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llr. iSvui'l:a dosed cao eye, thrust bis
tt~^ut late Ins ch«k nad ctrol'.'~\ £ov.-;i the
»-£*!«£, tjV-tz«\ujg etrwst ot Braaslingdoo,
»!•> j-iti i."si?iAi!?szlt csassioa; vc^alit}-.
I/* CHAPTER IL
:' Its c caul! c:uutry toT7n it is impossible
thtt t-iiTt'ti^s can bo kept secret, except
fnirvifci', t^d then rumcr points to -go
lui.iy probable criminals that justice and
ijitsitivo policemen become lost in surmise,
nal embarrass the Innocent that the guilty
mcy go tree. Slow to detect murder, the
f>roYlnckl Intellect U swift at the discovery
of love. Had Romeo met Juliet at a fancy
J>ftll 111 I'6ddllr.2bani f Instead of at a mas
querade in Verona, and afterwards prowled
about the garden of his mistress' father's
house, the Signori Capulet and Montague.
would have been informed of the occurrences
early on the following morning by several
competent and credible eye witnesses—all of
the gentler sex, and the majority on the other
side of flve-and-thirty years of age.
It was Christmas day, cold, clear and
frosty. 3ir. Dawbarn was dressed in his
brightest black, and his cravat was as a mon
ument to the most irreproachable of laun
dresses. But Mr. Dawbarn was pale and
agitated, his head shook and his hands trem
bled, till the papers he held in them rattled
and crumpled.
When a servant opened the dining room
■door and announced "Mr. Munro," Mr. Daw
bani turned paler, and when the young clerk
■whom Mr. Robert Studden had so playfully
rallied a fortnight before in the street en
tered, the banker trembled more violently.
"Mr. MnuiM."'said the banker, when the
door was closed, "you—you—you doubtless
know why I have sent for you—on this fes
tive occa —sion —don, todaj :''
The young clerk, who was ns pale as Mr.
Dawbarn, faltered out, "No, sir," with so
transparent an effort that tho banker saw
that the young man perfectly understood the
reason of the interview.
"Yonr cinduet, sir, has been such that I—
I —i do not know how to address you." stam
mered Mr. Dawbarn. "Thar you. sir, uiy
servant, my paid and salaried servant,
should bnvß so abused my confidence; should
have so dare 1 to try to so injure .n> is—is
what I ciiil not expect from you. I know all,
sir, a!!. You are discharged from the bank
this moment."
A ■ ■: , :i f on r the young man's face.
"You will no) I. allowed to enter the"
This quarter's salary is there, sir.
The banker put upon the table a small p.iper
packet. "As I shall not suffer youtotakr
your place at your desk again, there is a half
year's salary." The banker placed another
small packet on thetable, and the clerk made
a deprecatory motion with or.j hand. "I in
sist on it, sir, and shall take no denial I
also insist on your leaving Bramlingdon to
night, or to-morrow morning, at the latest
Should ; ou have any debts here, leave a list
ru, and today being Christmas day, 1
will see that one of the clerks pays them the
day after to-morrow. There can lie no ex
cuse for your remaining, and your absence,
sir. is :\ matter of much more importance
tome than a few paltry pounds; so I will
b ■■■:■ il :. > •'■•} i-iion."
Mr. Dawbarn paused and drew breath, and
lerk looked at him and thin at
■:.i i\v, .'is it" out into 11 far distance be
vi 1. :.
'OJy accounts, sir" he began, when the
, ■ ■ interrupted him.
"Will !«■ found quite right, I dare say. Had
yon onlj robbed me of money, sir, I should
have been better pleased. I have treated
y,,: ; inly too nrell, and in return see what
you have done." Mr. Dawbarn struck his
ilencued Land upon the tablfl. "But :i"
Do I understand that you ■will leave
Bramliugd •;■. to-night?"
Munro t" ■!: his eyes from the wind iw, and,
looking fall in the banker's lac, said:
"Lucy."
Mr. Dawbarn'a face turned scarlet, and In
again struck the table. "Don't mention my
daughter's i:muc to me, sir, if you please. I
■won't hear it! How dare you? There, sir,
are tho rubbishing letters you have sent to
hi .-. and if you have an}' sense of decency or
honesty left, you will return those you have
of '::•;■— of— my dai: liter's."
Munro to ■:; up the letters his former mas
ter hr.d tossed to him.
"Di ! you hear :.i . : "?' asked the banker.
■■I be ; your pardor.."
'•I Bay, vr;*. you five mo back her letters,
an 1 will you leave Sramlingdon to-night?"
Thci'o was a nau ■. and the bells of tho
church ran-; out for : (rning service.
"I can make <. > promise, sir, replied the
young clerk, very clearly. "I have a duty
to your daughter as well as a duty to you. If
she desires ' bat I should"
•■y.i : ret uio at detiancv, do you, sir:" burst
in tho banker. "Very good, very good; but
don'tsapposathat if you stay hero forever
that you will sco my daughter, or bo enabled
to (vrito to her. If you stop in Bramlingdon,
she "." ::t week she travels with her
mother to London/ abroad, anywhere, away
from her father's presumptuous clerk, who,
because his master asked him a few times to
Ins house, to sit at his table, and treated him
as mi equal, so far forgot himself as to lift
is eyes ■: i to his daughter, his only child."
