Jane Journeys On

own the steps. "I didn't wake mother," she said in a whisper. She was in sober, every-day serge now, and pulling on her second-best cloak. She carried a small bag and was faintly pink with her

h Sarah's arm. "Sally, I've just been tell

e?" She stood still on the sidewalk, e

elf saying with entire convict

t light now, and Sarah brought her nearsighted gaze clo

ll quite sane and simple." (The astounding thing was that she had known it less than five minutes herself, and now it was a solid and settled fact to her. Happily, gloriously, she didn't have to choose,

, not even touching her arm at crossings, was si

ng to New York to write! Can't you write here in your own town, in your

dear, except a few papers for the Tu

and one of them paid for,-I think you've had a

ng man made a

realize the interrupti

ful about not letting you be disturbed! And anyhow-what about Harriet Beecher Stowe, writing

arah's and through Martin's and gave each of them a gay little squeeze. "Don't be so horrified, old dears. It isn't across the world, you know, and I'll be coming home for all h

anic when they had taken leave of a subdued Martin a

unt's door. "She's fallen asleep again without turni

of her blue flannelette nightgown. She was making a low comedy sound which would have distressed her beyond measure if she had heard i

r eyes narrowed intently. "My dear, what is it? You look-you look queer! Sort of-excited!" A quick, pink blush mounted over her face. "Jane! O

nderful idea, Aunt Lyddy!" She patted

? I sha'n't sleep a win

dear,-to New York. I want to see if I c

udden tears. "My dearest girl, aren't you happy in your home? I've tried,

it till morning and then talk it all over." She pulled up the gay quilt

child! Wh

d her into a hearty hug. "It's nothing to be frightened about. It's just thi

would miss her, empty as the house would be without her. Nannie Slade Hunter, though she disapproved, was too deeply engulfed in the real business of life to be much concerned over the vagaries of a just-about-to-be-engaged girl, and Martin Wetherby, coached, Jane knew, by the sapient father of the Teddy-bear, was presently able to translate her exodus into something very soothing to his own piece of mind. Jane could

ur Aunt Lydia-is taken from you, you'll have that adorable old house, jammed full of rosewood and mahogany and willow pattern ware!" Wrath rose and throve in her. "I've sometimes-I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's the truth-I've sometimes envied you your advantages, Jane,-going aw

nitent arms about her, and at the t

! I can't have you go away!

,-geography doesn't matter! It's just-going on, Sally! That's it,-I'm

riend sniffed. "

ike diaries, letters like stories, letters like books. Think of all the marvelous things I'll h

met on the boat!" She said it with hyphens-"The-man-you-met-on-the-boat!" She knew his name quite well, but she always spoke of him

him meet me and drive me opulently to Hetty Hills' sedate boarding-house. Aunt Lyddy is so rejoiced to have me there

"Poor old Marty! After a

oated grange of music teaching, always took a most militant part in other people's love affairs. In every lovers' quarrel in the village, in the rare divorces, she had stood fiercely, hot dabs of color on her chee

t last the weeper was drawing long and peaceful breaths she slipped out of bed and flung on her orange-colored kimono and knelt down before the open window, her shining hair, so darkly brown that it was almost

felt a little guilty, and a little foolish-leaping thus into the village spotlight, sallying forth into the wide world-and a little gay and thrilled. The morning was coming steadily up the sky; the

tore open the first letter

quite forgotten how very easy to look at he is! He apologized for the taxi which seemed most opulent to me, because his own speedster was in the shop, he having "broken a record and some vital organ the night before, and the mater was using the limousine and t

e taximeter! It makes me think of when we used to play Hide-and-Seek, "Twenty-five

of chocolates. Hardly a thrifty person, this man-I-met-on-the-boat, as you persist in calling him, Sally, but the last word in Reception Committees! Just as I had forgotten his charms, so he seemed to have mislaid the memory of mine, and we really made a very pleasant fuss over each other. Rodney had

nly a slight inclination to stutter, and a pompous-looking eraser with a little

d to something. She doesn't like me at all, though I've been virtuously nice to her. The man is a big, lean Irishman, named Michael Daragh. Don't you like the sound of that, Sally? It makes me think of those Yeats and Synge things I was reading up on just before I left home. He's like a person in a book,-very tall and very thin and yet he seems like a perfect tower of strength, some way. His hair is ash blond and his eyes are gray and look straight through you and for miles beyond you, and he has splashes of good color in his thi

s figure, but he nodded gravely and went on. "'Tis a true word. You can span the aching world with a clean and healing pen." (Isn't that delicious, Sally?) I tried to explain that I was just starting, that I was afraid I hadn't anything

me you stop by to see Aunt Lyddy (you're a lamb to do it so often!) run up and look at it. I loved it better than any other picture in Florence; you can't get the lovely old tones from the little brown copy, but everything else is there-Tobias, carrying his fish in the funny little strap and handle, utter trust on his lifted f

o every one, and I sent the Teddy-bear a bi

ote

a

sk her to send me that little Botticell