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Evans, Mildred (ed.) / Wisconsin literary magazine
Volume XVIII, Number 2 (November 1918)

Dunmer [sic], Frances
When she's your own sister,   pp. 48-iii

Page 48

(Conrtinued from page 46)
Mary: "I hate you! I hate you! May ye die
in yer old hole and never nobody come to ye. I hope
ye do die, and I'm never comin' again, never, never!"
(She flies out of the door and runs toward the gate.
He meanwhile is stunned by what he has done. His
battered cane falls to the ground, and he sinks on his
knees, overcome).
Peter: (In a high-pitched wavering voice) "Mary,
come back! Come back, I tell ye. I'm only an old
man. I can't see no more, Mary. I can't see, and
it's makin' me crazy. Come here-if I could only
see ye. Mary, be ye there? Will ye forgive me?"
(Mary stops, turns around and comes slowly toward
him. She stands looking at the sorrowful, lonely old
figure kneeling before her. Pity comes to her; and
she raises him up from his knees; and throws her arms
about his neck).
Mary: "I forgive ye. I love ye, old Peter. I'll
keep on coming to ye of a Tuesday."
Peter: "Will ye come every Tuesday, just the
Mary: "Honest, I will."
Peter: (He is smiling, and tears of gratitude stream
down his face.   Suddenly his expression changes)
"But Mary, mind, next time ye don't put the saw to
the left corner. I tell ye it belongs to the right!"
When She's Your Own Sister
H     OLY  SMOKE, Jin!     You're not going out
H     like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like that! What made you doll up that way,
anyhow? Or is it only a joke?"
"I don't see what is the matter with my clothes."
"You don't! Why your skirt is almost to your
knees. Your shoes are ridiculous; you couldn't walk
two miles in them. Your waist shows everything you
have on under it. Your hat is way over one eye, and
I'll bet you've got rouge on."
"I still don't see what's the matter with my clothes,
Ted. They are just as good as anyone else's." The
girl turned away from her brother and started down
the porch steps. "It's none of your business what I
wear. Of course I'm going."
"Not, if I can help it, at least like that."
He watched her until she was half way across the
lawn to the garage, then:
"Are you going?"
"Certainly," she answered, without turning her head.
At that he jumped off the porch and took after her.
She too started to run. The white kid pumps pinched
her feet at every step; so she kicked them off without
stopping, and sprinted toward the lake. The broad-
brimmed hat flopped in her face, so she swung up her
closed fist and knocked it off. The light silk sport skirt
flew up above her knees, but she paid no attention to
it. Head back and arms bent, stocking footed, she
raced over the springy turf and kept the distance be-
tween them nearly even. On the hill sloping down to
the shore, the boy gained on her. Finally he caught up
to her, grabbed her by the shoulder, and tried to swing
her round. The jerk was too sudden -and both fell
sprawling on the grass.
"Its your own fault for running," he muttered, and
began to pant. She was breathing hard and fast, but
she sat up and looked out unconcernedly over the wa-
ter. She did not seem angry although the despised
waist was torn and grass-stained and her hair was un-
coiling down her back.
"Well, come on and explain yourself. What was
your idea in getting yourself up like a salesgirl on South
State Street?"
"Or like a society girl on the North Shore," she re-
turned calmly.
"Oh! but there's a difference. They have an air
about them, and besides they have nice things. You
can tell one of 'em in a minute."
"These things aren't nice I suppose? I went with
Isabelle Arnold to get them. She helped me pick them
out. You seem to like her taste too, for I have seen
you with her a lot."
"Oh well-Isabelle is all right and I like her, but
she is different from you."
"How is she different? We go to the same things,
and know the same people. Only she is a great deal
more popular than I. Why shouldn't I do as she
does?" Virginia's voice was still quite calm and she
kept her eyes fixed on a point on the opposite shore.
"Oh come down off your high horse and dont talk
like that. You don't sound at though you meant a
word you say. What was the big idea in rigging up
like,-like Isabelle if you want. But I thought you
at least had more sense."
"More sense than Isabelle?  I never should have
known it if you hadn't told me. Thank you for your
"Don't get huffy. Of course you've got more sense.
Sense about real things I mean."
(Concluded (#1, payge 50)
November, 1918

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