The Times News

Donna Gabriel and Madeline Siddal who call themselves "The Gabriel Sisters" are circus performers. Years earlier Madeline ran away from her grandfather's home.
When Donna is injured in a fall from the trapeze Madeline arranges for her to be taken to Grandfather Siddal's farm. To please her partner Donna pretends to be Madeline. She falls in love with Bill Siddal, Madeline's cousin, and though she is ashamed of deceiving Bill and Grandfather she is afraid to tell them the truth.
Meanwhile Madeline marries Con David, animal trainer with the circus. Although she is terrified of the lions and tigers he forces her to take part in the animal act.
Back on the farm Bill confesses his love to Donna.
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CHAPTER XVII
Donna moved away a step so that she could look into the young man's face. "Bill," she said, "if we don't marry—what will we do?"
"That's what I've been thinking about day and night," he answered gloomily. "Almost from the first I've been thinking about it. When you fell and were hurt I was even cad enough to hope you might be crippled so that I could take care of you always. Then every day you grew stronger and lovelier and it all became more hopeless—" He stared across the orchard, seeing none of the beauty of his surroundings.
"Are you a coward?" Donna asked tensely.
"What do you mean?"
"If I were a man who loved a woman and knew that she loved me I wouldn't worry about public opinion or anything else. I'd take her and hold her and let the rest of the world go hang."
He gave a sudden, boyish laugh and swept her into his arms again. "And that's what I'm going to do, dear. Just that! Maybe no one will even be surprised that we should marry. And if they do—"
"We shan't always be here. When Grandfather dies—" Her voice was lost under his kiss.
"We'll tell him now. Shall we?" he said after a few moments.
She nodded. Hand in hand they walked through the orchard and across the meadow, their feet sinking into deep, lush grass. Now and then Bill paused to kiss her or give her an ecstatic hug. Manlike, he had let her solve his problem and his spirits had risen with the decision.
But before they reached the house Donna's elation vanished. She had triumphed over Bill's scruples. She knew, though he didn't, that there was no real obstacle in the way of kinship to their marriage. But she knew also that there was another barrier far more real and sinister. Conscience bade her to tear it down, to share her secret with Bill and leave it to him to decide whether or not she was worthy to become his wife. Some day he would learn the truth. It was too much to expect that their lives could go on without the ugly secret being revealed. Out of the past would come some person, some memory to disclose the truth. And then what?
Mrs. Planter, standing on the back porch, saw the two approach. With a pair of field glasses she noted their hands entwined and her thin lips curled over her yellow teeth in an ugly snarl. She whirled about and went into the house.
"Amos! Amos Siddal!" she called.
"What is it, Mrs. Planter?"
"Amos, I'm no meddler and if you was up and could see for yourself I wouldn't say a word about what ain't my business. Nobody can say I ever interfere where I shouldn't, but when I see blood cousins misbehaving themselves in a way that only a couple that means to get married should, then I feel it my bounden duty to speak out!"
"It never occurred to me, Mrs. Planter," said the old man gently, "that even young couples who intend to be married should misbehave themselves. Suppose you tell me just what these blood cousins have been doing?"
"They're holdin' hands in the field—nothing else but! And kissin', too. I seen 'em with my own eyes and"
"And a spy glass?" he interrupted dryly.
"Well, lands sakes, when there's sich carryings-on a body has a right to use field glasses and anything else, I should think."
"So," said the old man smiling, "to hold hands is misbehavior. And a kiss—do you know, Mrs. Planter, there isn't anything in life quite so sweet as a first kiss between a boy and girl in love for the first time? I believe their souls sort of fly away from this earth when their lips touch. Poets have written a lot about love and musicians have sung some mighty pretty tunes about it, but I don't think there's ever anything been written on, sung that half expresses it."
"My land!" gasped the woman. "Do you mean to tell me you can sit there and rave about love and kisses when it's your Granddaughter and her cousin, Bill Siddal, I'm talkin' about? Cousins! Makin' love. Cousins!"
"What of it? Hand me my pipe, please. Love is love, Mrs. Planter, whether there's a strain of kin or not. Personally I'd wonder what was wrong with Bill if he didn't love Madeline, and if she couldn't see him for the fine up-standing lad he is she would not be all I'm thinking she is. I wouldn't worry about them too much, if I was you."