It had been a terrible Christinas morning
in the banker's house. Mr. and Mrs. Daw
barn hnd been informed that their only
daughter, Lacy, rose every morning early
and L:>d an interview with the young clerk,
Munro, i; tho kitchen garden, (be door of
-which opened i::t'-> a lano, and of which door
either Lucy or tho young clerk, or both, pos
sessed a try. Lucy had been forced into con
fess;o:i, and bad gone on her knees to her
papa, an wept and implored him not to hurt
her George. chad given up all his letters,
which she was in the habit of placing under
her pillow every night, and which letters
Munro had written stealthily in banking
hours and placed in a certain portion of tho
wall, near the tool house in tho kitchen gar
den. Mr. Dawbarn went ou wildly and
frightened Mrs. Dawbarn, a goct'^ motherly
woman, into a fit. When Mrs. Dawbarn re
covered, Miss Lucy went off into a swoon,
and her father and mother had to recover
bar, and Mr. Dawbarn was in agony lest the
servants of his household should bo cognizant
of the disturbance, which was an entirely un
necessary excitement on his part, as they,
the servants, had known all about it for the
last eight months. Poor Lucy was told that
Munro was to bo immediately sent away,
but that she and her mamma were to go to
church fiat day, as their abseneo might bo
remarked by a devout but curious congrega
tion, and that she was to bathe her eyes and
look unconcerned, easy, comfortable and com
posed.
As Lucy and her mamma passed the door
of th» dining room, Lucy heard tho young
clerk's voice. She knew that she should
never see him again, and slit could not resist
tier impulse. She ran to the door, seized the
handle, and would have opened it, but her
.mamma pulled her away, and on the other
eido ill" Dawbarn rushed to the door and put
iiis back against it. Munro strode to tho
■window, that he might take a lost look of his
mistress as she left the house.
"Good-by, George dear, good-by!" cried
poor Lucy in the passage. "Wo shall never
Me each other again; but good-by and good
ly good-by again."
CHAPTER HE
r A year had elapsed siuco Lucy Dawbarn
had tiddeu farewell to her father's clerk
through the dining room door. Ho had left
Brauilingilon and goiio no ono l:ue^" whither.
Rcither letter nor message came to Lucy; cho
\t&3 too strictly watched. Ehe often walked
in tho garden and looked at that portion of
the wall where they had concealed their let
ters. Tho good old brick that they
used to take out end put back
again was a thing of the past.
In its place there was a bran new red brick
cemented by bran new white mortar that you
could see a mile off. Lucy had been to Lon
don, and had been visiting not only her
father's and mother's relatives but the mag
nates of the county, and had seen all sorts of
pleasures and fashion and distraction, and at
the end of six months had returned very thin
and pale. ■ ___
She had been homo but a few -weeks when
the news came that young Munro had sailed
from Liverpool for New York. It readied
Lucy's ears through a sympathetic servant
maid. Tho next morning she sent word that
she would like to have a cup of tea sent to
her up stairs in her own room, as she had a
headache and bogged to be excused from the
breakfast table. Mrs. Dawbarn knew that
she had heard of Munro's departure for
America, but she did not dare to mention
even tho name of tho objectionable clerk to
her husband, win was entirely ignorant of the
young man's movements. Two or three days
after tho doctor was sent for. The medical
man hummed and hawed and said that his
patient v.-.;.-. low. Luc;.' grow worse and wor?a.
A consultation was held. The young lady's
disorder was pronounced to bo nervous fever,
and one white headed old gentleman from
London suggested to Mr. and Mrs. Dawbarn
that if th'? young lady were engaged he
should not advise the postponement of the
ceremony.
"Yo;i see, my dear Mr. Dawbarn," said the
oM geatl 'man, "your dear daughter's malady
is partly nientaL She has here no employ
ment, t::::t is. no fresb employment for her
miud. li 1 yon could substitute new duties,
fresh unnressions, she would recover quickly.
Hei energy is wearing her to pices; she
wants, so to speak, to begin her life over
again. If—if her partner has not yet been
chosen"—here the eyes of the father and
mother met—"let her travel, let her choose
an occupation, give her something to do. I
know a your ' iy—much the same kind of
case- 10k to painting, and found con-
..Lie berfeflt from the study and the
practice. Italy, now, might create a desire
to cultivate some art—say music, eh? Your
clear daughter is not strong; her mind is too
much for her body."
