xvow i>lie knew Bill William* a« sn«
% had wanted to know *htm bei'ore —the
barriers of pride and mystery were swept
Sway. ’ 4
The sun was dropping behind the green
hills across the valley as Lois drew her
car to a standstill beside the station plat
form.
The fragrant, freshened breeze of
Spring, blowing over the miles ol or
chards, whipped the little golden curls
around her beret as she let its fragrance
caress her face and waited in the sunset
light.
The minutes dragged, leadenly. until
she heard the whistle of the train around
the curve His train.
OHE felt her heart beat faster and
caught her breath as the wheels of
the train came to a stop in front of her
and she watched the passengers dis
mount.
Yes. There he was! She saw Bill cross
the station platform with long, sure
strides. How straight he held his head I
How direct and sure was his glance!
She pressed the horn of her car and
at its imperative “Honk! Honk!” Bill
looked up.
“Taxi, Mister!” She called as he
reached the machine.
“Lois! What are you doing here?”
She smiled into his grave, dark eyes.
“I came up on business. But I’m stay
ing for pleasure.”
“What business?"
“Business at Rising Sun Ranch, Bill,
dear . and why didn’t you tell me be
fore?”
“Tell you what?”
“About your darling family.”
"I didn’t want you to know ”
"Oh, my dear, my dear.” Tears and
laughter mingled in Lois’ voice and she
slipped her hand intr his. “You should
be so proud, so very proud, to think you
have such parents as yours. They chose
you, remember. And they are so proud
of you!”
“I’m not ashamed of them,” Bill fired
up, immediately. “It's myself— I didn’t
want to tell you that I spent the first ten
years of my life in an orphanage.”
“It makes no difference where you
spent the first ten years,” she was all
laughter, now, the tears were quite van
quished. “It’s the next ten years that I
care about. Bill please take the wheel ”
OOBBIE BURNS barked frantically
with delight as the car drove into
the yard at Rising Run Ranch and threw
himself upon Bill with unbridled caresses.
“Look, Bill, 100k —the flowers are more
brilliant than they were this morning,”
Lois exclaimed as they walked up the
path. “Such a lovely dooryard.”
“By the way ” Bill suddenly re
membered to ask and stopped at the
door, “what was your business?”
“The last transaction of my studio,
my dear,” she smiled. “I’m giving up
business life. A think you’re much more
important than any antique furniture.”
And together they entered the warmth
and welcome of the ranchhouse.
was the photograph, a large one.
framed and hanging on the wall.
It looked like — it couldn’t be— out it
was.
In all the world there couldn’t be two
such proud, sensitive mouths. Such Arm.
strong chins. Such earnest, deep brown
eyes. Such darkly waving hair rising
from such thoughtful foreheads.
Lois looked at the picture in amaze
ment, then roused herself enough to ask:
“Did you say this was your son?”
“Just like our own son, dearie. We
took him from an orphanage. It’s a long,
sad story. God never gave us any son
but this. We took him into our home
when he was JO years old— old enough,
you see, my dear, to feel sensitive that he
wasn’t our own son. I’ve always wished
that we could have had him from baby
hood —then he’d have never known any
parents except us. Not that we feel any
different than we would if he was our
own son. How do you like him, dearie?”
Lois was staring a 1 ; the portrait, fas
cinated.
“I think he’s the grandest person I
ever saw!" exclaimed Lois with perfect
truth —and threw her arms around Mrs.
Ashley again. “But his name?”
“Father and I felt ’twas right he
should keep his own name, Williams.
But he’s very sensitive about not being
born our son. Though we’ve made it up
to him,” wistfully.
ii~T SHOULD say you have,” Lois kissed
-*• Mrs. Ashley once more for luck, and
added a kiss to the top of Father’s sur
prised head.
“You’re a pair of darlings."
“And le* me tell you,” Mrs. Ashley's
face lighted up, “he’s coming. He tele
phoned just after you left. He’ll be here
pretty soon. I’m glad you changed your
mind about the furniture. And we'd like
to have you stay and meet our boy.”
“I’d love to meet him ” Lois’ face
twinkled in a sudden smile “When will
he be here?”
“He’s coming in on the 5 o’clock train.”
“How does he come from the station
to the ranch?” An idea was taking form
in the girl’s mind.
“We send the hired man in to meet
him ”
Lois slipped a confiding arm around
Mrs. /vshley’s shoulders.
"Please, dear Mrs. Ashley, could I meet
him for you?”
Mrs. Ashley looked surprised. “We
wouldn’t think of putting you to so much
trouble, my dear.”
“I’d like to—please.”
And. of course, Mrs. Ashley gave In.
It was good to have time, on the drive
to the station, to think things over.
To realize, now, what she should have
realized before. Te understand the
fiercely possessive pride of Bill Williams’
nature. The pride that made it impera
tive for him to show that he was not
financially dependent upon the girl he
married.
Mrs. Ashley’s simple recital of Bill's
boyhood explained everything— that pas-
hlll. „
rriHE rain was over. Across the valley
the sun was breaking through, glint-*
ing pale yellow ove* the tops of the bare
fruit trees etching their reddish trunks
and branches against the dark chocolate
color of the loam.
