This is a reproduction of a library book that was digitized by Google as part of an ongoing effort to preserve the information in books and make it universally accessible. https://books.google.com THE STAR IN THE WINDOW FLAG DESIGN PAT . NOV . 6 , 1917 - DU WANT A GOOD LOOK ON THE OTHER THIS WRAPPER FOR A MORE THAN 500 TITLES BEST RECENT COPY FICTION IN POPU ! .. " DITIONS . CAR IN WINT " E HIGO " e , General Manager , " Etc. saye of twenty - five , a Jerome is a submis eature , bullied by her nd harassed by her in mother . Goaded to ition , she rebels and home to enjoy inde ce . Almost the first she meets is a big | but uncouth sailor . ve story is unusual and , and so , we have the in the Window " of : rn old house on the d the star in the hearts n old people who live It is a love story which , young or old , can 8 THE STAR IN THE WINDOW THE STAR IN THE WINDOW A NOVEL BY OLIVE HIGGINS PROUTY AUTHOR OF BOBBIE , GENERAL MANAGER , THE FIFTH WHEEL , ETC. NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS Copyright , 1918 , by FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY All rights reserved , including that of translation into foreign languages ΤΟ Τ . Ρ . THE STAR IN THE WINDOW CHAPTER I HESTNUT STREET led off Main at right CH angles . It shot up over a hill straight and un compromisingly , and down again on the other side . At the crest of the hill the Jerome house stood — a huge , plain , square affair painted battleship gray , and approached by three formidable flights of granite steps . A dozen pointed blue spruces had been set out on the sloping ground in front of the house , at meas ured intervals , like so many birthday candles on a cake -a cake with a smooth white frosting , for it was win ter now , and a nicely finished edge , for the Jerome place was bordered by a three - foot granite curb . On either side of the first Aight of steps , there were rec tangular pillars — miniature Bunker Hill monuments , pointed at the top , with the number eighty - nine painted on the face of each of them , in big white figures on a black ground . From the street there wasn't a tree to be seen at 89 Chestnut Street , except the spruces — nor a shrub , nor a bush , nor a vine , nor a trellis for a vine . It was a scrupulous , bare - looking place . It suggested govern ment property - something military and rigid . Pyra mids of cannon - balls wouldn't have looked out of place on the Jerome lawn . In the summertime there ap I 2 THE STAR IN THE WINDOW peared on each side of the granite approach , a large round flower - bed of red - leafed canna , such as ceme teries delight in , always neat and well groomed , edged by salvia . David Jerome , and David's father before him , liked flowers well enough , they said , but they liked them in their proper places , like children and dogs . On this cold January afternoon , when the spruces , as early as four o'clock , were casting long slim tri angular shadows on the white expanse about them , Rebecca Jerome sat by a western window inside the big , bare cube of forbidding gray architecture at the top of Chestnut Street , and sewed — in a desultory fashion . It had snowed a little the night before , and she glanced up every now and then to watch the sprin kling of dry powder on top of the crust outside whirl into tiny hurricanes — pink as the sun got lower - scud across the slippery surface and disappear in a cloud over the edge of the snow - covered curb . This was January third . This was her birthday . She was twenty - five years old to - day . She sighed every now and then . “ Good gracious , Reba , ” Aunt Augusta had flung at her , from the sewing - machine , five minutes ago , “ are you taking breathing exercises for your lungs , or what , I'd like to know ? ” Reba made no reply to her aunt's inquiry . It wasn't necessary . She simply sighed more quietly . They called her Reba for short , pronouncing the first syllable with a long “ e ” -never Becky . " I don't like names ending in ‘ ie ' and ' y , '" " Aunt Augusta had announced before Rebecca was old enough to have any voice in the matter . " They sound sentimental . Soft ! ” THE STAR IN THE WINDOW 3 she scorned . “ The child is named after her aunt , Rebecca Marsh , and you can't imagine Aunt Reba be ing ' Becky'd ' by anybody , can you ? ” Certainly Reba Jerome , gazing at the tintype of her namesake , inclosed in the little black coffin - like case , which was kept in the parlor - table drawer , couldn't imagine " Beckying " her . “ A strong character , was your great - aunt Reba ! ” Aunt Augusta often reminded her . She looked strong . She had a big firm mouth drawn down at the corners . She was like a man - an old man of sixty or seventy - in the picture , with a thick neck , and huge hands , folded masterfully across her abdomen . As Rebecca sat and stifled her sighs this afternoon , she welcomed the occasional whirr of the sewing machine , before which Aunt Augusta was seated , vigo rously stitching now and then . It prevented the pos sibility of speech . It wrapped her away alone with her contemplations . She was twenty - five years old ! She had turned an other corner ! Every fifth year there was a corner . Thirty would be upon her soon , then thirty - five , and forty . She wouldn't have minded growing old if the corners brought anything new , but they didn't . Nothing changed . Nothing happened . Five years ago she had sat in the same little rocking - chair , by the same western window , and helped finish a new dress for herself , her invalid mother in the same wheel - chair nearby , her aunts — her mother's older sisters — in the very places they occupied to - day : Aunt Augusta , grim and erect , before the sewing - machine , seated on its wooden cover ; Aunt Emma , round - backed and egg 4 . THE STAR IN THE WINDOW shaped , close beside the other window , curved over her work like a squirrel with a nut . She had thought much the same bitter thoughts too . For at twenty she had begun to suspect that her girlhood had somehow evaded her , overtaken her and quietly slipped by while she had been watching for it . As she sat and sewed this afternoon she kept her face steadfastly turned away from the familiar details of the room behind her . It was an ugly room . It was the back - parlor made over into a bedroom for her mother , who couldn't go over the stairs . It was square and high - studded , heavily corniced in dark brown plas ter , and in the center of the ceiling there was a rosette , round and ornate , which suggested the summer canna beds . From it hung a heavy glass chandelier , with six bronze arms , holding up six white frosted globes . In one corner of the room stood the bed — black wal nut , solid and substantial , its pillows covered with hand - crocheted shams , red - initialed in the center . Over the bed , suspended from the ceiling and fastened to the floor , appeared an awkward contrivance made of wheels and pulleys and ropes , a sort of derrick for moving the invalid . The invalid was a yellow and shrunken little crea ture . Rheumatism had been slowly bending and twist ing her for a quarter of a century now . The joints of her fingers curved backwards , and shone as if they had been oiled , where the skin was stretched . But she could still manage a needle . She held it deftly be tween her thumb and the knuckle of her forefinger . It was she who next broke the silence of the room . Fifteen long minutes had been ticked off by the onyx clock on the black marble mantel since Aunt Augusta THE STAR IN THE WINDOW 5 had spoken . The whirr of her machine had long since ceased . She was basting now . “ I'm sure I'm sorry to trouble anybody , " plaintively the invalid began — she had a high - pitched , querulous voice- " but it's long past four . " " I'll go in a minute , ” said Reba . “ I'm nearly at the end of this seam . ” She took half a dozen more stitches . “ I don't know what good it does , " complainingly the invalid went on , " to buy expensive medicine and then let it stand in the bottle . ” Reba fastened her thread nicely , taking three pre cise little stitches in the same spot , and cutting off her thread close to the cloth with a pair of small scis sors . She stuck her needle into a little red - woolen , tomato - shaped pin - cushion on the window - sill , and be gan folding up her work . " I can always be put off , " pursued her mother petu lantly . “ Seams are more important than I am , of course ! " And still unsuccessful at getting any sym pathetic response , she finished tearfully , “ It will be a good thing when I'm out of the way , and not bother ing anybody any more , I guess . " Even at that Reba made no reply . Her mother had used the same weapon so often before that it had long since lost its sharp edge . She laid aside her work and stood up . Abruptly from her place in front of the machine Aunt Augusta spoke . " While you're about it , ” she commented in a flat tone , " you can see to the furnace too . " “ And open the draughts in the stove , as you go through , " tucked in Aunt Emma from the window , 6 THE STAR IN THE WINDOW speaking through the only corner of her mouth free from pins .