New York dispatch. [volume], May 08, 1887, Page 2, Image 2

About New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899

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2
Then, ever agein:
*• 'I cannot, cannot, cannot, wannot, wunnotbuckle
to I'•'
“Bat she did at last,” said a voice behind
her.
Hiss Cameron wheeled round as if she had
not board the sound ot footsteps for the last
minute or more.
“ What a dieagroeable way you have of creep
ing upon one unawares 1” she exclaimed, with
out.offoring any further greeting.
“I don’t think I crept at all—yon were sing
ing so loudly,” ho began, when the girl inter
rupted him fiercely.
“ Well, Mr. ■ anvers, I suppose I have not
your leave t» aek yetl” she cried indignantly,
“ When I am your elave, then you may say when
and where and how I shall or shall not sing; but
until then ! shall please myeelt about it lam
not your stave yet!”—with the same taunting
emphasis on the word as before.
“I never want you to be my slave, Daisy,”
Banvers answered nietly. “lamto be yours
—I have teld you that a thousand times."
“Ugtil” asiii Daisy, then turned and saun
tered on as slowly as before, singing to herselt
again as if he had not beau there
“You are nut very polite, Daisy,” said Dan
vers, in the midst of “ Come, my valiant sol
dier love.”
“ Ok, I know I” returned she coolly. “ I
never pretend m have good manners—l was too
badly brought dp ever to acquire them now.
blow*—stopping in the middle of the path and
gping close to him with an iedeaoribable grace
of person usd voice—that which had endeared
her to him at first now bow much better it
w.ould be if yon were to choose one of the girls
at the rectory instead of me ! Think how well
they have been brought up—their father was a
Dean's son, their mother is Honorable, their
aunt is a eennteas. Now only think how fine it
would be to ha able to talk about ‘my wile’s
aunt, Lady Kaye ’ —wouldn’t it, now?”
“ No, I don’t think it would,” Danvers an
swered, looking down at her with eyes full of
the passion which utterly possessed him so far
as this girl was concerned.
“Don't you ?” she questioned wistfully, then
began once more to sot forth the advantages of
as alliance wtti one of the girls at the rectory.
“Oh, but you know Lady Kaye would come
down for at leant a week every year, and—only
think—you could give her each time one of
your sevea-and-thirty bed-rooms in turn 1
Should you think,” she added reflectively,
“that Lady Have will last seven-and-thirty
years from now
“ Heaven forbid.” Danvers ejaculated pious
ly, an amused smile creeping round the cor
ners of hie moaih—“ as my aunt 1”
< Miss Cameron looked rather like a person
who had taken a wrong turning in hope of a
short cut, and found “No thoroughfare ’ at the
end thereof; bat sho was not quite daunted,
for she kept on Hie persuasive taok still.
“ But, if you didn't like the aunt, you might
shunt her,“'oho suggested.
“Shunt her 1” repeated Danvers, laughing out
right.
Daisy sound the advantage of the moment in
stantly.
“ Ah, the rectory girls never talk slang !” she
asserted. “ Now I do ; and, what is more, I
shall never be cured ot it. I learned it in the
regiment, among the follows ” —trying to dis
gust him.
“ I like slang,” Danvers returned sturdily,
wilfully chatting bis oars to her assertion that
Sho had learned it “in the regiment, among the
follows.” “I Mm it—it’s more expressive than
proper Entfiish.”
The persuasive accent had vanished from
Daisy Camo row's tone when she spoke again,
the pleading took from her face.
“ You are right,” she said, decidedly. “ Now
what can bo more expressive than the word
• sneak ?’,*
“Nothing,” replied Danvers, promptly, fall
ing headlong into too pitfail sho had made ready
for him—” uetoiag 1 AH tbe words in tbo dic
tionary don’t e (Ual it for expressiveness.”
“ Just what I think,” said Daisy coolly—” and
just what I oali you."
“ Mo a sneak ?*’
Thu hot blood mounted to his dark face in
stantly.
“ Yoe, you, Mr. Ormond Danvers ! Didn’t
you go tale-bearing—what I call sneaking-to
the colonel last night about this?” holding up
hor hand that the light might fall ou the opal
ring.
“ Well, I did eertainly mention that you never
wore it,” he admitted.
“ And what was the result ? You got me into
ouch a row as 1 was never in in all my life be
fore.”
“ A row T”—inquiringly.
