Avon Fantasy Reader No. 13 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

. - ah! I had it! My roommate at college two years before had lived in a town called Oak Grove. I darted into the depot. “Does a Miss Mary Allison live here?” I inquired of the station-master. “Mary Deane Allison?” oe I wondered at the peculiar unfathomable look the old man gave me, and at his long silence before he answered my question. “Yes’m,” he said slowly, with an odd hesitancy that was very noticeable. “You her kin?” “No,” I smiled. “I went to college with her. I . . . I thought perhaps she might put me up for the night. I’ve . . . well, I was idiot enough to let my train go off and leave me. Do you... is she fixed to put up an unex- pected guest, do you know?” “Well”—again that odd hesitancy—‘we’ve a fair to middlin’ hotel here,” he evaded. “Maybe you’d rather stay there.” I frowned. Perhaps my old friend had incurred the disapproval of Oak Grove by indiscreet behavior—it seems a very easy thing to do in rural towns. I looked at him coldly. “Perhaps you can direct me to her house,” I said stiffly. He did so, still with that strange reluctance. q I made my way to the big white house at the far-end of town, where I 4 was told Mary Allison lived. Vague memories flitted through my mind of 3 my chum as I had seen her last, a vivacious cheerful girl whose home and _ family life meant more to her than college. I recalled hazy pictures she had given me of her house, of her parents and a brother whose picture had been : on our dresser at school. I found myself hurrying forward with eagerness to see her again and meet that doting family of hers. I found my way at last to the place, a beautiful old Colonial mansion with tall pillars. The grounds were overgrown with shrubbery and weeds, and the enormous white oaks completely screened the great house from the street, giving it an appearance of hiding from the world. The place was sadly in need of repairs and a gardener’s care, but it must have been magnificent at one time. : I mounted the steps and rapped with the heavy brass knocker. At my third knock the massive door swung open a little way, and my college friend stood in the aperture, staring at me without a word. I held out my hand, smiling delightedly, and she took it in a slow incredulous grasp. She was ' * unchanged, I noticed—except, perhaps, that her dancing bright-blue eyes } had taken on a vague dreamy look. There was an unnatural quiet about her manner, too, which was not noticeable until she spoke. She stood in the doorway, staring at me with those misty blue eyes for a long moment with- out speech; then she said slowly, with more amazement than I thought nat- ural, “Liz! Liz!” Her fingers tightened about my hand as though she were afraid I might suddenly vanish. “It’s ... it’s good to see you! Gosh! _ How .. . why did you come here?” with a queer embarrassment. “Well, to tell the truth, my train ran off and left me when I got off for a | breath of air,” I confessed sheepishly. “But I’m glad now that it did... remembered you lived here, so here I am!” She merely stared at me strangely, 5 99 a COMmiclhookxs.conn