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An Air-Castle. I built a houMi in my beautiful dreams, Iu a sunny and pleasant nook, "Where I miht listen, the whole day long, To the voice of the tyurgliug biook A cottage, vitl wide and airy rooms And broad and shining floors A house with the hidden charms of home And *he freedom of out-of-doors. Fair moruiujr-sclories climb and bloom At will by the eastern eaveev And on the doorstop and window-sill Tho roses shake their leaves And fair old-fashioned UlacB toss Their purple plumage hih, While honeybuckles drop their sweeta On eveiy passer-by. Down at the end of a pleasant path Is a group of *ve green trees Pine ana hemlock, and spruce and fii, With thei'* spicy fragrances And, sweeten picture of calm content That moittil ever saw, Under a low-bouqhed xpple tiee la a bee -hive made of straw I have pictured if- all a, bundledJames I shall do it a hundred moie But I neve- shall own the pleasant home, With the roses over the door. ]Vevor a dream of nuue earns true It is fate's unbending law I nev*r shall hee the apple tree, Nor the bee hive made of straw. But yet in the airj realms of di earns, Wheio all my riches be, I enter into the hcntage Which is else denied to me, I have but to close my eyes to find My Eden l'hout a ihiw Tht home, tue garden, ttu apple tree, And the bet hue made of atr iw Elizabeth Akers Allen. A FAMILY GENIUS. BY E'lTIK POGERS. Foitnnate the family that is without a -black sheep, 'but blessed is the fami ly titans without a genius It not un'roquonily happms that the oo "black sheep" has beer, dyed bis 'lutouian hue by niihce or ignorance, nd that after leaving the unippioeiative old for new and more congenial pastures is wool is wailied as white as snow by hose who nioie properly value him. But the family "genius"*h, well! we ave all met a specimen here or there, nd are almost ashamed to confess that uot a few instances we were sadlv dis achanted. Nancy Develin was & family "genius.*,, 'he divine seal was set upon her^the mo lent she came into this cruel, censorious orld, the divine afflatus was heaid in ie first faint ciy and seen in the far-away aze of her wondering eyes. Assuredly le was a marvellous child, and surpris g possibilities lay before her. It was }l strange, considering that the world is "overbially ohnd to genius, and especi ily family eremus, that she was given a i ost unpoetic and unsuggestive name. However, the misfortune was allevi i ed a few eats later when, the genius discovered that "Nancv" was convertibk "Anne," and that "De Velin" was the r.ore proper and aesthetic loim of the -osv cognomen "Develin," so henceforth e was known asM-hne De Velin. The gifted girl had many talents, un Mohtedh although the simple people iiong whom she dwelt did not always idily rvognu them. But she was mired and flattered for more prosy con- l*o.-!ons 9h v?j,3 the only child pf a althy but practical and unlettered mev *'^Ali~A-\. ti nk?" thought Anne, when she knew it- was realay going. She rather liked Sanders, who was a sensible and fine- iocAing young land bolder, atia who "J ed her. Him she bad never consid 'ii boorish, nor was his persistent de i obnoxious to her, although he was i ii all the sort ot gentleman whom vanted lor a lover. one De Velin1s ideal lover wai not 1-shouidered and muscular, and like a Turk, hut he was tall and i IT uy he was dark-eyed, anstocratic i pale, and had a gracefully-curved n i tache. He wore elegant clothes, a I and on his white hand, and a pink in his button-hole, and was as un m Joe Sanders as a prince ia like a pl.-,( boy. And this was the sort of hnm, to whom s^e expected to play Ju j-ithe new grand city life before"her. f* 11 he wa^ quite too much of a coquette |,iirt lightly with Joe Sanders. I really can't see what 50U want to go to uh' city fcr. Anne," he observed, very soberly. Tb girl twisted a showy amethyst on fcer rlump fingar, and looked as a family gtofos is supposed to look when talking mm^^S^m^l^' with an inferior sort of person who ia too hopelessly stupid to comprehend her noble asperations. "Well, you see," *h answered with dignity, "I was not born for this kind of life. Something higher and sweetor is necessary to one like