Argosy: The Short Story Magazine — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

— 36 H. E. BATES ‘“ How old is she? ” Mortimer said. ‘“‘ Eighteen,” her mother said. ‘“‘ Eighteen and in her nineteen. She’ll be nineteen next birthday, won’t you, Elsie? ” “Yes,” Elsie said. The girl settled into the house and moved about it with un- obtrusive quietness. As she stood at the kitchen sink, staring down across the farmyard, the greening hedgerows of hawthorn, and the rising fields of corn, she let her big-knuckled fingers wander dreamily over the wet surface of the dishes as if she were a blind person trying to trace a pattern. Her brown eyes travelled over the fields as if she were searching for something she had lost there. Something about this lost and dreamy attitude gradually began to puzzle Mrs. Mortimer. She saw in the staring brown eyes an expression that reminded her of the glazed eyes of a calf. “You won’t get lonely up here, will you?” she said. “I don’t want you to get lonely.” “No,” the girl said. ‘You tell me if you get anyways lonely, won’t you? ” E ves.: ‘“T want you to feel happy here,” Mrs. Mortimer said. “I want you to feel as if you was one of our own.” As the summer went on, the presence of the girl seemed occasionally to comfort Mrs. Mortimer. Sometimes she was a little more content; she did not despise herself so much. During daytime, at least she could look out on new fields, over new distances, and almost persuade herself that what she saw was a different sky. : But at night, in darkness, the gnaw of self-reproaches remained. She could not prevent the old cry from breaking out: ‘“‘ Don’t come near me. Not yet. Soon perhaps—but not yet. Not until I feel better about things. I will one day, but not yet.” Once or twice she even cried, “ You could get someone else. | wouldn't mind. I honestly wouldn’t mind It’s hard for you. I know it is. I wouldn’t mind.”’ ’ Sometimes Mortimer, distracted too, got up and walked about the yard in summer darkness, smoking hard, staring at the summer stars. All summer, 1n the afternoons, after she had worked in the house all morning, the girl helped about the yard and the fields. By July, the corn was level as a mat of thick blue-green pile between hedgerows of wild rose and blackberry flower. In the garden in front of the house, bushes of currant were bright with berries that glistened like scarlet pearls from under old lace curtains, comiclbooks.com