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Updated: May 26, 2025
On the left lay straggling Littleburg with its four or five hundred houses, faintly twinkling, and beyond the meadows on the right, a fringe of woods started up as if it did not belong there, but had come to be seen, while above the woods swung, the big moon with Fran on the foot-bridge to shine for. Fran's hat dangled idly in her hand as she drew herself with backward movement upon the railing.
They almost babbled in their haste. When the other members of the investigating-team arrived, they had the look of men who walk on clouds. The military men were not happy. They were empty-handed. They could not even get statistical information from the children. They had no useful information. Fran's pocket instrument was cryptic, and held no promise as a weapon.
Abbott loved the laced shadows of the trees upon the bared head, he adored the green lap-robe protecting her feet. The buggy-top was down and the trees from either side strove each to be first, to darken Fran's black hair with shadow upon shade. "Are you tired of fishing, Fran?" "Yes, and of being fished."
"I want your higher nature to be developed. Take Miss Grace for your model I know you have noble impulses; grow up to be a noble woman try to be like her." He was sorry to strike these necessary blows, she seemed so pitifully defenseless as he watched the motionless figure at his feet. Fran's drooping head hid her face. Was she contrite, or mocking?
You won't go to church can you expect church people to like you? You make everybody talk by your indiscreet behavior then wonder that the town shuns your society, and complain because you feel lonesome!" Fran's eyes filled with tears. "If you believe in me if you try to like me that's all I ask. The whole town can talk, if I have you.
Gregory, the best man she had ever known, could be fond of Fran's father, was incomprehensible. Ever since Fran had come knocking at the door, Grace's exalted faith in Mr. Gregory had been perplexed by the foreboding that he was not altogether what she had imagined. Hamilton Gregory felt the change in her attitude. "That friend," he said quickly, "was not altogether to be censured.
No doubt that is why the young woman who finally opened the door after Fran had subjected it to a second and more prolonged visitation of her small fist looked at the stranger with surprise which was, in itself, reproof. Standing in the dim light that reached the porch from the hall, Fran's appearance was not above suspicion. She looked very dark, sharp-faced, and small.
It was a face one wanted to look at because well, Fran didn't know why. "She's no prettier than I," was Fran's decision, measuring from the natural standard the standard every woman hides in her own breast. The nose was too slight, but it seemed cut to Fran's liking.
They dwelt entirely apart from her employer's philanthropic enterprises, they did not sympathize with his religious activities, or even read his weekly magazine. Nobody understood him as she did. Fran's unconventionality had given to Mrs. Gregory's laugh a girlish note, but almost at once her face resumed its wonted gravity.
I hope to be reelected superintendent in Littleburg again next year, this is my first term there is so much time to study, in Littleburg. After next year, I'll try for something bigger; just keep working my way up and up " He had not meant to tell her about himself, but Fran's manner of lifting her head to look at him, as he finished each phrase, had beguiled him to the next.
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