“Yea, a raw—a regular shindy!” Daisy re
peated vexodly. “Father went to bed withoiv
Baying good-night to me I”—with a miserable lit
tle break in her voice.
“So did I, Daisy,” Danvers reminded her.
“ Oh, yes !”—carelessly. “ But you are no
body, you know—you don't count. Such a row I
And father said at last, • You must marry Dan
vers, and I insist ou your wearing his ring I 1
never know him use either word to mo before.
All your fault," looking at him with an indig
nant fire biasing in her yellow-brown oyes.
“But why don t yon like to wear it?” Danvers
asked, taking no notice of her anger.
“Oh, 1 hate it!” she answered.
“ Give it to me I Daisy, do you really mean
that you dislike it, apart from its unfortunate
giver, whom yon delight to worry out of his
seven senses ?”
“I oan’t bear it-ugly thing 1” she replied.
“But it is a beautilul ring—beautiful,” ho re
monstrated. “That opal is almost priceless,
and the sotting was your own choice."
“Do you know why I chose it?” Daisy asked,
becoming mischievously confidential.
“ I’ve not the least idea.”
“ Why—
« ' Green’s forsaken and yellow's foresworn;
Blue is tbe bonniest color that's worn,’ ”
aba quoted gayly.
“ Oh, that can seon be mended,” Danvers re
turned cooly enough, though he had all at once
grown very white; then be just tossed it away
across the hedge as if it had been a valueless
pebble taken front the path upon which they
Stood.
“ Oh, my ring, my ring ! How could you ?
How dare you ?” she cried. “ You have thrown
it away, and it is worth no end of money 1”
“It is worth neth ng to me if you do not like
it,” Danvers answered, looking at her with de
fiant but suppressed triumph. “I’ll send to
town for an assortment of blue ones to-mor
row.”
“ Oh, you need not 1” Daisy answered. “ I
Shall not like any of them -I shall be sure not
to; so whafs thegood of troubling?”
“Because they are from me?” Danvers asked.
The girl quailed tor the first time under his
steady gaze
“Well, yeu know I don’t care for yon,” she
•aid, in a tone ef distinct apology—“you know
I don't. And there are plenty of other girls
about much nicer than I am who would be glad
to have you. 1 really ’’—suddenly turning pert
•gain—” do wonder at you, an otherwise sensi
ble .person, casting yourself in that way, like
pearls before swine.”
In spite of his anger, Danvers could not help
laughing, and Daisy went on plaintively :
“We don't suit each other a bit—my very
name does not match yours. Daisy Danvers—
how absurd it sounds—like Dolly Dairymaid 1
And there’s yoar arch j ological taste—that is to
Bay plainly, always grubbing about old stones
and rubbish. Ob, horrid 1 Why, it’s worse than
those everlasting spiders and beetles—what do
you call them ?—Cfwooptwa and Lep— something
or other, and then there are your sevea-aad
thirty horrid bed-rooms, with their sevea-aad
ttiirty horrid ghosts in them.”
“Wo haven’t a ghost in the place,” Danvers
put in quickly.
“ I dare say not—so one likes owning to them.
Bu-t, Betting the question of the ghosts aside,
you have a dozen great reaming wildernesses
which you please to call entertaining-rooms.
Entertaining, indeed 1 It ever I come to bo
mistreee of that place, your guests will very
soon bo entertained by a lunatic, for I should
bo frightened to death in a week or two. It’s
just this, Mr. Danvers—you require either to be
born or to be educated to live in a place all
ghosts and rats and suits of armor. I was
neither born nor educated to it. .Remember, I
have been accustomed to a change ot domicile
every year or so until three years ago, when wo
came hero to this little bright, cheerful place.”
“ You will soon get used to them,” Danvers
said gently. “ And, if, when we are married,
you find you don’t like the manor, we will let it
or shut it up, or anything, so that we go to lira
olsewhero. As lor my scientific tastes—they
need never trouble you. if indeed you find you
cannot take any interest in them ”
“ f ake any interest in old stones aid bee
tles I” Daisy interrupted brusquely. “Oh, I
should never do that I Why, I take most inter
est in soldiering st anything else in the world I
I can't help it—it s the way I was brought «p.
I was bred and born to it.”
“ I am sorry for it, :or I am too old to go into
the army now,” said Danvers. “I might go m
for the Yeomanry, though. How would you
like that ?”