me. Sou men uere s.ow and reap, toiling on and plodding on year after year, never thinking of the beautiful things you might give to the world by a stroke of the pen or the pen cil. Joe, life is a grand and glorious thing if lived as it ought to be. O, how I despise theso poor, unrefined women who are content to drudge like oxen, with no rest and no amusement A little gossip ing, a little church-going, and a great deal of soul-crushing work is enough for them. But one like me, Joe, must have something different." "Ah, indeed that is it, is it?" returned the young man, eyeing the pretty egotist with an amused smile. "What do you mean to make your life, Anne? What will yon be?" "I mean to be a great and famous wo man,"' she asserted "I have not yet de cided how. Perhaps I shall be an artist or a prima dona." "And perhaps you will be my wife," was the thought that he did not utter. After a few days of pleasant prepara tion, Miss Anne De Velin became the guest of Mrs. Ciowly, who leceived the girl affectionately enough, but Dot with the mannei ot one who realized the au spicious presence of a family genius Anne soon learned that her relative cared a great deal for social pleasures, but did not appieciate her marvellous talent* in he ieaist. "You sing on the stage? What an ab surd child you are!" she cried, laughing heartily. "I have been told that my voice is veiy fine." peisisfed Anne, much nettled at the critical and mciedulous manner of her aunt. "Of comae you have a fine voice," said Mrs. Crowly, soothingly "but not near ly fine enough for a public singei. Be sides you would be obliged to studv for years to perfect it." "1 thought one who had a great gift need not study at all," yentured Anne, who was loth to have her country reputa tion questioned. "And that 1 have the true artist inspiration, I know myself. You know how good my pictures are. I intend to put my best on exhibition." Anne's face grew hot, and angry teais gathered in her eyes. "You had better learn to dress well, the first thing jou do, Anne," continued Mrs Crowly, s?eing the girl's agitation, "I want you to look very nicely at my party to-night. Fred Fitch is coming," I am glad of that," answered Anno, with cha ming frankness "I think Mr. Fitch is really the only gentleman whom I ever admired." There was nothing that this girl of many gifts imagined she could not win, ana she thought the conquest of 1 grn tleraan's heart a very easy matter indeed. Besides, she had found in Mr. Fred Fitch nev ideal lover, and he was quite the per son to fascinate a much wisei and more experienced gill than Anne. His dai & eyes could look unutterable love,the touch qf his white hand wa mes meric, and every accent of his voice was thrilling as a caress. Miss Anne De Velin fondly believed that she had found in his sight, and she determined to ice ambition for lrve, as the most 3 thing she could do, consideung persistently ohnd her new friends jd to be of her genius. had known Mr. Fitch some months Mrs. Crowley gave another party to i he was invited. aar Fred will certainly propose tc she thought, as bhe made her toi the event. 3 dress she chose for the evening he most ei pensive she had ever and would have been a charming if worn by one of an opposite stvle auty. Miss De Velin was highly ed with her appearance as she went 1 to the parlor and ensconced heiselt ly in a curtained niche where she i watch the guests unseen until Mr Fitch should arrive, 'esently he came, and leaning on his jwas a lovely woman, Theystopped ae window wheie Annie was sitting, ose lhat she could have touched the jling jewels that the lady wore, /wonder where Mrs. Crowly's little is to-night?" ob&eived Mr. Fitch he you met her, Maud? No? Well, is a curiosity. You ought really to fier and to hear her talk. It is better a comedy. She thinks herself a us, you knowfancies she sings like ngel and paints like a prodigy." she really talented, Fred?" inquired l?ady, with polite indifference. I talented?" he laughed, "she is one of most ordinary girls I every met in 4ife but her system and self-conceit utunning." suppose you found her tiresome, did not?" observed the lady, carelessly. Jnpleasantly so," he returned, more |usly, "But of course one has to