The Argosy — page 52: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

22 The Mystery of Allan Grale. pathos of Christmas and the fresh start of the New Year had alike gone by, and had not brought home Allan Grale. Neither had he been seen or heard of in London. Mrs. Grale pined and fretted in her furtive, helpless way ; but if she ever dropped a tear or said a word about Alny to her husband, he would not let her goon; while Mary Anne, who really saw no particular cause for anxiety, assured her mother that Alny would come back at his own time as flourishing as a green bay tree. Mr. Grale never voluntarily spoke of his son. Mrs. Grale thought he was indifferent; that is, that he had no fears; she did not read the deepening furrows on his brow, and the thickening white in his hair correctly. ‘‘ Men were different from women,” she argued. ‘‘If they were left alone, they could bury things out of their sight—in time.” She only wanted Alny. She could never have said, as his father did, even at the very first, “‘let him stay away.” She was not at all sure whether he was not conniving at his son’s absence—perhaps compel- ling him to prolong it. She had a mother’s hunger ; he had a father’s pride. Knowing nothing whatever of her husband’s communications with the station master at Corrabuin, Mrs. Grale often wondered why she had no further word from the man. She threw out one or two hints to Mary Anne, who carelessly said that perhaps Allan had claimed the box. So, at last, Mrs. Grale made up her mind to write to the north herself, and say nothing about it to anybody. But of writing anything like a business letter Mrs. Grale had almost a superstitious dread. Letter-writing at all was a great trial to her. She had done as little of it as possible, thereby letting old ties and friendships die out. It is difficult for people of cultivated minds and active habits to fully realise how trivial are the weights which drag . down uneducated women, such as Mrs. Grale; or how these poor women let their hearts break and their lives fall into ruin for want of some slight action which would be counted among the other's every day work. Mrs. Grale had ‘put off writing that note of inquiry from day to day, and from week to week, always hoping that the morrow would bring news to make it unnecessary. But she braced herself at last to do it. Remembering how promptly her first inquiries had been attended to, she was rather surprised when a whole week passed before any answer came from Corrabuin. And when it did arrive, it brought a bitterness of disappointment beyond anything she could have anticipated. It stated that the station master had died just before Christmas, and that his successor, the present official, could find no trace of any such box or telegram as she referred to. He thought they had probably been fetched away. They were certainly not in Corrabuin station now. As Mrs. Grale had gained her information secretly, so she had to adjust her ideas to it, in secret. It certainly did seem as though COMIC OOlKS.CO