He might have suggested going into the Band
of Hope, to judge by the profound contempt oa
the girl’s face
“ You needn’t trouble to go in for the Yeo
manry to please me,” she said, with disdainful
gravity; then asked; “ Are you determined at
all costa to make ms marry you ?”
“I think I am.”
“ Even when 1 tell you I don’t like you a bit—
not a woe. wee little bit
“ You will by-and-by”—confidently.
“ I tell you I never shall—never 1” Thea,
with an imploring gesture : “ Will you never
let the colonel off that hard, bard bargain?”
“ I don I think it was a hard bargain. I leaf
him five thousand pounds—no, gave it him—
just tor tbs favor of his consent to our mar
riage.”
“ Yon said ‘a favor.’ Father never dreamed
1 should be the la or I” Daisy cried.
“ 1 th.nk he dreamed exactly what the favor
was,” Dauvers answered.
“ Ho never thought I should object so strong
ly as I do,” she said quickly.
“Neither di 1 I. I admire you all the more
for it, ’ he re.oined.
“ Is there no escape ?”
“ Idon't think so. I don’t mean to cry off my
barqaiii—not even to bo able to speak ot ‘my
wile's aunt, Lady Kaya I”’—mimicking her
manner e aotly.
“ And it I ro use?”
“Then year lather must find five thousand
pounds within three days. I shall give no quar
ter. But there—why all these heroics, Daisy ?
Wno has suggested such ideas to you as ‘ slave,’
‘escape, ‘hate,’ and all the rest of it. Why
should you not be perfectly happy as my wife ?”
“ Because I don’t like you,” responded Daisy
•imply,
“You don't care for any other fellow? Tell |
! me,” he said, suddenly leeling an anxious pang
shoot through his heart.
“Not a rap I” answered the girl coolly.
“ Then why don’t you like me better ?’’
“You’re too old, for one thing.”
“ I am only thirty-five."
“ And I was nineteen last Tuesday,” Daisy
answered—“ that is a great difference.”
“ Not as marriages go,” Danvers said care
lessly. “ I really oan't see why you don’t like
me bettor. It is true I have not spent the last
sixteen years swaggering about with spurs on
my boots and a sabretache dangling at my
heels, idling away my time and making eyes at
every girl I met.”
“ Ob, talk about something you understand I”
Daisy cried. “ Pray keep to your old atones and
beetles—don’t talk about soldiering.”
Danvers turned away,
“ I think wo shall quarrel outright if I stay
any longer, and I don’t want to quarrel with
you, Daisy,” he said, with assumed good hu
mor. “ I won’t say good-by, for I shall see you
to-night at dinner.”
“Good morning," said Daisy, with extreme
politeness.
Danrers raised his hat and went back toward
the house, leaving her standing with her hand
on the topmost rail of a little gate opening on
to the towing-path. Hho watched him go steadi
ly along tho walk until the bend of the hedge
shut him out of eight; then she turned toward
the river and looked over it, resting her arms
on the rail where her hand had been.
“ Spurs on bis feet »nd a sabretache dangling
at his heels,” she repeated aloud, in withering
accents. “I should like to see him try it I Ou,
fancy,!’
At thia point some one burst into a smothered
roar ot laughter, and Daisy, turning her start
led eyes downward to her left, saw a pair of
very long gray-clad legs, a gray-olad body, and
a blue-eyed laughing ace, all more or less hid
den among the long grass fringing the path worn
by the plodding of barge horses and men.
“ You’ve been listening,” said Miss Cameron
severely, preparing to withdraw herself within .
the shelter of the hedge; “ and, instead of lying
there laughing as it you’d done something clov
er, I think you ought to be very much ashamed
of yourself.”
Being thus addressed, the owner of the long
legs struggled on to his feat and raised a gray
cloth shooting-oap irom his heid in a very def
erential style to toe indignant young lady in the
white irook.
. “I really must beg a thousand pardons," he
said humbly. “Tho fact is, I have been fishing
since sunrise, and I believe I must have been I
asleep when your voices roused me, and I—and ‘
I-aad I ”
“ Couldn’t resist the temptation of listening,” 1
suggested Miss Cameron, more severely than 1
before. I
“ Please don’t call ms a sneak," said tho
owner of the long legs, with such emphasis on
the word that Daisy could not help smiling a ]
little in spite ot her anger, “ for that was just
tho esse—l couldn’t resist it By the way, I '
may ss well teH you that tho ring is lying down '
there by tho water’s edge. Shall I get it tor 1
yen, or don’t you care ?'•
He looked at her with absolute gravity as he
spoke, and Daisy somehow felt all her auger 1
■siting away—perhaps because he was so 1
delereatiri and cool, in spite ot the absurd
manner of their introduotion.