her nicely, although no doubt she ikes one's courtesies for the partial tions of a most infatuated admirer, y, Maud, I havo fancied at times |she believed that 1 loved her." (hope you have not trifled with her, j? said the lady. Jassure you I have not," answered he, 'gallantly I could not do that, es ally as I am promised to your fair self, sweet ma belle Maud." They moved away presently, and then poor Anne slipped unobserved out of the grand parlors. She sobbed a little when she at length reached her own room. Her last illusion was gone, but had left her much wiser and much less hurt than might be sup posed. She was ouiy eighteen, be it re membeied and, after all, her fawcies had not been more extravagant than those of many others who, unfortunately, for lack of this sort of salutary lesson, have remained fools to the end of their lives. And she was, quite ceitainly, not too much ot an idiot to know how fool ish she had been, nor to feel a womanly, resentful desire to confuse the elegant and vain Mr. Fred Fitch with some pretty and seemingly ingenious sally of strategic wit. She thought of noble, manly Joe Sanders, and smiled contentedly' as a bright plan suddenly took shape and form in her giddy, cgotistiarl brain, BO rudely stung to defensive action. She sprang to her feet, and hurriedly flung aside the golden-tinted silk, the crimson carnations, and the set of rubies borrowed from her indulgent Aunt Orowlyall of ^^^^^^SSSt1" ""^'"""^^If which finery had become to her, in her abruptly-awakened sense Pi* taste and dis cernment, correctly and odiously unbe coming and incongruous. Then, still smiling with a strage and new feeling of satisfaction, she put on a plain, pretty dress of white cashmere, arranged an ex quisite affair of soft black lace about her neck and shoulders, fastened a pale pink rose fn her fine dark hair, and so went again down to the elegant and crowded parlors. "Auntie, please do introduce me to that charming young lady whom Mr. Fitch is entertaining," she solicited, slipping to the Bide of her relative at a moment time ly chosen. "Certanly, my dear child," complied Mrs. Crowly, at the same time favoring her niece with a glance of sincere but surprised admiration. "Really, Anne, she whispered, "you are looking remarka bly well this evening. What fairy helped vou to dress with such exquisite simplici- ty?" The compliment was very gratifying to Annie, but she had no time to respond, for Mi Fred Fitch and his stylish be rothed were very near. And the gallant young gentleman was somehow very at tentive to Annie during the hoar that fol lowed. He thought her very pretty and graceful in her sfmple dress, and he be gan vaguely to woader if she were really quite as much of a country simpleton as he had supposed her to be, albeit her new mood, that was charminsiy naive and shyly coquettish, puzzled and piqued him. "I protest, Mr. Fitch," said Anne, with an arch and saucy smile, when his soft flatlet became somewhat profused, "J must not listen to such nonsense." "Why must you not?" he asked tender ly. "Because," she returned, demurely, "the dear fellow who is to be my husband would certainly object, if he knew." "Ah, indeed," observed Mr. Fred Fitch, dropping the little brown hand and Anne smiled and mentally blessed the woman wit that had helped her to non plus him who had ridiculed her. She went home the next day, quite convinced that she preferred the rustic life she had once thought so prosy and inferior. Joe Sanders, the sensible and faithful, met her at the station. "Has my litile girl come back te be my wife?" he asked, lovingly, reading aright the expression of her tired and wistful eyes. Anne's answer must have pleased him mightily, for he kissed her then and thero, regardless of the gaping crowd. Her father was delighted. I knowed how it would be," he de clared "'cause the gal was bright and hansum, the rest of ye made her b'lieve she could beat all creation at the big things them kin do as wus bom to 'em. Many is the gal as would make a right smait and happified wife as has been poked into citified ways for nuthin' but misery. But I tell ye rale genius fs al ters satisfied with the life the good Lord pervides. Kiss me, my little gal, and