Lucy was taken to Harrogate, to Chelten
ham, to Leamington and Scarborough, then
to the south of France mid Italy. When she
returned to Bramlingdon she had to be lifted
from the carriage. Her father, who had not
seen her for two months, was struck with the
visible alteration in her fa&and figure. He
himself carried her to hw room and was
hardly conscious of hid burden. She
said she was tired with her journey
and would go to bed. Mr. Dawbarn de
scended to (lino with ins wife, and meeting
on the. stairs with the sympathetic house
maid who had informed Lucy of Munro's de
parture for America, and asking the girl
why she was crying, and receiving for an
swer that it was for Miss Lucy, he discharged
her.on the spot
Ir was a dismal dinner. Husband and wife
spoke but little, and when one caught the
tho other's eye tliero was a great Bhow of ap
petite. Mr. Dawbarn drank a considerable
quantity of sherry. When the cloth was re
moved the conversation Bagged. Neither
dared b?gin the consultation they felt was
inevitable. Before they v-ent into Lucy's
room to look at her an she lay sleeping, Mr.
Datrburn pni his arm around his wife's waist
a-,il kissed heron the forehead, :i proceeding
which mado the good old lady tremble very
much nml h> ;• tni nth and nostrils gun er.
Side bysklo in the dark the couple lay
awake in their luxurious chamber, starting
at the reflection of the window frame upon
the blinds. The father began.
"Jemima.' 1
"Philip," (aid the mother.
■•What do you think of Lucy?" 1
The mother heaved a deep figh.
"Good GodF 1 .=aid the banker, "when I
took her up in my arms I could hardly feel
ber weight. She was like a feather—like a
feather. Jemima, you're crying, my love.
Tell me, honestly, now, honestly, candidly,
as ;ou think. Tell me, tell me."
The wife threw her arm arouod hor hus
band's neck and Bobbed: "I fear that wo
shaUloso her."
It was spoken, and death was recognized
b i a pro enco in tho bouse.
'■D'ye think there's :;•> hone:"
'•Only one, and that a very poor one."
Mr. Dawbaru Celt a mental qualm, for he
fcrsw what was coming.
"What's thai r" he asked.
"You'll lie angry with mo, Philip, if I tell
you."
"Angry, my dear? no, no, not a bit," said
the Cath r.
"You know what I mean."
The banker sighed.
•J>> you mean" — ho began.
'•Yes,ldo,"r pli d thorn thcr. "IfLney
could see or hear of that young man, 1 be
lievo she would recover. I'm sure it would
do her good."
Thero was a long pause. Mr. Dawbarn
groaned in spirit, but be felt that bis wife
was right.
'•I had such better views for her," groaned
: nker.
'■Yes, my dear, I know you had," said tho
wife, pressing his hand.
"Lord Landringa was most particular In
his attentioas, and Sir Theophikia Hawdon
absolutely spoke to me about her."
'"1 know he did," said the acquiescent wife.
'•Think of Lucy being Lady Landringa or
Lady Hawdon! county people —ami then of
her being Mrs. oh'"'
'■It's a sad thing, dear, but what can w-e
do now that she's so ill —poor thin^ 1 And if
we could save her life"
Mr. Dawbarn turned is the bed. ''I'll ask
Topham about it to-morrow.' 1 (Topham was
the doctor.) "M hear his opinion."
"I haw asked him," said tho mother, "and
ho agrees with me."
"But how can it bo done:"' asked tho
banker, turning a^-aiu restlessly. "I can't
ask the fellow to marry my daughter."
"Xo, but you can offer him a. situation in
the bank.'
"Suppose he refuses/
"He won't refuse."
"But how can I find him? Where is he:"'
'■In America,'' answered lira. Dawbarn.
"Americal" repeated tbe banker, sitting
up in bed. ''Then how the ileueo is ho to bo
got at.-"'
"Advertise for him. If he will apply to
So-and-So, he will hear of something to his
advantage. I asked Dr. Tophams advico
about all that."
"Advertising is not respectable,' 1 said tho
banker; to which his wife made no reply but
the word 'Lucy.'"
"Besides,'' continued Mrs. Dawbarn, after
a short pause, "if you don't like advertising,
Beud somebody after him to find out wfaan
he is."
"Send somebody! Bend who?
"Oh, that Mr. Studden; he's doing nothing
and I dare say will be glad of tho job."
"I suppose that Topham advised that too?,'
"Yes, he did."
. "I thought I recognized XoDbam'a interest
i a thai young vagabond. 1 supposo you cad
he havo talked thia matter over new eonio
time."
"I and Hr. Ctud-lenf
"No, you end Tophcm."
•'Yes."
"And you've arranged it all between you."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell no this before,
Jemima?'
"I was afraid."
"Afraid! Airaid of whatf
"Of you."
"Of me, Jemima? Don't yo-s think I lo\*e
my child as much as you?"
•Tin sure you do; but you men don't un
derstand some things."
"But Topham's a man," remarked the
puzzled banker.
"But then he's a doctor," was tho reply.
Mr. Dawbarn groaned inwardly, as a pos
sible coronet presented itself to his mind's
eye—and then facied away. "I suppose you
must have it your own way." bo said.
"May I, Philip;' asked his wife, putting
her arm around his neck a second time.
"Ye-. 1 believe you're in the right. But
won't the shock-the surprise hurt her.''