“ Why, I think you may as wall, thank you." 1
she replied. “ I don’t went it, certainly, bnt it
seems rather silly to Isavo » valuable ring lying
oa a public road, does it not ?”
The stranger crossed the path and descended 1
Bae bonk, returning directly with the ring,
which he laid in her outstretched baud.
“ Well, I confess that to me it does seam 1
rattier silly—almost as silly ae throwing it there 1
in too first instance,” lie said, coolly.
Then all at once went off again into an even
lender and more smothered roar of laughter 1
than at first. 1
“ What are yon laughing at ?” Daisy demand- 1
sd, imperiously, half—more than half inclined 1
to forget every trace ot propriety and dignity
and join him in his amusement herself.
“ lieally I do beg your pardon. It’s awfully
rude, I know ; but I m afraid I heard it all
how you learned it in the regiment among tho '
fellows, and how he had not certainly spent the
last sixteen years swaggering about with spurs
on his boots and a sabretache dangling at his
heels. What a pity tbe gentleman didn’t hear
your ' Oh, fancy ! I confess it was too much
for my gravity.”
“ You’re a soldier yourself?” said Daisy, all
at sues grasping the fact.
Indeed, she had been too much disturbed in
mind to notice him particularly before, and his
dress was not of sotdierly smartness.
The tall stranger bowed.
“ Yes, lam a soldier,” he said. “ Perhaps
that is why 1 appreciated your friend’s remarks
so immensely.”
“My friend! Oh, Mr. Danvers is no friend
of mine,” returned Daisy, slightingly ; “on the
oontrary, in truth. So you are a soldier of the
artillery
“ Yes—Horse Artillery.”
“ I thought so. We wore in the Black Horse,
sp you oan understand what an attraction Yeo
manry have for me. My father commanded
that regiment for ten years.”
“Colonel Cameron, I suppose?”
“Yos,” sho said; then added, in a matter
of-fact tone, “ ‘Go-ahead Jim,’ you know.”
“ Oh, yes. I know 1 I once dined with them
at ShornclilTe.”
“ Did you ? I wonder we never met. Ah,
those were days worth the living ! It’s all dif
ferent now.”
“ But this is a good neighborhood,” he began.
“Oh, yes. very 1 Thoy’vo seven-and-thirty
bedrooms at the Manor-it’s just like a rabbit
warren. except that there are no rabbits. The
whole place smells moldy. I’m sure,” she said,
plaintively, resting her elbow on the gate and
her pretty dimpled chin on tho palm oi her
hand, “I never set my foot within tho doors
without thinking of the plagues of Egypt and
the frogs in the king s chambers. However”—
raising her yellow-brown eyes to his with a co
quettish look—“I have stayed chatting here
much longer than Mrs. Grundy would approve.
I must wish you good-morning. I am very
much obliged to you lor restoring my ring to
me ; and, if you care to renew your ao juaint
auoe with my father, I am sure he will bo very
pleased to see you. Good-by I”
“Thank you very much. I shall certainly
call when lam in a more presentable state”—
looking down at himself as if he might be a
sweep.
“Oh. whenever it suits you best !” replied
Miss Cameron, in tones of the most conven
tional politeness; then looked up at tbs bright
blue sky and at tbo fishing-rod kept in place by
a big stone, and added, “I hope you’ll have
good sport this afternoon, but I rather doubt
it”
Bstors he could speak sho had vanished, and
ho saw hor white dress pass along the hedge :
aid out of sight. He sat down on the edge of i
the bank and regarded tho float of his rod
solemnly.
“By Jovo, but she gave it him hot I What a
pretty girl-what a pretty voice, and how sho
wired i»to tho fellow I What a brute ho must
bo, with his old stones and his beetles I She
doesn’t like him—that's very evident-and yet
she’s very cheerful over it. Toor little woman,
born and brought up in the Black Horse, and
to have Yeomanry set before her as a bribe— •
poor liltlo woman 1 I hope to Heaven he won’t .
got her I”
It was just what Daisy Cameron herself was ,
saying at that moment. Sho went swiltly along ,
hy too hedge, following Ormond Danvers’s loot- 1
steps, toward tbe house -for the lunch bell rang
out immediately after she had parted from tho ,
stranger who had so oddly overboard hor dis- *
enseion with Danvers, and had restored to her ,
too ring which her fiance had contemptuously - ,
thrown away.