God bless je." HUM! How Mr. Lincoln Made a Match. It was about a year before the fall of Richiuojiid wben both Norrfi and South seemed tottering to rain, that a young lady, who had knowu Mr. and Mrs. Lin coln for years, visited Washington. She was an exceptionally sensible, warm hearted, refined woman, gifted with a marvellous voice and a graceful figure, but she was very nomely. She called at the White House, and when she had gone with his wife into a piivate room, Mr. Lincoln expressed his surpnse to a friend that "some good man had not been lucky enough to marry her." Adding: "L. htrsplf would be much happier if bhe were a wife and mother." A few mutes later Major a vol unteer officer, thoroughly respected by the President, and a bachelor, came into the study. Mr. Lincoln looked at him thoughlully. "What are you going to do when the war is o\er, C?" he asked, suddenly. "Seek my fortune, I suppose," was the startled reply. "There it is in that room." A frank girlish laugh was heard at that moment. "No, you can go to seek it new busi ness first. But there it is." That evening there was a reception at the White House. The President beck oned to Major C. "Listen I" he said. A lady whom they could not see be cause of the crowd, was singing, in a voire of great beauty and sweetness, some gay song. The Major would have moved foi ward, but Mr. Lincoln detained him, his eyes twinkling with shrewd fun. "Wait a bit," he said. "Don't look at her face yet." Presently she sang a ballad with such pathos, that the Major's eyes grew dim. "Now go. She's as good and true as her song." The good word of Mr. Lincoln prob ably influenced both parties. In a few months they were married, and the union has proved a most happy one. "I did one wise thing in 1864," Mr. Lincoln said, rubbing bis cnin,as was his wont when pleased made that match.' A Te JJeurn. An anecdote of the Emperor Charles VI. is worth preserving: During the reign of that monarch an Italian officer or distinction was dispatched to Vienna with news ot a battle, in which the im perial tioops had buen completely routed. On his arrival at the frontier, he was in formed by tho Governor of the first forti fied town he entered that, although the object oi his journe^ was to announce a defeat, he mu3t on^tue contrary proclaim a victory wherever he went, and be pre ceeded by twenty or thirty couriers, each blowing a horn. Obliged to conform to this ridiculous custom, the officer con tinued his route, and on reaching Vienna, was instantly admitted to the imperial presence upon which he exclaimed, in a loud voice, "Victory, sire, victory I" add iu" in a lowei tone, "Sire, your' Majesty has loit tho day !"s On receipt of this in telligence, Charles VI. made a sign to the envoy to accompany him into the next room, and there demanded the particu lars of tho disaster. "What became of my cavalry?" he said. ''Cut to pieces, sire," replied the officer. "And the in fantry?" uBolted sung in arms!" v'1* a as fast as their legs could carry them, sire," The Emperor listened with perfect gravity to this cata logue of misfortuuep, then,re-ontering the ball of audience, addressed the assembled courtiers as follows: "Let a Te Doutn be I giving." I DEFECTIVE PAGE honor of, the triumph of pur Baby Has Goueto School^ $& Tho baby has gone to school ah mel'V^ What will the mother do, WfR With neyei a call to button or pinl,day,% Or tie bttle Bhoe 4 &Y oe aerse us al With the ttle n.ndermg thing" away TjfjSn Another basket to fill with lunch, iaaA| Another "sood-bye" to say, *Wf And the mother stands at the door to se'#*Mf Her baby march away And turns with a sigh that ia half relief, to"l And half a something akin to grief. Jf* She thinks of a possible future mora, J When the children, one by one, Will go from their home out in tho world To battle with life alone. r* And not even the baby le left to cbeet J* The desolate home of that future yearVj She picks up gaiinents here and there, ,n Thrown down in careless haste, And tries to think how it would seem 4 If nothing weie displaced. 'fy If the house weie alwaya as still asthis, How could she bear the loneliness? 