And the Yeah, Welcome back everyone to one thousand one classic short stories entails. This is your host John

Hagenhorn. Today a story from Mary E. Wilkins Freeman called a humble romance.

Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman was an American novelist and

short story writer. The majority of her writing focused on New England life,

a subject which she captured masterfully in her subtle and sublime short story, a New England nun, which we've done here.

She is a prolific and very enjoyable short story writers.

I know you'll enjoy today's episode. And now a humble romance. She was stooping

over the great kitchen sink washing the breakfast dishes. Under fostering circumstances her

slenderness of build might have resulted in delicacy or daintiness. Now the

harmony between strength and task had been repeatedly broken and the result was ugliness.

Her finger joints and wrist bones were naughty and out of proportion.

Her elbows, which her rolled-up sleeves displayed, were pointed and knobby. Her

shoulders bent, her feet spread beyond their natural bounds. From head to foot, she was a little discordant note.

She had a pale peaked face.

Her scanty fair hair was strained tightly back

and twisted into a tiny knot, and her expression was at once passive and eager.

There came a ringing knock at the kitchen door and a face of another description, large,

strong featured and assured, strong-featured, and assured, peered out of the pantry, which was over against the sink.

Who isn't, Sally? I don't know Miss King.

Well go to the door can't you and not stand there gaping I can't my hands are in the butter

Sally shook the dishwater off her red sodden fingers and shuffled to the door.

A tall man with a scraggy sandy mustache stood there. He had some scales in his hand.

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