“ Handsome fellow I” she said to herself, then c
stopped a moment to consider whether Ormond >
Danvors was not in reality the handsomer man
ot the two. Well, perhaps he was. A heavily- j
built man was Danvers—big, but awkward; the t
stranger was long and litho and smart. Danvers
had straight good features, a dark pale faee, t
black hair and board, very dark and penetra- a
ting eyes, with straight black brows that could ■
lower themselves into a forbidding scowl which, 0
as Daisy said, brought her heart right up into ii
her month whenever sho saw it—not an attrac- fi
live man, thongli handsome, no grace in his s
large limbs, a slight stoop in his square shoul- a
dors, the result probably of short-sighted ex- r
amination of old stones and beetles, and a e
general air of earelessness about his whole per- g
sen not nnoommon to men who devote almost a
the whole of ttieir lives to pursuits ot an archil.- a
elegioal and scientific nature. The stranger, on 1<
tbe contrary, possessed all that Danvers lacked.
Strictly handsome ha was not, but his frank li
bine eyes looked out from a happy, healthy, d
sunburnt faee; and he had laughed at Daisy’s n
“ Oh, fancy !” as Ormond Danvers had never
laughed in his life. Then too he had the smart fi
carriage of person which Daisy had all her life r<
been taught to think toe perfection of manly a
cemelineee; bo could shoot and ride, and was o
content to sit for hours on a sunny river’s >
bank, watching his float bobbing lazily up and c
down in the water, himself half asleep and tl
thinking of nothing, or perhaps of some extra
good joke he had heard at mess the previous tl
evening, er etill more likely ot a pair of femi- h
nine feet, er the way a certain pair of eyes—
gray, bine, er brown, as the case might happen g
to be—glanced from under the heavy fringes
that shaded them and added ten thousand-iold a
tn their beauty and their power of attraction, si
But, as tor old stones and beetles, why, he
simply knew nothing about either—and didn’t E
want to, for the matter ot that; nor did poor s
Daisy, who always got muddled by architec
ture, and never knew Gothic from Panelled N
Perpendicular, and was more afraid ot one tl
beetle than sho would have been of a whole s
pack ot hounds at once. <i
Bho thought about him all the way back to
too house; and then her attention was diverted v
entirely, tor, as she entered by the front-door, tl
her father came down the last flight of the wide h
shallow stairs and, putting his arm round her, n
drew her into the dining-room. j.
Has Danvers been here?” ho asked. g
“ Yes,” Daisy answered.
“ Well? ’—interrogatively. -
“Eh ?” returned Daisy, as if she did not un- t
derstand.
“Eh? Wall, have you settled anything?”
“Ho is coming to dinner to-night,” returned a
Daisy indifferently. “ 1 thiuk we settled noth- s
ing else. t
“ Why, he came out to ask you something I”
Colonel Cameron said testily.
“ Oh, so ho did t He asked ma if I should
like him to go into the Yeomanry." j
“ What?”—his astonished tone sent Daisy off
into gay laughter. “ into the Yeomanry ? What n
—what the dickens oan have put such a fad as ii
that into his head ?” <
NEW YORK DISPATCH, MAY 8. 1887
I Miss Daisy Cameron was possessed of a reck
less kind of temperament which invariably
made hay while the sun shone. She never
troubled herself with thoughts or the morrow—
she never considered that, in openly and se
cretly flouting Danvers as sho made a practice
ot doing, she was possibly-nay, probably—
laying up a rod in store for herself in tho years
that were to come—tbe years which would last
for his life or hers.
At that moment she made no more of the lec
ture sho had had from her father on the previ
ous night than it it had never taken plaoe: she
simply threw hersel headlong into the pleas
ure that awaited her—tbe great, intense and
overwhelming pleasure of having a fling at
Danvers.
“ What oan have put suoh a fad as that into
his head ?’’ repeated Colonel Cameron, in in
tense surprise.