1 31 RICH UNCLE PEOM CHINA. "My dears," crieo Mrs. Chidleigh, hurrying into the morning parlor, wherd Berenice and I sat, busy over blue and pink tarlatan candy-bags, for the charity fail, "I've news for you, the very best of news." It was the day before Thanksgiving, and the fair was to be held at my annt's house. "What is it?" demanded Berenice, scat tering her candies. "Has Mr. Everleigh spoken at last?" "My aunt flushed and bit her lip. "My dear Berenice," she said, "you should not be so out-spoken! To hear you, one would fancy you were exceed ingly anxious about Mr. Everleigh." "Well, aren't we?" interrupted Berry, saucily, tossing her blonde hair, "I'm sure we've been expecting him to speak for the last month, and hoping for it, too. Where's the harm in saying what we feel?" Aunt was silent. I laughed, as I filled a blue bag with pink bon-bons. "You seem to take it for granted, Ber- ry," I said, "that when Mr. Everleigh does speak, it will be to propose for you. Now, you forget me. Who can fell, which he may choose?" Berenice cuiled her red lip. "He'll not be likely to choose you, Meg, 'any rate," she said, with a sneer. Now, I knew this to be quite true. I was a poor orphan, my father died, pen niless, a few years before. We lived in a small cottage, with only four rooms, that had once been the gardener's cottage, and which had been granted to us rent free, by Aunt Mary. In fact, we were, more or less, dependents on her bounty. Mother eked out oui scanty living by taking in plain sewing, and I earned a little by fine embroidery but I had not much time of my own for this kind of work, for my aunt was sending for me, continually, to do this and that and I did not dare to refuse. I was, in short, a kind of maid-of-all work, up at the "groat house," as we called Aunt Mary's, residence. Sometimes, I thought, with a siuh, of the difference between mamma's ot and Aunt Mary's. Then I remembered that the latter had sold herself for money, marrying an old man, who was twice hej. age, and both jealous and exacting. Fortunately, he had died, at last. But Aunt Mary had, long since, paid thepen growing hard-hearted and more selfish daily, when my own dear parents, ho had married for love, had been supremely happy, at least while father lived. I was not sure, recalling all this, that, in spite of our privations, we ought to complain. Yet Beienice was coirect, ofcomse. What right had I, a depend ant, even to think ot Mr. Everleigh, who was rich, fashionable,and a favorite every where? But I was human, after all, and this taunt roused me. "I can't see why he shauldn't marrv even me, if he loved me," I retorted. "He's a free agent, at any late." Berenice tossed her head, till her ring lets were in a shimmer. "What a little fool you aie," she said, "for goodness' sake hold your tongue. Mamma, love," and she turned her back on mc, "don't you mean to tell us your good news?" "Assuredly, when you are polite enough to hear it. I ve been waiting now, some ten minutes. Are you and Meg quite done with your absurd discussion?" "Quite, mamma! It was Meg who started it shea always chattering non sense. But let us hear the news." Aunt drew a letter from her pocket. "A letter," cried .un- does hot concern all." "Mv dear, no. No one mentioned Mr. Everleigh's name, but yourself. I really wish you would try and be a little more guarded. The letter is from your uncle in Shanghai. He is coming home." Berenice and I gave a simultaneous ex clamation. Since the earliest years of our childhood, "our uncle in China" had been the center about which all our romance had revolved. He was mamma's brother, and Aunt Mary's also. Yeara before, when I was'a mere baby, he had gone abroad, ^become soldier and sailor by turns, and finally had amassed, we had heard, a great fortune. Once in a long while a battered box that smelled of camphor and foreign spices came over the seas, a reminder that Uncle Hal had not quite forgotton either mamma or Aunt Mary. But generally the gifts were to my aunt. "Those on whom sue cess shines,"' sayo the old homily, "are successful iu all things." "When your uncle comes borne from China, Berenice dear, we will do thus and no," was always on my aunt's tongue for, rich as she was, at least comparatively, she was always wanting more. And now he was coming I