Cherry's little bedroom under the roof was bright with the confusion of

cheap finery scattered everywhere and swept aside at the sudden

entrance of the death angel. A neighbor had done her best to push away

the crude implements of complexion that were littering the cheap oak

bureau top, and the doctor's case and bottles and glasses crowded out

the giddy little accessories of beauty that Cherry had collected. Two

chairs piled high with draggled finery, soiled work aprons and dresses

made a forlorn and miscellaneous disorder in one corner, and the closet

door sagged open with visions of more clothing hung many deep upon the

few hooks.

Mrs. Fenner stood at the head of the bed wringing her hands and moaning

uncontrolledly, and Cherry, little Cherry, lay whitely against the

pillow, the color all gone from her ghastly pretty little face, that

had lately hid its ravished health and beauty behind a camouflage of

paint. There were deep dark circles under the limpid eyes that now were

full of mortal pain, and pitiful lines around the cherry mouth that had

been wont to laugh so saucily.

The doctor stood by the window with the attitude of grave waiting. The

helpful neighbor lingered in the doorway, holding her elbows and taking

minute note of Marilyn's dress. This might be a sad time, but one had

to live afterward, and it wasn't every day you got to see a simple

little frock with an air like the one the minister's daughter wore. She

studied it from neck to hem and couldn't see what in the world there

was about it anyway to make her look so dressed up. Not a scratch of

trimming, not even a collar, and yet she could look like that!

Mercy! Was that what education and going to college did for folks?

The light of a single unshaded electric bulb shone startlingly down to

the bed, making plain the shadow of death even to an inexperienced eye.

Marilyn knelt beside the bed and took Cherry's cold little hand in her

own warm one. The waxen eyelids fluttered open, and a dart of something

between fright and pain went over her weird little face.

"Can I do anything for you Cherry?" Marilyn's voice was tender,

pitiful.

"It's too late," whispered the girl in a fierce little whisper,

"Send 'em out--I--wantta--tell--you--someth--!" The voice trailed away

weakly. The doctor stepped over and gave her a spoonful of something,

motioned her mother and the neighbor away, tiptoeing out himself and

closing the door. The mother was sobbing wildly. The doctor's voice

could be heard quieting her coldly: The girl on the bed frowned and gathered effort to speak: "Mark Carter--didn't mean no harm--goin'--with me--!" she broke out,

her breath coming in gasps, "He was tryin'--to stop me--goin'--with--

Dolph--!" The eyes closed wearily. The lips were white as chalk.

She seemed to have stopped breathing!




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