"Oh, I fancy he thought if he could get a kind
of a uniform ou him 1 might bo brought to ad
mire him more than I do I” she replied, laugh
ing gayly. “ And then, when I told him be
needn’t dream oi such a brilliant career on my
account, he turned round aud walked into the
service right and left.”
Colonel Cameron stopped in his occupation of
carving a chicken, and stared at his daughter
blankly, forgetting altogether that they were
speaking of Danvers, ths man who held his I.
O.:Di for five thousand pounds, and who would
very speedily bo down upon him tor that
amount and the interest thereon it he found
Daisy was determined not to marry him.
“Walked into the service? Cmjih—that
wasn't much of a com Hmeut to you or his owu
taste, either. By Jove, and what had ho to say
against the servioe, pray ?”-s uaring his
shoulders and twisting his white mustache till
any one who did not know him well m ght with
reason have been frightened—ho looked so
fierce.
“Oh, sneered at soldiers in general more bit
torly than I thought possible, even for him,"
returned Daisy, coolly. “Talked a lot of rub
bish about not having spent tho last sixteen
years with spurs upon his boots and a .sabre
tache dangling at his heels, swaggering about
and making eyes at every girl he met. Uh,
and something about idling his time I Idliug
his time, indeed I Why, be spends his lifo por :
ing over beetles ond such like rubbish. Thau,’
indignantly: “ I wonder what he calls that?”
Colonel Cameron went on w th his o rving.
“ The man's a tool 1” Then, remembering all
there was at stake, he added hastily: “un that
point I mean, ol course.”
“Ou some other points, too,” commented the
girl. “I tell you what it is, colonel—l don't like
him, and never shall.”
“ You must try your best, D isy, for he will
never let me off my bargain—indeed, how is it
likely we can expo tit ? A man does not give
away five thousand pounds or nothing."
“ Cannot you pay it ?”—imploringly.
“I might certainly; but at what a cost I It
represents all the private lortune I possess.
Tho five hundred a year I have from my first
wile goes back to her people at my death, and
that may happen at any time, when, ot course,
half pay will cease also. H I pay off this debt,
I may die the next day and leave you in toe
world alone and penniless You are ouly a
ahibl, Daisy—only nineteen; you cannot under
stand all that such a f uture as yours would be.
without money implies. As bis wile, you will
be rich, honored, and, what is of infinitely more
importance, sate.”
“ I hate him 1” put to Daisy uncompromis
ingly, “like his old beetles."
“ Try to get over it; for it is just this, child,"
the colonel went on earnestly—“ we have got by
misfortune-for who would ever expect such a
magnificent speculation as that to go to
smash?—notl, tor one—we have got by mis
fortune, and through no fault or either yours or
mine, into this man’s power. He is in love
with yon, and will stick at nothing to gain his
own end. As you don’t care tor him as much
as you might, it falls hardest upon you, my
poor child; yet behove mo, it wiH not bo so hard
as some other things might prove. After all,
Danvers is a good, well-meauiug, straightfor
ward fellow, aud a thorough gentleman, we
ought, both of us, to be very thankful that wo
did not tall into the power of one who had none
of these good qualities.”
“Oh, 1 dare say!” Daisy cried. “You may
call it good and honorable and well-bred tor a
man to insist on marrying a woman who hates
him—l don’t I"
Ths colonel laughed.
“Uh, that’s human nature!" he replied.
“ When you have lived as long as I have, my
dear, you will have learned that to win the wo
man of bis heart a man who is worth calling a
man will stick at nothing.”
“There is nothing to his credit in that,” said
Daisy rather tartly.
And such a temper too ! she reminded her
self, when presently she sauntered out into tbe
garden among the roses. The idea of a sensible,
reasonable, scientific man throwing a valuable
ring away because of a little chad 1 A dufler 1
bhe gathered two or three roses and fastened
tbe stalks into the little silver brooch, so that
the flowers nestled among the plaitings of tbe
embroidery round her throat; then she said to
herself quite audibly, that it was no use
worrying about Ormond Danvers any longer—
ehe was not married to him yet, and there was
no knowing what might turn up or what might
happen before the event came off.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” remarked Miss
Daisy, addressing herself to a prim aloe set in a
big pot in the corner ol tbehouse —“ s’ll just try
the effect ot a little ‘ soft sawder’ on Mr. Ormond
Daavors, and sec if I can’t get a respite till! come
of ace. At all events it's worth trying tor, and
in two whole years- why, anything may hap
pen I”
So she went into the house and called for Jim
to put the pony in, herself going up-stairs
singing as gayly as over she had done in her
life:
“I love Polly, aud Polly love me—
Polly lovee a sailor."