Berry screamed with delight. "I shall toil Everleigh," she said r.lraost instantly, and a little spitefully, I dare say he'll speak now." "It doesn't at all matter whether he speaks or not, my daughter," satd my aunt, loftily, "when your uncle arrives and we may look for him any next weekyou will feel, my dear, that your pbsition in life is doubly aecured. Even Mr. Everleigh would hardly be a match for you! So now you and Maggie go on with your work. I'm glad our charity fair comes off to-night wo ahall be buay hereafter preparing for your uncle. What a pity he couldn't be here for Thanks- Berenice "the it Mr. Everleigh, after Having said this, my aunt sat down to John," and he called to write our invitations and directions for the chanty fair. A devout church mem ber, and something of a philanthropist, was aunt. "Mamma, mamma, I say," called Jack, Berenice's hopeful brother, a lad some dozen summers old, thrusting his curly head in at the door, "Have you got any stale victuals, or old clothes, or anything to give away?" My aunt put down herf gold pen, "and threw back the point-lace lappets of her breakfast-cap, with an air of annoy ance. Jack was such a ferment! "Why, Jack?" demanded Berenice. "'Cause there's a beggar out here. He looks awful hungry and ain't got no overcoat. I gay, mamma, can I give him that cold turkey in the larder?" Mamma leaped to her feet. "No. I want that turkey to make sandwiches for the fair don't dare to touch it. Send the beggar away you know I won't have tramps about the place. Send him awav, this minute and go straight up to the library, and write out your Latin exercises." Jack turned from the door, a cloud on his sunny face. Looking out of the win dow, saw an old man, insufficiently clad. Our big dog Carlo was snarling at his heels. The beggar was so close to the window that he must have heard ev ery word my aunt said and he looked crestfallen enough in consequence "It doesn't seem quite consistant," I remarked, for once letting my indigna tion get the better of my love for peace, '{[to have the house about one's ears, get ting ready for a charity fair, and a starv ing beggai walking from the door un- fed." "A thieving tramp," cried mv aunt, hotly. "Keep silent, Meg, and don't in teifere. It's none of your business, any- how," 1 was prudent enough to make no re ply, but my blood boiled, nevertheless. Had I remained much longer, I should have lost my self-control, I fear go I got up directly, and saying that I had promised to go home soon, left my aunt's. Our cottage wag at the edge of the woods, just outside of the great gates but the avenue was half a mile long,'and before I reached the gates, I had almost overtaken the beggar. He seemed not only old, but feeble, and walked with difficulty he was probably deaf too, as he did not seem to hear my footsteps. Just outside the gates, he met my little bister, Kitty, who was returuiag fiom the wood, where she had been to nick up sticks for our fire. "My dear," said the old man, sddress ing her, "can you tell me where I can get a bit of supper and a niarht's lodging? I am old and poor, and haven't the 'money to go to a tavern. You look as if you had a kind heart, God bless it! I've just been tuined away from the big house here but perhaps you are not so hard hearted as the mistress there." Kitty's honest little face showed the pity that she felt But she was only a child, and shrank from responsibility. "I don't know, sir," she said, diffident ly. "I think mamma will give you some thing to eat and maybe we can find a bH *Vr you, mat is If sister Margaret and I sleep on the settee for vou see our house is small. But, oh, here" comes sis ter herself," she cued, as she discovered me, "and shell tell you all about it." My heart was still hot with indignation at the brutality with which my aunt and Berenice had treated the old man, and I hastened to reply, warmly "Yes, I wih undertake that you shall have supper and bed, although neithei may oe as good as what they could have given you up at the great "house. But what little we have, you shall share. Stav, let me cany your pack for you." He had a small one strapped on his back. "In- deed, I am fitter to do it than you." "Thank you," he