"I'll answer for that. May I tell her to
morrow;"
"Yes,"' sighed the vanquished father.
"Blessyou, Phi.ip:" said tho good mother;
and sho kissed ber partner, and both wife*
and husband slept the sleep of the just.
CHAPTER IV.
"Luoy, niy dear," said Mrs. Dawbarn tho
next morning as she entered tho invalid's
chamber, "I and papa huvo been talking
about yon."
"Yes, mamma," said Lucy, with a:i evi
dest want of interest in tho subject.
'•/. ml what do you think he says?"
"Don't know, mamma."
"He's going to make some alterations in
the bank."
•■Oli, indeed!"
Miss Lucy had '!<>tthe smallest solicited'
about the bank.
"And what else do you think?"'
"Oh, mamma, I am so tired," said Lucy
peevishly.
"What else do you think he means to dof 1
continued Mrs. Dawboro, bending her ma
tronly head over her daughter's face, and
pouring into her ear words that made the
girl )h:<!i scarlet ami her eves Bash.
"Oh. mamma, it can't be true!'
"My love, could 1 deceive you?"
"No, dear mamma, no; but oh, is it true?
Ki^s me, mamma '.ear. I am so happy and
so thankful, and—and in a little time, when
I've thought over how happy I am, papa
may come in. and I'll kiss him and thank
him, ami tell him how grateful I am too,
and "
But poor Lucy could get no further, and
sobbed and wept with delight
"Mydarling,kiss me now,"said I er father,
advancing from the door, behind which he
had watched the effect of the news. "I'll do
anything to make yoa happy—anything."
■•(I papa! my own papal"
"My darling, you'll love mc now again as
you used to do, woni you? anil —ami— there's
Mr. Bob Studden's knock. Til semi that fel
low off to New York —I mean to Liverpool,
this very night."
Mr. Bob Studden was waiting in the dining
room. He was so changed in face, dress, ap
pearance and manner that when Mr. Daw
barn saw him I:" started and Baid:
"Are you Mr. Robert Stodden f
"Yes, Mr. Dawbarn, it's me," said the fa
miliar voice. "I dare say you find me
changed. Ido mv»?f>'.!'
Hi> was indeed altered. In plaeo of the
spick, span, new, natty dressy, shiny, oily,
varnish .1 l: >b, Ihe delight of I armaids and
thoenvyof ■■■ ■ ood :i shabby, cordu
roy trou iercd, waistcoutless vagabond, sm< 11
--ingof ctrawaad porter. Mr. Dawbarn hesi
tal ; before he asked liizn 1 isil down.
■■[ ■■; j-our letter, sir,"said Dob, whose
manner was as deferential as his clothes were
shabby, "and came on immediately. Sorry
i couldn't pros .iit myself more decently; but
such is fate."
"What are you doing now, Mr. Studdenf"
asked tho banker.
"At present, sir. replied Bub, ''I am stable
man at tho Cock and Cottie.''
'■( lood gracious!"
'■It's not what I could wish, sir, but it's
better than nothing. I'm sorry to say I'm
only employed there two days n week—Mon
lays and market days; but still, what with
odd jobs, I manage b> grub on."
Mr. Dawbarn looked at tbo ex-betting
mau's wan face and wistful eyes, and asked
him if he would take a glass of wine.
Bob shot o quick glance, and said that he*
would; and i:i the keen look Mr. Dawbarn
reed hunger.
"The sherry," said the banker to a servant,
■•.i:](l brii!^ lunch—som • cold roast beef
■iml — you know; and when we've lunched,
Mr. Studden, we'll talk business."
Mr. Studden's performance upon the beef
was so extraordinary that thebanki r
that be would commit involuntary -;
It was wit.i a i- cling of intense relief thai he
saw him attack the cheese; but the rittaci
.prolonged that Mr. Dawbarn feared
lest tho suffocation the beef bad lefl nnac
eeajpli h■ I should be • (T< cted by the Stil in.
any in ire; sir, thank yon," answi red
Bob to his i. st'a complimentary qn <■: ■■:.
'■I never task i such :i choose and as f< ir tho
beef, it's beautiful. 1 haven't I isted animal
: ,ii :■;■: i i a days. For red herring U
not animal food anymore than n lump of
salt is, and I'm sick of red herrings. Soak
'em in as much hot water cs you like, they
always taste of lucifers; perhaps because they
lie nest to 'em in the shop. I may thank you,
Mr. Dawbarn, for a real meal such as I
bavent had for—for"
Tho wine Mr. Studden hnd drank reemed
to btivo got into his head, and from his head
into his eyes. Men a.-c strange creatures—
and even betting men are men—and whether
it was tno memory of bygono day?, ortho
wine, or the bread, or tho "butter, or the beef,
or the cheeso that affected him, cannot be
as ■ertained, but one of theso causes, or some
of them, or all, caused Bob Btudden to lay
his head upon his arms, and to cry copiously.
