THE BROKEN VASE.

Cromwell Argus, Volume LXI, Issue 3160, 27 April 1931, Page 2

THE BROKEN VASE.

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL." Brenda loaned over the window sill and sighed. It was a glorious afternoon. The sun was shining, the bees were buzzing, and the vicarage garden was a sight to gladden the saddest heart. But it could'nt gladden Brenda's. Life, for her, was over. She would never smile again. Yesterday she and Michael had quarrelled, and parted for ever. That is to say, Brenda could bring him back again if she gave in first and admitted that she had been in the wrong. Michael had told her so, before he left. But would she give in? She would not. Her lips tightened at the very idea. Nevertheless, Brenda sighed again as she began to fill* the vases in the sitting-room with flowers (not that flowers meant anything to her now). The sitting-room at the Vicarage was on the first floor. One of its windows overlooked the garden, and the other overhung and looked straight down upon the lane that ran along one side of the house.

Brenda filled a vase and placed it upon the side-board. She picked up another and then paused and stared out of the window.

Coming along the lane was a tall, good-looking -young man. He was bareheaded and dressed in flannels and in his hand he carried a tennis racket.

Brenda's heart gave a jump, for the young man was Michael. Was he coming back to apologise for yesterday? Alas, no. He went by the house without looking either to the right or to the left.

Brenda felt like crying but, of course, she wasn't going to do anything so foolish. She was a very proud girl. One thing was certain. She would never speak to Michael again unless he first spoke to her. She filled the vase, laid it on the window seat and stared out of the window. Once again her heart (which, mercifully, was a strong one) gave a jump. ' Coming back along the lane was Michael. After all he had come back to make it up. The darling. The young man reached the garden gate and—passed it. Brenda gave a strangled little cry and shrank back behind the window curtains. As she did so the vase slipped from her fingers and fell on to the window sill. It didn't break, but nearly a pint of pure cold water poured merrily 'down on to the neck of Michael, who was passing underneath at just that moment.

He looked up and gurgled. But all was not yet over. The vase, a fairly heavy one, rolled to the'edge of the window sill, hesitated and then fell into space. The young man saw it coming, and automatically lifted his racket to protect himself. But he was too late. The vase fell on his head with a heavy thud and broke into many fragments. "Oh!" gasped Brenda. Michael stared wildly upwards for a moment, and then, dropping his racket, put his hands to his head and fell in a heap on the grassy side of the lane.

For one moment there was a dreadful silence while tne horrified girl stared downwards. Then she tore out of the room. Two seconds later Michael's bead was resting on her lap. "Darling," she murmured, brokenly. A slight sigh passed the lips of the stricken man. "Are you killed?" faltered Brenda. His eyelids flickered for a moment, and then, very slowly, he opened his eyes.

"N —no," said Michael. "No, I don't think so." "Heaven be praised," said the girl, with a sigh of thankfulness. "Can you get up," she resumed, "and let me help you into the house?" With an immense effort Michael raised himself into a sitting position. "I suppose," he said, "I must try." "How brave you are," murmured Brenda.

"Yes." he replied. "I mean I'm all right."

Brenda put her arms round his shoulders and helped him to rise. Then, leaning on her arm, he tottered the few steps to the garden gate and they passed inside. "This will do," said Michael, sinking into a deck chair on the lawn. "Just sit near me for a moment, dear, and I shall be all right. I'm coming round nicely." "Keep perfectly quiet," said Brenda, "and I'll make you some tea." "Feeling better?" she asked anxiously. "Heaps." "Don't talk, dear; just wait until you've had your tea," "That was splendid,' smiled the young man, laying down his second cup.

"And—and your poor head?" "Tophole. It's practically as good as ever it was."

There was a long and blissful interlude.

"Brenda," said Michael at last, in a hesitating, far-away kind of voice. "Yes, Michael?" "We're never going to quarrel again, are we, darling?"

"Of course not." "Well —Brenda, I cannot tell a lie." "N—No?" "No. I always get found out, Brenda?" "Yes, dear?" Michael cleared his throat. "I do hope you won't be cross. But —when you dropped the vase on my head I was overjoyed because " Brenda sat up. "I didn't drop the vase on you. It —it fell." Michael chuckled. "I know that," he said. The girl stood up.

"Are you insinuating " she began. "I'm not insinuating anything. I—" "Yes you are." "No, I'm not." "Yes you are. You're trying to make out that I gave in first. Oh —I —I hate you." "What!" croaked Michael, aghast "Yes I do. You're trying to crow over me again." He put his-hands to his head. "Oh," he moaned. Brenda stared at him. "Oh, oh," moaned Michael. Brenda hesitated. "Oh, oh, oh," moaned Michael. She knelt down and put her arms round his neck. "Is it as bad as that, dear?" she stammered. "What a brute you must think me." For answer he put his arms round her. "Is —is your head still hurting?" she faltered. "It's all right now." "Michael darling," she went on rapidly. "Let me do the confessing. It serves me right. I didn't drop the vase on purpose, really I didn't. But —but I could have saved it from rolling over the window. Only I —l wanted you to look up—and speak to me." "Do you call that a confession?" he said. "That's nothing at> all. I didn't think you had dropped the vase on purpose. I didn't think anything about it.. But oh, you've made it awfully difficult for me now. I'm sure you'll be angry." "Never again," declared Brenda, I with conviction.

"Well," he paused, "the vase didn't hit me at all. It just broke against my racket. But it seemed such a gorgeous chance to make you speak to me again. I simply had to do it." There was a short silence. "You—you're not angry, Brenda?" "Why should I be?" smiled Brenda. "For deceiving you like that" "How d'you mean, deceiving me?" Michael sat up.

"Do you mean to say," he gasped, "that—that you knew I wasn't hurt?" "Of course I did, darling," said Brenda, sweetly.