Ormond the summer
she was 18. I can remember now how
the faint pink flush used to come and
go in her cheeks; but then I thought
little of her admiring glances. I had
been used to seeing Sylvie made much
over; I almost worshiped her my
self.
They became great friends, but I do
not think he courted her at that time.
He went away in the fall to be gone
, two years. He was to finish his edu
cation at a famous college, and then
he was coming back to practice with
his uncle. Lawyer Benson. I didn't
like the old gentleman, and I remem
ber I told Sylvie that I hated lawyers.
She looked quite grieved, for you see
that was Dick’s profession.
I do not think I was sad in those
days; l'in afraid 1 was cross. I know
1 was morbid and heavy-hearted with
an uneasy sense of coming loss. I
% must have known even then how it
would end; but I was loth to acknowl
edge even to myself that Sylvie could
ever love another better than me.
When Dick came home in the spring
he asked her if she loved him well
enough to marry him in the fall, and
help him make a home. The dear
child! how happy she was, and, thank
Gqd, is yet!
I could not refuse my consent; I had
no reasonable grounds, but I looked
with strong disapproval on every
thing. Yet I remember how I worked
and planned that Sylvie's outfit might
be dainty and complete. She timidly
proposed that I should live with tiem
in the cottage on the hill, and assured
me Dick was willing.
nm i am noi: 1 answerea grinuy,
and 1 made our old sewing machine
fairly rattle as th*3 yards of dainty
ruffling fell crowding into my lap.
They had not been married long
when Lawyer Benson died of heart
disease. As Dick was his heir, they
left the cottage, and moved into the
big house with its fine library and
handsome furniture. Dick was very
busy, for all his uncle's practice fell
into his hands; and I must say he gave
great satisfaction.
Dick had bought the cottage with
money his uncle had given him for a
wedding present, and it was nicely
furnished. They wanted me to go and
live there when I still refused to go to
them. They asked me to let my care
of the house settle all question of rent
between us, but 1 was paying rent on
the house where Sylvie and 1 had
lived, and so I insisted on paying them
the same if I made the change.
Sylvie used often to come up and sit
with me, because I would rarely go to
the big house to see her. Besides she
loved the memories the house held for
her.
By-and-by it grew to be too much
for Sylvie to climb the hill, and she
did not go out often in the carriage.
Still 1 did not go down to see her un
less they sent for me.
One day the buggy came for me in
great haste, and I went, although I
grumbled all the way.
When they put Sylvie’s little daugh
ter in my arms, I kissed her because
I Just couldn't help it; but I didn't
make any fuss over her, and I won
dered audibly if there was any need of
my hanging around there any longer.
Dick’s face was very grave, and he
asked me to stay a few days, if I
could. I only sniffed and made him no
reply. I didn't offer to do anything at
all that next day; Indeed there was no
need.
That night, though, Sylvie gr|w
worse, and when I Vent U> her I found
she was In danger of her life, just
through the carelessness of her nurse.
Well, I just swept her, and all the
rest out of the room, and fell on my
knees by the bed and prayed God to
forgive me.
1 think He did, for 1 pulled her
through. Even the doctor, and he
didn't like me very much either, said
I saved her.
For ten days and nights I stood over
her with only brief intervals of rest.
Afterwards nothing was said of my
going home, and 1 was glad, for I did
not want to go. My pride all left me
the night I thought Sylvie would die,
and I knew I had neglected her
through my stubbornness. Now I
wanted to be near some one I loved.
I was glad they named the baby
alter me; it made me feel I had a lit
tle share in her, too.
The baby was a sweet little crea
ture, and I softened toward Dick
when I saw the tender look the very
sight of his wife and child brought to
his face; so it was not long till I for
got I had ever disliked him.
I We led a quiet, happy life, seeing
little company and caring for none.
The little Margaret grew and thrived.
Uefure a year had passed, 1 felt »b
much a part of the family that I would
have felt it a great hardship to leave
them. Dick and I were very friendly;
we both loved the same creatures, you
see.
Little Margaret was nearly two
years old when my twenty-ninth birth
day came. You thought I was older
j than that? Well, no wonder, I felt so
! very much older in the days of which
j I have told you. But that spring I
; felt so happy it made me young again.
It was one day when Sylvie was at
the piano, and I, leaning back in my
chair, listened to the soft, dreamy mu
sic that always fell from her fingers
when she played.
I After a time Dick came up the
steps with letters for us all. Among
mine was one in a handwriting that
even then could make my pulse beat
faster. Walter was alive and had not
forgotten me after all.
I tore it open and read without pref
ace or heading of any kind, these
lines:
“You will doubtless be surprised,
Margaret, to hear from me after this
lapse of years—eight I think in reality
■—but SO to me in the agony I have
suffered. I left you resolved to forget
you, but you must have known that
could not be. Sickness, trouble and
pride kept me from writing to you.
“You would find me faulty still,
dear, but all these years I have strug
gled to overcome my temper and to
moderate my passions, so that I think
if life held haappiness in store for me,
it would not be marred by one head
strong act.
“But that may not be: my own life
is practically over. I am a wealthy
man, but a hopeless cripple, and there
I Pulled Her Through.
•s yet danger of losing the sight of my
right eye. It is the result of an acci*
dent in a mill of which I am owner.
I am in a hospital now, and the doc
tors say I would do well enough If I
could only take an interest in what
life still holds for me. How can I?
The only hope of my life is gone, for
how can I claim you, now that I am
j
maimed and nearly slglitiess? l am
i not morbid, dear—I am despairing.
