rs ago. Then she couldn't
be sure that the trunk was still here. It wasn't altogether her story
to tell. She knew you were coming home to Green Valley and she didn't
want to prejudice you in any way. She knew that if you learned to know
Green Valley folks first you'd understand everything better when you
did find out. I'm glad to have the telling of it. I'm glad to do her
that service and, after all, it's my story as much as hers.

"We were great friends--Cynthia and I--dearer than sisters and
inseparable. Our friendship began in pinafore days. We weren't the
least bit alike in a worldly way. Cynthia was pretty--oh, ever so
pretty--and rich. I was what everybody calls a very sensible girl,
respectable but poor. But what we looked like or what we had never
bothered us. In those days the town was smaller and playmates were
scarcer. When we boys and girls wanted any real interesting games we
had to get together.

"The two boys at our end of town who were the nicest were Roger Allan
and Dick Wentworth. They did everything together, same as Cynthia and
I. It was natural, I suppose, that we four should sort of grow up
together, and that having grown up we should pair off--Cynthia and
Roger, Dick and I.

"We went through all the stages until we got to the forget-me-not rings
and our wedding dresses. The boys were very happy the day they put
those rings on our fingers and we were--oh, so proud! It hurts to this
day to remember. I think Cynthia and I were about the happiest girls
life ever smiled at. Only one thing troubled us.

"In those days Cynthia's father owned the hotel. That meant then
mostly a barroom. Of course, he himself was never seen there unless
there were special guests staying over night. It was a lively place,
almost the only really lively place in town. I suppose men had more
time then and prohibition was something even the most worried and
heartbroken drunkard's wife smiled about unbelievingly. Men had always
had their liquor and of course they always would. Women's business was
to cry a bit, pray a great deal and be patient. As I said, all men
drank in those days and the woman didn't live that hadn't or didn't
expect to see her father, sweetheart, husband or son drunk sometime.
We all hoped we wouldn't but we all dreaded it. We heard tell of a man
somewhere near Elmwood who never drank a drop but he didn't seem real.
Our mothers, I expect, got to feel that drunkenness was God's