It was a fine day’s work. A substantial
profit for the trip —for Miss Perkins had
ordered exactly such pieces for her new
pld house.
By all rules of business the girl should
have felt elated as she turned from Ris
ing Sun Road again onto the main high
wav and started for the city.
A good profit. A pleased client. What
more could any business woman want?
But something was wrong. . It kept
getting more and more wrong as the
miles clicked by on her speedometer.
In desperation, because she Just
couldn’t help thinking of brown-eyed
Bill Williams, the girl turned her
thoughts toward Rising Sun Ranch
house.
There would be new furnishings in the
dear, quaint old house. Pieces chosen,
and chosen badly, by Mrs. Ashley’s un
skilled, mistaken judgment.
“It’s a shame! And I won’t have ariy
part in it!” Lois found herself talking to
herself. The bill of sale burned in her
pocket.
Reversing her car, she turned around
in the middle of the highway and re
traced her road. Back to the turnoff at
Rising Sun Road. Back up the hillside
roadway.
“Well, bless your heart. Did you for
get something?” Mrs. Ashley spoke in
amazement as she opened the door. Her
voice was cheery, but her eyes were red,
Lois noticed.
“No Mrs. Ashley, I remembered some
thing." Lois threw her arms impulsively
around the older woman’s neck. “You
must take back your furniture, I can’t
buy it!”
“You can’t buy it?"
“I won’t buy it. Don’t ever sell it,” the
girl’s words came tumbling over one an
other in her vehemence. “They are
beautiful things. They belong here.
They’re part of this darling old house.
They’re part of you!"
“But our boy’s girl "
“If your son has a girl who's ashamed
of this lovely old house and the things
in it,” sputtered Lois, “the sooner he gets
rid of her the better for everybody. If
he's the right kind of a boy he wouldn’t
want a girl like that ”
“I’ll show you what kind of a boy he
is,” Mrs. Ashley beamed, “step right up
stairs, my dear, to Father’s sitting room.
. The picture is on the wall.”
T3ELAXED in the grandfather’s chair
before the fire ir the dim upper
room, comfortably dozing. Father looked
up, startled at the sound of their en
trance.
“It’s our younr lady come back. I for
got to show her our boy’s picture.”
Mother switched on the light.
and I, andwe rtecldPd that no girl would
i refuse our boy. Nobody would! We
figured out areas« must Ije
ashamed to bring her home. Os course,
he’s fond of us. Always was. But you
know how some girls are. Society and
all.”
Lois waited.
‘‘He didn’t say he was ashamed,” the
older woman continued. ‘‘But we knew
there was some reason he didn’t bring
her here. So we made up our mind.”
“You mean you made up our mind.
Mother,” was the gentle interruption.
‘‘l figured it out that if the girl was
rich maybe our boy was sort of ashamed *
to have her see our plain, old-fashioned
things. Well, the fruit trees have been
doing well, the last few years. So 1
turned the matter over and I decided.
If our boy’s ashamed of these old things
we’ll just sell them —no matter how much
it costs, and get new ones. All new. Red
leather and shining chairs. Then he
can feel free to bring anybody home.
Rich or poor.”
“But nobody could help loving these
old pieces,” Lois began.
rpHEN checked herself, suddenly. After
-*■ all, a dealer buying .antiques must
repress enthusiasms. Buy cheap. Sell
dear. That was business.
“Now you come with me, my dear.”
Mrs. Ashley rose. “I’ll show you all the
things and you can tell me what they’re
worth. First, Aunt Henrietta’s bedroom
set. It came to my mother from her
great-aunt.”
“But nothing in the upstairs sitting
room,” reminded Father, reaching for
his pipe. “Recollect ”
“I’ll remember." She called from the
hall door. “We won’t even set foot in
the upstairs sitting room. “You see,"
starting to climb the stairs, “Father
keeps his own desk and the grandfather
clock and his pet chairs. Some things
of my mother’s too. We’re going to keep
that room just as it is. So even if the
girl is high-toned she won’t see them.”
Marble-topped, carved in heavy
clusters of grapes, Aunt Henrietta’s bed
room set was massive and imposing. Per
fect period pieces, Lois gloated as she
gazed about the room.
“Are you sure you want to sell this
furniture?” Lois paused, fountain pen
in hand above her checkbook, the bill
of sale completed before her on the old
secretary.
“To tell you the truth ” the blue
eyes looked squarely into the girl’s own.
“I don’t. But if this old-fashioned house
is standing in the way of our boy —then
we’ll have this whole house filled with
that shiny metal furniture I’ve seen in
the city —red leather and all."
“You might get more for it from some
body else ” Lois was determined to
be fair.
“Mebbe so. But I wrote to you first
and you came out and I’m not selling to
make a profit, anyhow. Father and J
have plenty to live on. I’m selling be
cause I think these things might make
paired old gentleman.
' “Father, this is the young lady abou#
the furniture. You'll have to raise your
voice a little, my. dear. He’s a teeny bit
hard of hearing.”