He then began accusing himself, and say
ing that be was a bad lot; that novra; mis
erable and repented; that his life was
b:i hourly curse to him; that he knew
ho had brought it nil upon him
self; that ell his friends had de
serted him, particularly those who had shan -a
his hospitality, and even his money, when ho
was prosperous; that tho man who owed his
rise iv lito to him, and whom ho had assisted
at a crisis, had behaved to him with au in
gratitude that stung him to tho soul; that ho
was half starved and had no bed but in tbo
stable; that he was ruined—ruined—and had
no hope.
When the poor, broken down gttmester had
exhausted him-solf, tho banker began. He
told him that he (tho banker) had been ad
vised to offer him (Studden) employment
because ho knew him to bo intelligent, and
hoped that his past sufferings had been a
warning to him for the future; that tbo busi
ness ho wished to employ him on was diffi
cult and delicate, being no less than to go to
New York and from there to whorcver elso
it might bo necessary to travel, in search
of Mr. Munro; that money would bo pro
vided and letters furnished him, and that
ho vro3 required to start for Liverpool that
very night; that it was hoped he would soS
lightly giyo up a chance that offered him re
dcrsptiou for the post and a Una pruspscj tor
the future.
'I'il do it! I'll do it!" said Bob, rising and
grasping the banker's hand; ''and God blei^
you, Mr. Dawbarn, for giving a poor outcast
devil like mot ho cnauca. I'll not deceive
you, sir, if 1 do"
'•Hush, bush, Mr. Studden."
"You'll make, a man of me, sir—a man!
I'll bo true as steel. I'll not bet —not on the
best horse- that was ever foaled. To-night,
sir—l'il start this minute, barefoot, if you
wished it. I've got a decent suit of clothes
Ux pawn, sir, quite kooJ mough for the likes
of me; I'll be faithful and true, sir, and God
bless 3"ou, sir, and—and
Here Bob broke down again, and even stiff
Mr. Dawbarn was compelled to use his cam
bric handkerchief as Mr. Studden used his
coat sleeve. Bob was furnished with letters;
among them was one from Mr. Dawbarn
addressed to Munro, which iuclosed a note
from Lucy, which contained only these
words, written in a large, trembling hand:
"Comeback tome —oh! come back to mo,
my dear; and soon, if you would^see again
upon this earth your own Lucy."
A few hours after Bob was seated on the
roof of the night coach, and as it rattled
p;:st tho banker's house he saw a light in
Lucy's chamber. Although tho night was
cold the uki.'ow was thrown up, ami a thin
lia;;d waved a handkerchief.
CHAPTER V.
Two years elapsed and there was no news
of the missing Mr. Munro. Letters arrived
frequently from different parts of America
from Mr. Bob Studden, who evidently found
his task to be more difficult than he had sup
™.Wi. America was a large continent, and
; was not so easy to find one particular man
ir>o!i it. Poor Lucy amused herself by read
ins books and perusing maps. She liked to
wonder if George were there —ortbere.aud
what sort of place it was. She arranged all
Mr Bob Suidden's letters of intelligence in
chronological order and compared them with
the books and the maps, and so traced his
progress. She always knew when an Ameri
can letter arrived by an instinct for which
she was at a loss to account herself; but for
all these sources of consolation, for all tier
mother's and father's solicitude, she grew
weaker and weaker. She took no air bat in
an invalid chair. Her father walked by her
side grave, and dejected. Stealthy shad
■ ■■. i took possession of the banker's house.
They flitted on the windows, lingered on the
staircases and hung about the passages; and
the good folks of Bramlingdon looked sad ::;
they pas; ed the banker's, over which, as over
those it contained, there hung the sanctity of
i great sorrow.
Two long, long years and two long, long
months Lucy waited and hoped, each day
her pale cheek growing paler, and her light
form lighter, and toward Christmas she was
unable, to bo lifted from her bed. Dr. Top
ham said that ho had exhausted the resources
of his science; and when the poor girl turn .■ i
feverishly, and, with a slight access of de
lirium, asked for the fiftieth time if then
trere no news, the doctor beckoned the banker
and his wife from the sick room and said:
'Tvoanidea! This cannot last long—she
must be quieted somehow. She keeps ask
ing for news; now news from America
would quiet luT :i:!d she might sleep."
"We have no news," said the single minded
banker.
••No,'' replied the doctor, "but we run
make gome."
'■Make some!"
"Fabricate it;—lnvent ii. Dent you S.™. 1"
-•( i doctor!" remarked tho tearful mother,
"todeceive a i >'»>:• creature on the threshold
of death!"
"To snatch her from death," Baid Dr. Top
bam. "It must be done. It is i ln l l:ist
• •hance. \V.-must write a letter from Stud
den this very night."
"But - bui but —it is forgery!" stammered
th ■ banker.
"Besides," said Mrs. Dawbarn, "Lncy
knows Mr Studden's hand and always ex
amines tli" envelopes. "
■Thin." Baid the doctor, "we must do it by
telegraph "
"Telegraph!"
