Tendrilla

Tendrilla

By Nephi Anderson

He wore a celluloid collar and a ready-made tie; these only on Sundays; don't think for a moment that he encumbered himself with these adornments on workdays ; a soft woolen shirt and overalls answered every weekday purpose. The nice details of Stephen Hall's dress occupied very little of his time. He followed unconsciously the custom of the men and boys about him. Polepatch, at this time, was a long way from any railroad, and as far as fine linen is concerned, the modern steam laundry had not introduced it to the fanners and ranchers of that remote settlement. Stephen Hall was the oldest of a family of six. Ten of his twenty-seven years had been spent in and about Polepatch, working with his father to develop the ranch and farm, which were now in a fair way to bring returns. A big, strong man was Stephen, broad of shoulders and long of legs. A mop of nut- brown hair curled about his tanned forehead. His teeth were even and white. His face resembled that of his patient, hard- working, saintly-looking mother. Stephen was president of the Polepatch Young Men's Mu- tual Improvement Association. This position of trust and re- sponsibility indicated the bishop's opinion of the young man. Stephen was one of the boys, but not one with the rougher ones. He was a promising young man, said the bishop. The only fault he found with him was that he was not married. The question of marriage had not as yet seriously occupied Stephen's time nor attention. He had dreamed his boy dreams, of course, and some of the girls in and about Polepatch had figured in these dreams. There was Mary who lived over the Ridge. Five years ago he had imagined he was in love with her, but he laughed at that now. He had taken out Susie, his next dcor neighbor, a few times, until Jack Thompson, from a ranch farther west, like another young Lochinvar, had literally carried her off as his own. Then for a time he had looked fondly at Jennie, she with black hair and blacker eyes, he thought; but she had "turned him down" at a dance, and so he never went back. The fact was, Stephen Hall was not a "ladies' man." He had no tact with the girls. He was a little slow, somewhat de- liberate, and lacked the dash which seems to captivate the young female mind.

IMPROVEMENT ERA

For the past year Stephen had not bothered any of the girls in Polepatch, in the way of trying to keep steady company with theni. When his friends joked him on his confirmed bachelor state, he laughed and said he was kept too busy with his Mutual work to think about girls. "There's time enough yet," he replied to Mrs. Jones who was one of the frequent callers. "This working in double har- ness isn't always what it's 'cracked up to be.' "But you're getting along, Steve; you're getting out of the notion, I can see that, an' that's the danger." Stephen showed his white teeth goodnaturedly. "What do you think about it, mother?" he appealed. The mother only smiled. To her he was only a boy yet, and she was in no hurry to turn him over to some giddy girl and untried heart. That is what she thought when she looked up into his handsome face. And thus things went evenly along with Stephen Hall until he met Miss Tendrilla Brown. Then there came an upheaval and a change. It came about in this way: at the close of the season's Mutual work, there was a big meeting at Polepatch. To attend this meeting there came visitors from the city, a brother to rep- resent the young men, and Miss Tendrilla Brown to represent the young ladies. Stephen Hall drove his best team to the station, thirteen miles away, to meet the visitors and take them to the Polepatch meetinghouse. Miss Brown chose to sit on the front seat with the driver. It was an early spring morning. The sun shone warm from a clear sky. The cottonwoods by the creek and the willows by the ditch-bank filled the air with the odor of bursting buds. The grass was greening the warmer up- lands. It was a joy to be out in such a day, especially out in the big, open country. Miss Brown chatted pleasantlty with the driver. She was full of questions regarding the country, the water supply, the crop prospects, and other matters of local interest. She smiled into the good-natured face by her side. Stephen's heart burned with a soft, sweet flame. He answered her questions intelli- gently, and before they arrived at the meetinghouse, he had com- pletely found and controlled his halting tongue. To his great relief, this girl was not a bit "citified." She made him feel at his ease, and ere he was aware, he found his eyes wandering from the road and horses to the face beside him. At the meeting that evening, Sister Brown was the principal speaker. The work of the young men was practically com- pleted, but the girls had some summer work planned which the speaker was to explain: and she did this in a splendid way. Stephen Hall listened to the rich, full voice of the girl, and fol-

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lowed her talk. Because of his position as Ward President, he sat on the stand, but he managed to get a side view of the speaker, so that he could see the play of emotion in her face as she warmed to her theme. She was not pretty, as Alice and Nellie and Ruth were pretty, but there seemed to be a soul quality shining through her face which made her beautiful. Never had he been so impressed; never had he seen just such a face; never had he heard just such a voice. After the meeting, Stephen had a feeling that he wanted, above all things, to be with Tendrilla Brown. He even had a foolish heartache when he thought that this first time was per- haps the last time he would see her. She, of course, would go back to her life in the city. What she did there, he had not learned. Yes, she would go back, and as far as she was con- cerned, her experience at Polepatch would be only one of her many similar experiences. But early next morning Stephen was to take her back to the train. That thought was with him during the night when he was not asleep. That Monday morning Stephen did not put on his overalls as usual. He dressed himself in his Sunday best. He ex- amined his celluloid collar. He would surely have to buy a new one. Then he spent an unusually long time over his unruly hair; he blacked his boots. A younger member of the family saw this last performance and commented on the oddity of blacking one's boots on Monday morning instead of on Sunday morning, or Saturday night; but Stephen only whistled softly to himself. On that return drive, he promised himself, he was going to carry on his share of the conversation but alas, Tendrilla Brown ;