With a courtly gesture, Father offered
Lois a chair and she slipped into its
depths.
“Now you sit right here and visit with
Father,” Mrs. Ashley bustled hospitably
about, pulling up a rosewood table — it
was delicately inlaid with mother-of
pearl, Lois noticed— “and we’ll have a
bite to eat before we talk business. ‘Noth
ing good is done on an empty stomach,’
as my dear mother used to say.”
Father looked Lois over quizzically.
His keen old eyes twinkled.
“Bo you’re looking for furniture? Going
to housekeeping?”
The girl shook her head. “Furniture
is my business."
“What dr you want with old furniture?
Mother’s things must be pretty much out
of date.”
“Some people like old things best.”
Lois lifted her voice?
“So they do. So they do.” Father
nodded approvingly. “A few of ’em.
When Mother got this bee in her bonnet
about selling off all the old things and
buying all new ones, I said to her, ‘All
right, Mother, anything you say. Just
as long as you don’t go turning in an old
husband for a new one.’ ” He chuckled
and Lois joined in.
Lunch arrived —and it was a good one.
Father gazed admiringly at Mother as
she chattered on and on. Before the
meal was over Lois knew much about the
furniture —but more about its gentle, un
worldly owners.
“It isn’t that I don’t like the old
things." Mrs. Ashley poured tea from
the old Spode teapot. “I’ve lived with
them all my life. My father built this
house for my mother when she came
here a bride. These things came round
the Horn. Some folks’ things get bat
tered and scarred moving hither and
yon. But not one of these pieces has
ever been moved out of this house from
the day they were hauled up the hill.”
“Better tell the young lady how it
comes you want to sell,” suggested Mr
Ashley, poking the fire. “She might
think we were hard up and had to.”
“I’m getting around to that, Father.
You see.” turning again to the visitor,
“we’re comfortable here. Father and I.
I know our things are old-fashioned, for
we’re old-fashioned folk. It suits us. I
don’t know how much the things are
worth in money, bur lately we’ve been
worried about our boy.” she paused a mo
ment.
“Not that he’s not a good boy,” Father
put in, catching Mother’s words.
"Oh. no! He’s a good boy. Been to
college. Lives in the city. Has a good
start in business, too. Did it all him
self. We’re mighty proud of our boy.”
“Proud as punch!” from Father.
“You see, for about a year —maybe
more —he’s been keeping company with
a girl in the city. A rich girl she is.
ol ah empty-headed, yellow-haired girl.
Os -courseL Bill was proud. Too sensi
tive, sometimes, feelings easily hurt.
l —even
for a girl who loved him — to be told the t
she must give up her business to prove
that he could make enough money to
aupport them both. Her pride was hurt.
Os course Bill was proud. That was.
what had attracted her to him at first.
The fine, erect poise of his head. The
keen, Intelligent glance of his dark eyes.
But wasn't there such a thing as being
too proud? she asked herself.
Only tho beating of the rain on her
ear and the rhytnmical movement of the
windshield wiper before her eyes an
swered her question.
Os course, he was too sensitive, Lois
told herself, Just as she had been telling
herself all the wakeful hours of last
night.
Why should any man, even proud Bill
Williams, tell a girl she must give up her
business, a business she liked and en
joyed, Just so he could support her? Just
to prove that he could support them both
—her pride was hurt. Surely she had as
much right to be proud as he had!
T) ISING SUN RANCH on a rustic sign
board told Lois where to turn again
as the side road started to climb the hill
side. i
She followed the ascending road —but
her thoughts ran on the same tiresome
trail as before . . nothing left now, after
that last bitter, stinging quarrel, but to
make the antique shop Justify a career.
Nothing left but to devote herself
wholeheartedly to the Pioneer Studio and
to forget sensitive, proud Bill Williams.
She’d put him out of her thoughts com
pletely, the girl assured herself. And
continued to think of nothing else.
The climbing road came to a sudden
end, now, and Lois brought her dripping
car to a standstill. •
Rising Sun Ranch on a rustic sign
board told Lois where to turn again, as
the side road climbed sharply to the top
of the hill.
Perched upon its very crest, overlook
ing the orchards of the green California
valley, now drenched and dripping, stood
the ranch house, spotless white except
for its shutters of bright green, held fast
in the embrace of lilac bushes, the purple
of the swelling buds awaiting one more
touch of sunshine, to burst through the
green of the stalks.
A white collie came splashing through
the rain at the sound of Lois’ machine,
yelping eagerly to announce her arrival.
“Don’t be afraid of Bobbie Burns!”
• brisk, bright voice called from the open
door. “He’s really glad to see you. That’s
Just his way. My, my, what a rainy ride
you’ve had. Come right in.”
Kindly blue eyes shone behind their
spectacles. A plump, cordial hand ex
tended welcome. “You're from the an
tique shop, I presume. I thought Pioneer
Studio would be a man. And such a
young lady, too. I expect you’re shilled
to the bone. Come to the fire.”
“I’m Pioneer Studio,” Lois smiled as