“I have made my will, and have left
I you everything. It would have been
so anyway, Margaret, and it Is but a
; trifle compared to the years I have
| spoiled for you.
“I have heard that Sylvie is happily
married. How glad I should be to see
you all. If she could have a sick man
and his nurse in her house, 1 think I
could come by-and-by. I must not
write any more—my eyes are paining
me. May I hope to hear from you?
Give me a little of your friendship,
dear, although 1 may not have your
love.”
Then followed an address, and his
well-known signature. I read the clos
ing lines over again and then handed
the letter to Sylvie without a word.
When she had finished, her tender
eyes were full of tears.
“Of oeurse he may come,” she said.
“I was always fond of him for his own
sake as well as yours. You will write
at once, will you not?”
Two days later we had a telegram
from Dick, asking that the closed car
riage be sent to the station.
We were on the porch with the little
Margaret when the carriage was
driven up the graveled road. Then I
heard Dick's cheery voice—God bless
him!
Here s your invalid. He was not
morbid, not he! With only one arm
gone, and a left one at that, and eyes
that will soon be as good as new, If
he only takes care of them. I didn’t
bring his nurse girls, for here’s Mar
garet with nothing else to do, now you
are well, Sylvie.”
They were up the steps by this
time, and I could see how little help
Walter needed. I tried in vain to
speak and smile, and then I felt a
strong right arm close about me, and
I looked up into a face all alight with
hope and love.
Dick had taken Sylvie in through
the low French window, and I could
hear him telling her:
’’You should have seen him brighten
up when I told him what I had come
for. and that she was waiting for him.
The doctor said, all he needed was
something to live and work for. I have
had to keep telling him all the way,
that it would be his own fault if their
lives were spoiled. I guess he sees it
now, but it was hard work, I can tell
you.”
As we listened, Walter smiled down
at me.
• It was all through him, love,” h«
taid. . j___•. .._
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CLOSING OUT
We have decided to leave Newark in a children’s
have a nice, new stock of Men s, o Coats
Clothing, Suits, Pants and a nice line o ^ ^ c|agses
and Overcoats; also’a complete stock o . : :
of trade; a nice, new stock of Hats, an , in
A Complete Stock of
General Merchandise, Which
WE MUST CLOSE OUT!
These goods must be turned into cash within the next sixt,\ da.\s, as we
not want to have any of these goods moved. Come in and see us, and if price
is any inducement to you, we can certainly do business with you. M e are
offering some great bargain in Men’s Overcoats and Pants. Come in and look
over our stock.
We thank the many good people of Newark and surrounding country who
have given us their trade for the past six years, and while we have man.\ good
friends and customers whom we hate to leave, yet, under the circumstances, we
feel that it is to our best interest to do as we are doing.
Again thanking you, we are Your Friends,
GRIFFITH & MORROW
All parties who are indebted to us by note or account will please come in
and settle, as we want to wind up our business at once.
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How
Cuts
NERVt &oYlE
Sores, Burns
Rheumatism £5<£
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ADAMS BROS.
CottoQ ar)d Corn Buyers
And Dealers in General Merchandise.
To the Farmers*--We want vour produce, and will pay
you the highest market price in cash or trade.
Newark,.Arkansas
Commercial Printing of All Kinds Neatly
I and Promptly Done at The Journal Office
j DELIGHTFUL ENTERTAINMENT
l A musicale was given at the home of
Mayor and Mrs. R. R. Ratton Friday
night which was greatly enjoyed hy a
large number of their friends.
The following progam was rendered:
Duet, “Happy Birds,” by Misses
Kate Maxfield and Addie McHenry.
Solo, “The Serenade,” by Miss
Winnie Bearing.
Piano Solo, “Sweet Violets," Miss
Ruby Poe.
Duet, “Rough Riders,” Mrs. A. M.
Edgar and Miss Kate Maxfield.
Solo, “How Sweet the Moonlight
Sleeps,” Miss Anise Barnes.
Duet, “Sunshine Polka,” Misses
Kate Maxfield and Hazel Edwards.
Solo, “Alpine Song,” Miss Hazel
Edwards.
Solo, “Bold Caprice,” Mrs. A. M.
Edgar.
Duet, “Over Hill and Dale,” Misses
Kate Maxfield and Anise Barnes.
Solo, “Little Boy Blue,” Miss
Kathryn Martin.
Duet, Military, Mrs. A. M. Edgar
and Miss Kate Maxfield.
Solo, “Joyous Farmer,” Miss Van
Pascoe.
Duet, “Come Join the Dance,” Mrs.
T. J. Raney and Miss Kate Maxfield.
Solo, “Juvenile Waltz” Miss Van
Pascoe.
Duet, Misses Kate Maxfield and Bea
Ratton.
Solo, “Happy Plowman,” Miss
Addie McHenry.
Walter Elrod, 18 years old, of Si
loam Springs, accidently shot himself
with a pistol Tuesday. The ball pass
ed through his left hand and entered
his body directly over the heart.
W. N. LEWIS
— Solicitor For —
Monuments,
Headstones,
land Tablets.
Phone No. 41; 3 rings —
Newark, . . Arkansas
M. IKA H. ERWIN
specialist
Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat
Rooms 8 and 9
Wishon Buildg
Newport,
| Long Distance
I Phone No 74-4*
Arkansas
J QUALLS’
boot and shoe shop
Repair work of all kinds
NeatJy a*id Promtly Doit*
There’s a Way
2>rottfemPSe,m<lil order ““a’8 COt>
Th methods in this community
— it’a*t»iis pUbliclty for y°ur businesi
column. way h« uiei. On
wil^e your business th<
yotReed.
publicity;