Hor whole world, if it could have behold her,
would not have deemed her unhappy in her ap
proaching marriage at that moment.
•’ I love Polly, aud Polly loves me—
Pol—ly loves a sal —lor.”
One might easily have believed that ehe was
honestly in love with some one; but sho was
not. As she had said in the morning, she had
said truly, “Not a rap! ’ Her’s was a happy
nature; an old sergeant’s wife who had nursed
her as a child often said of her, “Sure, troubles
run off Miss Daisy’s mind like water off a duck’s
back.”
So it was with her then—the mere thought of
two years’ freedom was enough to make her go
Binging liko a lark, never a thought being given
to the long term of slavery to lollow it, and,
when the vague shadow ot it did cross her
mind, she dismissed it with a careless, “Oh, any
thing may happen in two years I”
Poor, foolish, sunny-tempered Daisy ! If she
had had the faintest inkling of what would hap
pen long before two years were over, Brock
hurst Cottage would not have rung from ground
to roof as it did.
•• I lovo Pelly, and Polly loves me—
f?!—ly loves a sal—lor.”
CHAPTER 11.
“in a gracious mood.”
“ New, let me see,” said Miss Daisy Cameron,
in reflective tones, as she entered her room
alter her drive—which haa included tws sups
ot tea and a particularly interesting game of
tennis—“what shall I put on to please that man
most ?”
She opened the door of a large clsset ward
robe, and drew into view by their tails sue
after another ol the gowns hanging therein.
There was a black silk, all sparkling with jet
trimmings-that would net do stall; a white
silk—much too elaborate—in fest, Miss Cam
eron’s very best party-going garment; a mouse
colored velvet—far too warm; a pink aanalln—
nona toe clean; and -the very thing!
“ Here wo are,” sho said, taking tbe last nff
its peg. “The very thing ! Adamant wonldn’t
be able to resist me in this.”
It eertainly was a charming dress, of pale
bins silk, soft and rich, brocaded with as pale a
shade of rose color—not a now drug bv any
moans, for Daisy had had it so long Wwo years
or thereabouts—that she had given up wearing
it out ot her own house, yet a charming cover
ing for a pretty little fair-faced person like her
solt. It was ent a little square at tho neck, not
showing her chest at all, bnt only tho white and
rounded throat, between which and the deli
eate-tmted silk was a soft frilling ot yellowish
gossamer sluff, as there was between 'the arms
and the trimmings of toe sleeves. At her throat
was a cluster of yellow rosebuds, and on her
left hand the opal ring.
Saving completed her toilet, she had a good
leek at herself in the long glass of the wardrobe
door, turning herself rennd and round that she
might be quite satisfied with the general effect.
“ Yoe, it will do. Yon want a fan, and then I
fancy you oan talk Mr. Ormond Danvers into a
reprieve very easily. Oh, there he is !’—as tho
gate was banged back into its plaeo by some
one entering toe drive. “I wonder why tbe
man can’t shut the gate after hiss, instead of
crashing it m that way ? Thinking of his bee
tles, I’ve no doubt. Well, here goes 1”
Bhe reached the hall just as Danvers got to
the porch, and went to tbe open door to meet
him.
“Isay, why did yon bang the gate in that
way, Mr. Danvers ?” she asked him.
“Oh, did I? I’m sure I’m awfully sorry,’ 1 he
answered. “I must have been thinking ot
something else.”
“His rubbishy beetles, of course,” thought
Daisy; then asked aloud, “Was it beetles or
stones ?”
“What? Oh—that I was thinking of?
Neither. At that moment I happened to bo
thinking of you,” he answered; then said, with
sudden surprise, as his eyes fell upon her hand,
“Why, where did you get your ring?”
“ A ” For a moment she hesitated
whether to say “ganilemau” or “ young man,”
then decided in favor of the termor, since, as hor
hasty thoughts reminded her, tho stranger
might call on her father and casually mention
the circumstance—“ A gentleman found it and
gave it back to me.”
“A gentleman? How did he know it was
yours ?” Danvers inquired sharply—so sharply
that Daisy’s blood rose almost to a boiling-point
instantly.