■■Yes. In a few minutes yon will receive
a telegram from Mr. Hob Studden, saying
that ho h.is just arrived at Liverpool with—
with ■■. companion."
"Whom send it*"
■■' will," said the doctor.
'■15at when- -when she Bads that Studden
fo not in England—what then?"
"We mnsl think of something else,"said
tho undaunted Topham. "The case is des
p?rate, and something desperate must be
tried. Go and taik to her, Mrs. Dawbarn,
and PI! send the telegram."
With n strong fivling of conscious guilt
Mr. and Mrs. Dawbarn put into their daugh-
I ,' ban ! it legram containing these words:
•From Robert Studden, Adelphi Hotel, Liv-
erpool, t" Charles Dawbarn, Bramlingdon.
"I have just arrived in Liverpool. I have
nowsof Mr. M. I hope to be in Bramling
:'■ m by Timr by.' 1
Lucy read the telegram and sat up in her
bed.
'•}[■; come, mamma!" she sail, and her
eyes Bashed and her cheeks flushed. "He
landed in England this morning—l felt ho
9 o'clock. Ho will be hero soon,
■ will—very soon—very soon. Mnmm i.
; 11 Eliza to put out my lilac frock. He
liked lilac—and to comoand do my hair—
and—and and -tell Kiiza to come to me—
and 1 can tell her whal 1 want myself."
The father and mother exchanged glances
that Baid: "Here is the consequence of our
(] ception. What can bo done next?" Tho
though', had hardly been interchanged be
fore a. smart rap was heard at the street door,'
and a servant came, in with another tele
graphic di>p:\rch, which ran thus:
''■From H. Studden, Adelphi Hotel, Liver-
poo!, to C. Dawbarn, Bramlingdon.
"Just arrived here with Mr. Miwro. Shall
start by night train, leaving here at 1:30.
M. and self will bo at Bramlingdou to-mor
row. Telegraph back."
'•How absurd of Topham to send two tele
grams!" said Mr. Dawbarn, when he and his
wife were alone, "as if one would not bring
mischief enough. Ho must be mad."
Dr. Topham entered tho hortso, and in
quired how his plan had succeeded.
"Oh, Lucy is very much delighted and agi
tated," answered Lucy's father. "What wo
shall do with her when she. finds the news
not true, Ido not know. But, Topham, why
the dcuco did you send two telegrams?' 1
"Two!" echoed Topham. "I onlysent one."
"Yes, you did."
"Xo, I didn't"
"Yes, yon did. Hero it is."
The doctor looked at tho second telegram,
and said, "I didn't send this."
"JTol Who then?' 1
"By Jove! He did! Studden, I mean.
Dawbarn, he's cornel he's come! I only an
ticipated the truth. It was a medical inspi
ration— my patient will recover."
Mr. Dawbarn lost n4 time in telegraphing
back to Liverpool At Lucy's express desire
Mr. Studden was instructed to telegraph at
every station, that she might know how
much nearer and nearer her Groorgo was to
her. The telegraph boys wera up tha whole
ui^ht, and Lucy kept the telegrams and read
them until sho fell fast asleep.
When she woks she found herself unable
to rise, bo resolved to receive her futura hus
band in state; and when she had looked in
thj? mirror begged her mamma in a
whisper to tot her have noia\> —"not to
make ma look better, but for fear my pale,
white, white cheeks should frighten George."
The heavy hours flew by. George arrived,
and was shown upstairs to his faithful, con
stant mistress; and the servants in tho
kitchen held groat jubilee, and there was
sweetheartinj below stairs as well as above.
Mr. Dawbarn found Mr. Bob Studden
quite an American—according to the notion
of Americans imbibed by Englishmen a few
months resident in the New World. He
wire a "goatee" beard, square toed boots,
and loud trousers and cravat. He addressed
Mr. Dawbarn as "colonel,' and assumed a
manner that savored equally of the quarter
deck and the counter—half pirate, half bag
man.
'•As I advertised you, colonel," he ex
plained, "in the various letters from tha
various diggings where I fixed my temporary j
location when 1 set foot in New York, I
could find small traceof G. Munro, but 1 fol
lowed up that trace, and dogged eternally
wherever he had made tracks. At last 1 lost
him, and was near thinkin' I was done holler
—yes, sir— do you know why I thought 1
was done holler? lie changed his name, and
what his last occupation was I could not dis
cover. However, 1 traveled and traveled
on; and how d'ye think, and what* think,
colon. 1, I found him out at last?' 1
"I don't know."
'It was quite by accidentit was. I
thought I'd heard of him in Detroit, but I i
couldn't find htm in Detroit; and I wasgoin'
away by tho cars on the following sun up.
Not knowing what to do with myself till
roosting time, I strolled into the museum—
that is—that was a theatre then. The firs;
man 1 see upon the stage was G. Munro.
dressed like a citizen, in coat, vest and pants,
or perhaps I should not have known him. I
bailed him, and we started off that very
night. We traveled quicker than post, or 1
should have written. 1 should have diag
nosed him before, but the track was cold, be
cause ho had changed his name, and gone
upon the stagea fact which 1 have not men
tioned to any one but you, nor do I intend to
dv—the stage, not being considered by the
general a i business like."