slid into the back seat beside the visiting Young Men's mission- ary, and left the driver to himself. Very little was said between seats, and it seemed that the driver was that morning in a hurry to get rid of his passengers, so that he could go back to work. So the horses were virged into a rapid gait. At the station, the two missionaries thanked their driver very warmly for the pleas- ant visit they had enjoyed, and then Stephen turned to drive back. He had not even alighted, but sat in his seat holding the horses while the two climbed out. Tendrilla came up to the front wheel and extended her gloved hand up to him. "Goodby, and thank you very much," she said. "Well, goodby," he replied, taking her hand, "I'm glad you had a good time." "I'm coming again sometime. You have a splendid lot of young people at Polepatch. Take good care of them." "We'll do our best." "And when you come to the city, don't forget to call."

IMPROVEMENT ERA

— "Thank you, I where do you live?" She took a card from her handbag and handed it to him. "There's the address— now don't forget." "No; I won't." "Goodby; we'll not keep you. The train will be along in a few minutes." The train arrived while he was yet waiting. She waved her hand at him from the car window. As has already been said, from that date Stephen Hall was a changed man. Something completely new, something sweetly strange, something that made his heart burn and ache had come into his life. He went about his work as usual, and he tried to hide what had come to him from all prying eyes. He succeed- ed in this very well, except in the case of his mother. She saw, surmised, but was silent. Her heart ached for him. Had the city lady been tampering with the affections of her boy? Had she aroused in him foolish hopes? She knew full well that no matter how good this city girl may be, her boy was a country boy, and as such there was a gulf, fixed by social custom, be- tween them. The spring work was on in full force. There was plowing £>nd drilling and fence repairing and ditch-digging. From early morning until late in the evening, Stephen worked. Oh, how he did work! He had superhuman strength for his tasks. At his meals, he was quieter than usual. He even omitted his cus- tomary after-dinner frolic with his younger brothers and sisters. He remained no longer than necessary in the house. He felt better out in the fields. A month of hard work went by, and then Stephen took stock of himself. Had he gotten over his foolishness, his silly thoughts and feelings about this city girl? He examined himself closely, but he had to admit that he had not: she was still with him. His reason told him how utterly useless it would be for him, a common country boy, to ever think of winning for a wife Miss Tendrilla Brown. Why, she was as much above him as the heavens are above the earth. Still she persisted in his vision, a dear, sweet girl, angelic in her purity and goodness and qualities of soul. Tendrilla, Tendrilla, why even the name was new and strange and different Behind the plow, on the rumbling wagon, !

he repeated the name softly to himself. One morning at the breakfast table his father said that he would have to go to the city for some machine repairs. He dis- liked to lose the best part of two days for this, but he had put the trip off as long as he could. "Why not let Stephen go," suggested the mother. "That wouldn't help matters any," replied the father, "as

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far as work is concerned. Steve can beat me now. He's getting an extra move on himself these days." "Yes; and the trip to town would be a rest for him he — neesd it," said the mother. Stephen looked up at his mother, with a fast-beating heart. What did she mean, what did she know? He would see her in the city. Yes, and seeing her, would perhaps cure him. It might be worth while. But did he want to be cured? Yes, and no. Might he not just keep on loving her in silence? But what if she has a beau! She might even be engaged. Such a fine girl very likely would be. If he went to the city, he could learn the cold, hard, killing truth, and then it would be all over. But did he want it to be over? — "I I don't think I can go, mother. Father had better go." And so the very next day the father did go to the city, while the son went to the distant cedar hills for a load of wood to replenish the fast disappearing wood-pile. Even Polepatch contained too many people for him that day. He wanted to get away from people to a place where he would be alone with his heart and with nature. Away up in the cedar hills he worked until it was time to eat his noon-day lunch, and then before he ate he kneeled on a bed of cedar needles and asked his heavenly Father for help and guidance. It was late when he arrived home with his load. After sup- per, his mother handed him a letter. It had the city postmark on it. With beating heart, he opened it. It was a call for him to go to Great Britain on a mission! After carefully reading the letter, he handed it to his mother. She gave a little gasp, looked up to her son, and then tears trickled down her face. "What is it, mother?" asked the other children. "What's it about?" "I'm called on a mission," said Stephen. "Called on a mission!" There was a general craning of necks over this wonderful letter, questions and exclamations, "Are you going?" they asked. "Going? Of course, I'm going." "When?" "Just as soon as they want me. The spring work is about done, and you boys can take care of the rest. You're big enough, goodness knows." Here was the immediate answer to his prayers. He would go on this mission, across the ocean to Great Britain. He would lose himself and his foolish troubles in his work of preaching the gospel. Yes, he would go, the sooner the better. The father, a believer in accepting calls for missions when they come, had no objections to Stephen's going right away. He