like the simile it brought to mind so she tried not too look at it. "Dear God," she thought, "what have I done to deserve this? Why couldn't we afford a union painter just this once? Why this hairy Philistine?"

"I do like the color green," she said. "All I ask is a little bl

Just then the latch on the gate was moved and, looking up over her shoulder, Biff said: "Oh, Mister Timothy-Reverend Timothy sir, kindly tell your missiswhat is wrong with green?"

"Still not sure?" The Reverend patted the spaniel absently. "Green is fine, isn't it? Mrs. Timothy? Why it's lovely, isn't it," he said passively but decidedly. "Yes, yes, it's fine," Mrs. Timothy said resignedly. "I'll go in and start supper." "Fine. But not too much salt, dear," he called after her, shaking a pious-pale finger. "Please. Not too much salt, Mrs. Timothy." Closing the screen door gently behind her, she heard her husband say: "Yes, but you know how women are,"a mutter and-"they're so finicky; over nothing usually."

Mrs. Timothy opened the cupboard door and checked the list tacked on the back of it. "Now let's see," she whispered to the room, "does Arthur want we to salt the water for his green peas? or not."

Almost heedlessly she slipped her little porcelain teacup from its hook and held it to her ear; it had a blue-wind hum like sea shells and love. And Mrs. Timothy thought of Paula again.

the photograph still shows under the tilted sailor cap the murderous left eye,

the right eye widened, wondering, and awry,

in that fierce face cleft poelike, stilted.

but the reality is measurable

from the photograph by memory

of the two visages, one infancy;

the other, terror, stern, implacable.

when that blue jacket was wind-buffeted,

then that hair blew, cap notwithstanding,

and those images were vocal then.

the city heard the accent western-bred,

the rain fell where my friend was standing,

and the clock struck in the tower ten.

S. B.

27