said, slowly taking a long look at my faae, and then scrutini zing that of Kitty's. "You seem, both of you, ao if you were good children, and your offei to take my pack proves as much. But I'll carry it myself, sti'l. Little one," and he turned to Kitty, "what have you got those sticks for?" "For mother's fire, please," she said, dropping a little courtesy. I have just been getting them in the woods.'' "My aunt," I interposed, "who lives in the great house here, kindly allows us to pick up loose bits from under the trees We are poor, as sister says, and so every little helps." "And you are duly thankful, I sup- pose?' said the old man, sarcastically. "Beggars must not be choosers, vou know, as I heard just now myself." I blushed scarlet with shamo for my aunt. "Indeed, indeed," cried, "you must not judge Aunt Mary too harshly, for I see, from what you say, that you overheard her. She must hav3 been out of sorts this morning'" "And I suppose that a voice which answered her, and which I think I rec ognize, he interrupted, looking %t me keenly again, "belonged to someone who was not out of sorts, eh?" Before I could answer I heard the quick gallop of a horse, and ray poor weak heart gave a great bound, for I rec ognized in that elastic footfall the step ot tho thoroughbred that Mr. Everleigh rode. In my embarrassment I stepped quickly aside, though of course there was no danger, and in stepping aside my foot slipped on a stone, my ankle turned, and with anlunconscious cry of pain I sank to the earth. 'The rider was off bis horse and at my side, and had lifted me in his arms, even before the old beggar who stood so close to me could stoop to assist me. "It is only a sprain," I stammered, trvmg to free myself, yet feeling, oh I so'happy, in those strong arms. "I am sure I can waik "But know you can't," said Mr. Ever leigh, impetuously, "flow shall I eve forgive myself? It was my rapid gallop that made you start." "No, no," I cried, I was talking to this poor old man, and it came on me so suddenlyyou are not a bit to blame only I have been foolish. But do let me try to walk/' Mv earneataes?, joined to my struggles, induced him to yeld. He released me from his arms- But the instant he put my foot to the ground, the agony was such that I almost shrieked. I bit my lip till the blood came, however, and kept silence. Mr. Everleigh snatched me agam to his arms. "I knew it would be BO," he cried, "and now you moeUet me carry you ly^Vi safe..? 9 j^f 1*- 1 ,w A uQli S' *Pi*jBtOv M*f%if**"'t a groom, who had been fellowing him, "ride at once to Dr. Landor's. We must, my dear Miss Chidleigh, have the foot bandaged with out delay." "And I will lead your horse to the cot- tage," interposed the old beggar, "and tie him there. Come on, little Kitty, you and I will follow." When we got home the house was fill ed with the smell of crullers, which mamma was baking for the feast that was to be given, up at Aunt Mary's, after the fair. Poor mamma, she looked tired to death and when she saw me, she fair ly gave up for a moment but Mr. Ever leigh, in a few, kind words, put her fears to rest and long before the physician came, my injured foot was swathed and bandaged, so that Dr. Landor declared lie had been "re gularly taken in." When evening ame my foot was eve so much better so mubh so, that, when Mr. Everleigh returned with a carriage, and insisted that we should all go up to my aunts' to che fair.as we had promised, I was only loo willing to consent. For the first time in our acquaintance, there was something in Mr. Everleigh's man ner that made even me, humble as I was, think that I was not without a charm for him. The beggarj had crept, unobtrusively, info a corner while my foot was being bandaged, but Kitty, remembering him, left me when she found the hurt was not serious. "Poor old man," she said, "we had nearly forgotten you. You must be hungry. Here,eat some of these crullers, and when mamma has finished with Maggie she will make you a cup of tea." The cup of tea was made in due time, and a substantial supper set before the mendicant: in fact all the cold meat we had in the house. When Mr. Everleigh returned, and we proposed to go, the old beggar rose to his feet. "I am a stranger