"I'm not worrying," the housekeeper sniffed. "I might have knowed she'd play up to him, though. And of course it's to his advantage to marry her. That'll keep everything in the family, so to speak."
"That will do." Amos Siddal said with unusual sharpness.
Mrs. Planter clamped her lips together. Then, with a sniff and toss of her head, she left the room. "Tain't natural," she muttered. "It just ain't natural that he shouldn't care if they marry. He's getting childish. Mebbe he thinks if Madeline marries Bill she won't hanker to go back to the circus, or mebbe there's somethin' else. There's something funny about it all—the way she's changed and everything."
But Mrs. Planter's bewilderment over Amos Siddal's attitude did not prevent her from stealing into the hallway to eavesdrop on the scene that took place when the young couple came in to announce their news.
Donna's face was rather tense and colorless, but Bill's cheeks were crimson as, still hand in hand, they entered the living room. "That you, Madeline and Bill?" Grandfather asked.
"Yes," Bill answered. "We've something we want to tell you."
"Have you? Not bad news, I hope."
"It isn't to us. It's—it's wonderful, but you—" Bill stammered hopelessly.
The old man chuckled. He held out his hands and boy and girl stepped forward. "I think I know what you're trying to say. Seems like I can see the light in your eyes and feel that sort of choke in your throat. It's been a long time since I felt that a-way myself but I reckon if you were ever in love and bashful and happy and sad at the same time you never forget it." He put their hands together and patted them lovingly.
"You know!" Bill gasped.
"If I hadn't already guessed it Mrs. Planter would have seen to telling me. So you love each other?"
"Yes," Donna said. The single word carried more feeling than long phrases could have done.
"And I suppose you've been worrying and wondering what I'd think about it. Wondering and worrying whether you had a right to get married. Maybe 20 years ago I'd have said, 'Better say goodby and let time heal the hurt,' but I don't feel that a-way now. Real love isn't so common that we've got a right to crush it. And I'm figuring the love you two children have for each other is the real thing."
"It is." Bill said solemnly. "I knew the first minute I looked at Madeline that she was the one for me and that I'd never care for any one else as long as I lived. I've fought tooth and nail against my love, but it wasn't any use."
"I know, Sonny. I know," murmured Grandfather Siddal. "Maybe it's as well you did a little fighting. Sort of proved to yourself that Maddie was the girl you should marry. I knew you were going through some sort of a battle, but I couldn't say anything till you came to me to talk it over."
"I never dreamed you'd take it like this," Bill stammered huskily. "It makes me feel all kinds of a fool. If Madeline hadn't"
Grandfather interrupted with another chuckle. "Since time began, boy, it's been the women who've shown us men the way. I calculate very few men ever did their own proposing, even if they think they did."
"You old rascal!" Donna laughed happily. "If the truth must come out, Bill hasn't proposed to me yet, but then neither have I proposed to him."
"Want me to go down on my knees and ask you to marry me? I'll do it if you think it's necessary."
Seriously Bill went on, "It means a lot to me, Grandpop, that you feel there's no barrier between Madeline and me. I'm not kidding myself that there won't be talk. The thing that bothered me most was whether you'd feel the way some others are sure to, that it's against nature for cousins to marry."
"Some cousins, yes," mused Grandfather Siddal. "Where they've been brought up together and sort of drifted into what they think is love, when it's nothing more than propinquity—that's the word? Such marriages are sure to be a fizzle. But you and Madeline—pshaw. I knew how the wind lay long before you two did. I'll wager a cookie! Not but what I'm grateful and happy to see Maddie contented to stay on here and willing to give up the circus, but I'd have to be blind two ways, both my eyes and my inner vision, not to realize it wasn't the farm and it wasn't me that was the attraction. And you, Bill—shucks, you carried your heart like a bugler carries his horn, and you tooted on it every time you come near the child."
"I reckon," said Bill happily, "you've had a grand time watching us suffer."
"It's been kind of interesting, but—" Amos Siddal lowered his voice, "the best part of the show was Mrs. Planter. That woman's speculations would make a donkey laugh. Won't she have the time of her life spreading the news? Here's a little advice for you two. If you've got to misbehave yourself—that's her words for it—such as spooning and all that, don't do it where that woman can see you."
"Huh!" sniffed the housekeeper from her vantage spot behind the living room door.
(To be continued)
WHAT DID THEY SAY, FRECKLES 2