Lucy was soon wen out again in the invalid
chair, but her father no longer walked by her
side. He was replaced by Mr. Munro, who
usually propelled it himself. Within eighteen
months ti: • young couple were married,
and some timo after George was mad" a
partner in the bank. Mr. Robert Studden*
by the assistance of his patron, emigrated toj
Australia, where ho drives a thriving busi
ness in horses. Before he sailed he spent the i
Christmas day with the bride and bride-|
groom And though ourta'e ends happily
with marriage a::d dowry, as novels and
plays should en:l, it is not for that reason a
fiction, bat :i true story of :•::: love.
AN IDEAL CHRISTMAS.
Events of a Day Which BbOo Mr. Scri--
B lcs Tired.
!' was Christmas day; anybody could tell
it. sleigh b Us rang out more crisp and clear
than usual, tho sun was brighter, the a:r
was sharper, men stepp I m< >r • 1 irtskly along
tha streets, the chimes sounded sweeter; the
h bells tinkled more merrily, and if th it
wasn't enough to convince the most skepti
cal, h" conld lo'.k at the heading of the
morning newspaper.
"Ha!" cried Mr. Scriegles as he limped
out of bed; "beautiful day; beautiful; and,
iuQcid; Ohrfetmasr; Mrs. Sci lpfcle» isut aivaka
ye* either; 111 get ahead of her this time.
Merry Christ "
"Scriggles, has the servant got that fire
started vel '.'
"I don't ';now, dear; I was just coing
down to see abut it. Merry Christ "
"Scriggle ■. 1 would like to have fa to give
to the church. Have you gut any money left
from last nj
"Certainly, I kept $25 exclusively for
Christmas. I'll leave the live ou the dressing
<■:: ■ for yon."
He skipped gayly down stairs just in time
to meet the new up stairs girl.
"Good tnornin', Misther Scriggles, Merry
Christmas and Christmas gift"
'"Certainly, Bridget, here's a couple of dol
lars for you."
The cook was just emerging from tho
kitchen when he arrived ar the door.
"Christmas gif, Massa Scriggles. 11
"Certainly, Arabella; here's *'- for yon."
Breakfast was eaten and Scriggles presented
hN wife with a bonnet which she said w.is
horrid, and she gave him a cane to add to his
collection, which numbered something over
a dozen.
il ■ then took the street car down town.
"Mornin 1, Massa Scriggles," said his beet
black. "Chrismus git"
"Yes, Bam; here's a dollar for you."
"Christmas gift, Mr. Scriggles," said the ,
elevator boy. (
"Yes, of course; here's a dollar for you."
"Christmas gift, Mr. Scriggles/ 1 Baid his
office boy in a cheery, holiday tone, which
id for { 2.
"Ah, g 1 day, madame," said he to the
lady whom he found seated in his chair.
"Merry Christmas to you, I'm sure."
"I am glad to see that you have the true
Christian spirit," she said, "I augurs favor
ably for my errand."
"What can I do for you, ma'am 1
■"1 am working iv the cause of charity,'"
slio replied. "I am soliciting subscriptions
for the new mission for the natives of Pata
gonia. I hone I may put you dc KB for §10. v
Mr. Seriggies said certainly, and handed
her the money.
The janitor and two scrub ladies also made
successful calls. Ho had to compromise with
tho latter on 50 cents apiece.
At about •'! o'clock Mr. Scriggles concluded
to start for home. As he reached tho side
walk ho felt in his vest pockets, then in his
trousers pocket. A slight look of annoyance
crossed his face.
"Merry Christmas," said a cheery voice.
"Oh, how are you, Brown; yes, to bo sure.
Do you happen to have a car ticket in your
pocket!"
"No, I haven't."
"Any change?"
••So, not a red."
When Scriggles reached homo it was about
half past 0. Ho dragged himself wearily
through the door and hung himself on the
lounge.
"Did you have a pleasant Christmas?'
asked his wife.
'Christmas be—blessed !:' was the only
reply as he flopped over on his side, with his
face to tho wall.
Today.
O nisht of nights! O night
1' iiiilof manso loug!
The ancient heavens fled forth kl light
To siug theo thy new song;
An'l shooting down the steep.
To shepherd folk of old,
An anget while they watched their sheep,
Set foot bteide the fold.
It vas so long ago;
But God can make it now,
And as with that sweet overflow,
Our empty hearts endow,
Take, Lord, these words outworn,
Oh, make them new for aye,
Speak—'Tnto you a child is born,"
Today-today today I -Jean Ingelow.
BURDETTE'S WITICISMS.
Brief and Pointed Essays on Current
Topics.
The first territorial Volapuk club in Amer
ica has been organized in Walla Walla,
Washington Territory. There is a phonetic
I appropriateness in this thing.. J. W. ttoding
ton's scientific journal, Tho Walla Walla
I Wah Wah, is the official organ of the society.