to you, ma'am,*' said, addressing mamma, "and naturally you will not wish to leave me here in your house. I will wait outside till you come back." "Wait outside?" cried msunma, "and in the cold? No,yonr face is an honest face, if there ever was one. Sit down again, here by the fire, and sleep here to-night and take dinner with us to-mor row. It will be a homely meal for a Thanksgiving one, but such as it is you will be welcome to it.' "God bless you, ma'am," said the old man, with a shaky voice. I am sure I heard him murmur, as he turned away to hide his emotion "Of such is the kingdom of heaven." The charity fair, as the leader, by this time has understood, was to be held in my aunt's spacious apartments. Every body was to 6e there. The governor even, who was on a visit to his brother, a near neighbor, was expected to attend. One of the tenators for our State was also to be present. It was to be a mos bril liant affair. So, when the dining-room was all a-giitter with lights, and echoed with gay voices, and shone With handsome dresses, and beheld the presence ot the most dis tinguished society ot the county and was filled with stalls of pretty things, the big, chintz-covered chair was wheeled mto the hall, and I, my sprained foot resting on a cushion, sat in it, with a taole of pretty knick-knacks before me and Mr. Everleigh by me. My aunt did not look in a good humor, however, though her fair could not have been more of a success, and though cv erybodj praised her philanthropy, Ber enice, too-, wore a scowl, that spoiled all ber blonde beauty. Somewhere about ten o'clock, when business was at it briskest, there came a roll of wheels on the drive and bustle at the door. Presently, Jack, who had gone to see what was the mattei, rushed ick, his gray eyes dancing. Be'rry, I say," he cried out, sti fling a burst of laughter, "You know the beggar? The old man we turned off this morning Well, he's back again: here at the door, and. oh! my buttons, but he's our uncle from China." My aunt, in her black silk and point lace, stood behind a stall of cakes and ices. She turned sharply at Jack's words. He saw her look ^f consternation and screamed with laughter again "I say, now, mamma, it is true Don't you wibh you'd let me give him the cold turkey, instead of making it into -and wiches?" My aunt Hid not utter 3 woid. But she hurried to the door, and Berenice fol lowed. There he stood, our iong-expected un cle from China, a little, weather-beaten old man, with a pinched, pale face. A wicked twinkle lit his eyes. My aunt rush ed up to him at once, and would have smothered him with kis3ses. But he merely gave her the tips of his yellow fingers. "I made acquaintance with your niece, this morning," he said with a dry, chuckling laugh, turning to me, as he came in, "and the little girl there, too," indicting Kitty. "She is poor Marian's child, ch? She's got her mother's fair face, and good heart. She gave the beggar a welcome, v hich some others, I know of, didn't. Ah, well, I suppose its human nature. But I'll make it up to her, all the same. Never turr a needy man from your door, Mrs. Chidleigh. You know what the good book says aoout entertaining angels un awares?" Poor aunt? The look on her face was too ludicrous? In spite ot our relation ship I laughed till my sides ached. But Berenice went to her room and cried her self to sleep. Well, there is little more to tell. It really was our uncle from China, who had chosen to come to us, wearing the guise of beggar and if only my aunt had been consistent in her charity, her lung cherished expectations might have been realized. ASj it was. the great China fortune went to me and Kitty and Jack and Berenice got never a penny. And, moreover, when Horace Everleigh did speak (he had spoken that evening before our uncle de clared himself), it was me he asked to be his wife. Berenice takes it all bitteity to heart, and my aunt is inconsolable but T, be lieving that in this lite and in the life which is to come we get our just deserts, have nothing to say. "Yes," remarks my uncle, "Maggie and Kitty and Jack shall inherit all I hare, fhey were kind to me when they did not know who I was that's the sort of people I believe in."Petersen's. *l