IWPAnDONABLE CANNIBALISM.
Don't talk to us about honor among
thieves. When the train robbers went
| through that Northern Pacific train at Cus
ter, they refused to take any money from tho
train conductor and brakomen, but when they
came to tho Pullman car they went through
allthe Pullman employes twice, and then
threatened to kill thfim if they didn't rake
tho Pullmau employes twice, and then
e&tened to kill thf-m If they didn't rnke
up a little more. Such treatment as this
must cut Sir George to the heart. Why, you
wouldn't be at all surprised now to learn that
those train robbers, when tney got safely
away, fell upon and robbed each other.
OR MAY DE IT WAS THE BOULAXGER MARCH.
'•What makes a white cat deaf 1" asks a
scientific writer. Why, we always supposed
it was tho debate on the tariff. It makes
human beings wish they were deaf or dead.
LATE IN' OXE THING.
'•Why did tho orator speak of 'tho late
George Washington/"' asked Hollo. '"Be
cause he is dead," replied Hollo's mother.
"But Washington was never late," said
Rollo; "he was first in war, first in peace
and first in the hearts of his countrymen."
"Cut he was the last man to get a monu
ment," said Hollo's Uncle George, and with-
out coming to a vote the committee rose and
the house adjourned. —Brooklyn Eagle. >
A Fatal Mistake.
Mrs. Jacob S ,an estimable woman
living in a small town in tho wert, discov
ered early in her matrimonial career that she
had not been fortunate in her choice of a
husband, for Jacob proved to be excessively
lazy and shiftless, doing alraort nothing for
thu support of his wife and the round faced
little children.
Several years after her marriage Mrs. S
beard erf the approaching marriage of Jon
nir> Krale, the daughter at a neighbor, and
meeting the girl one day she said:
••Veil, Sfaennie, 1 hear you vas thinkin'
'boat getting married. Vas dot so*"
The girl, with becoming blushes, admitted
tho troth of tho rumor.
'■Veil, Bhennie,"«Ud Mrs. S , "itwoull
be veil for you to dink dwice before you
marry s anypody."
"Dili you think twice about it when you
were married i" asked Jennie, rather resent
ing the intimation that sho had not made a
arise choice.
■•Veil, yes, I did," replied Mrs. S , aft«»r
■onto tittle hesitation, "I did dink dwica,
Suennie; but I made yon grade meestako,
vo:i grade meestake, Shenuio. I did not dink
der second time undil after I vas married.' —
Detroit Freo Press.
Deacon Lu!:ers (entering crowded car) —
Say, you! Ilev you paid for that young
one's seat?
Count Fillippi (who bos left his organ in
theoaggagocar)—Sicca him, Pippo!—Judga
T!icy Bore No IVrspertivc.
An American writer says the wealthy
Japanese picture owner keeps hia art treas
ures stowed away in what is called a "go
down," or storehouse, and his jiaintiii^s are
brought up one at a time if any visitor is
present, in order that a single pictare may
!»' seenl il If. Wo should think that ono
at a time would be about as many as an
American could ■::::.■!, it' they aro tho work
of Japanese artists. Japanese art 13 eeceufrio
and mystifying, and half a dozen at-a tim>
would mako t::t' visitor think he hail what hi
Volapul; language is called tao "jamesjams."
— Norristown Herald.
I*nfortnn:itrlr, Too Often the Case.
Tho minister (ought to improve the tim.j
by giving Bobby a lesson in morality. "My
boy," he sail, '"I havo lived forty-five years
aii'l have never and tobacco in any form,
nor told a lie, nor swore, nor pla3(?d hookey,
nor'"— "Havo you got any little boysi" in
ternipte<l Bobby. "Xo, I have never had
any little boys." "Weil, they aro mighty
lucky," said iiobby.— San Francisco Wasp.
Ten Hearts That Heat as One.
Mornm:i Youth—Mr. Elder, lam in love
vrith your daughters.
Mr. Elder—Which ones?
Mormon Youth—Mi.-:s;:3 Amy, Claribfl.
Mamie, Jennie, Emma, Polly, Bridget, Ann
and Josephine.
Mr. Eider—Take them, my boy; take them
and try to make some of the'in happy.—Town
Topics. ' J
Rather Hare the Boy Whipped.
Editor— if anybody calls tell fclm I
am very busy writing an editorial.
Office Boy (ten minutes later)— Man down
stairs what wants to know who wroto that
article in yesterday's paper.
Editor—Go back and tell him you wrote
it. I'm not feeling first rate today.—
A Fine Profession.
Mr. Crupper (to his jockey)-How ~ did it
happen, Muckins? You aro the sixteenth of
an ounce over weight.
Muckins-Iknowedl'dgUinascraposome
how. I stopped on me way down ter Kit ma
boots shined, sir.—Time.
In Chicago Co Might.
Examiner (to graduating medical student)
-If you should make a mistake and give a
patient an overdose of tartar emetic, what
would you do? ...
cKo'SuL* bU7 up wone'