“Because he heard us snarling at eno
another, and saw it go flying over tbe hedge,”
she answered, though she had not intended to
tell him so much.
“ He heard what we said ?'■
Daisy nodded her head in reply.
“By Jove—what a pair ot fools ho must have
thought us !” Danvers ejaculated.
“I rather believe he dld-indeed he said as
much,” Daisy replied demurely, bravely check
ing an almost irrisiatlble inclination to add
“e«peoiali7 you.”
“Who was he? I hope no one about here.”
“Oh, no-u stranger, fishing I I did not ask ;
his name,” Daisy answered, leading the way
into the empty drawing-room.
“Daisy,’said Danvers gently, "if you don’t
like that ring, I don’t want you to wear it. Let
mo get you another in its place.”
“Oh, no, thanks 1” —in perhaps the most
friendly tone m which she had addressed him
during the past fortnight the period ot their
engagement. “ I was only chaffing you this
morning. I really like tbe ring; and of course
1 never expected lor a moment that you would
throw it away, whatever I said about it.”
“I madoaioolol myself, Daisy,” said Danvers
humbly. “I’m really very sorry.”
“ Well, now, you did rather,” returned Miss
Daisy, lorgetting Hie reprieve in prospect alto
gether; then suddenly remembered and tried to
do away with the effect oi lier mistake. “But
than why shouldn’t you if you like ?”
“What—make a fool of myselfsmiling
broadly under his black beard.
“ No, no—throw rings about, if you please to
do it. But there—why discuss a disagreeable
subset? Wo are both cross and stupid. lam
quite as reidy to admit myself so as you
were a moment ago. Let us bury the batchot
and forget where the grave is. Do you know” —
edging confidentially up to him—“l hato quar
reling wiih people ? ’
“Doyon? I quite thought you liked it. NoD
for a moment that 1 want you to quarrel with
me, Daisy. Heaven knows 1 love yon so dearly
that 1 would give all my liie that you should
never have a wish crossed again I”
“If 1 aakod yon to do sometlvng for me,"
Daisy began, trying to hide her palpable nerv
ousness under an air of dsmiiio co uottish
nesa, aud succeeding very badly, “ would you
doit?”
“1 won’t give you up, Daisy. I cannot do
that. Don’t ask it o. me —it would bo equivalent
to asking me for my lile.”
“I have a»ked that of yon, end you refused,
me,’ Daisy answered, gaining boldness. “I
never ask any man or woman twice or any
thing -my father would toll you that it is so.
What I want to ask you is something very dif
ferent.”
“Then ask it,” Danvers said; “I will grant
any request you make short ot giving you up.
That i promise.”
“Then let mo have time!” Daisy cried, lay
ing her hand upon his arm. “Don't hurry me
into this marriage without any love on my side
to return for yours. Let mo have time to get
used to—to get used to you as -as—a ——”
She failed in finding a suitable word, and stood
looking at him with piteous, supplicating eyes ;
then, finding ho did not seem in tho least in
clined to help her out, took reiugo in her iavor-’
ile slang, ami got along bravely—“ As a spoon,
don’t you know ? Uive me a little time—don’t
force me in o it ust yet.”
“What do you mean by a little time—six
months ?’’ lie asked. “Ur do you need a longer
time still ?”
“Six months,” she echoed. “Oh, that Is
nothing -absolutely nothing—and positively not
enough to get my clothes ready in.”
“ 1 can buy you as many clothes as you can
posibly desire after wo arc married,” he re
marked.
“But it is a question of something more im
portant than clothes,” Daisy returned.
'* That is true. Then, how long a time do you
ask for ? And will you promise that our mar
riage shall take place at a given time ?”
“Uh, yes I Give ma till lam twenty-one. It
is not much when you think of all the years you
will have your way aitorward.”
“It is nearly two years,” ho told her.
“ Yes, but what is that ? It is not much time
out 01 our lives," sho urged. “It I were to
marry you now, I belie; e I should hate you
lorever ; but, ii you give way to me in th s ■”
“ ion think you may learn to love me f” ho
asked, eagerly.
“1 might -and it is such a little time—suoh a
little time, when you come to think oi it.”
“1 dou t know—a great deal may happen in
two years. It seems a very long time to me,
Daisy.”
“ But you will say ‘ Yes?’ ”
“ A thousand things might happen, he per
sisted. “Why, anything might hapbsn !”—
using her owu words just as sho had used thorn
a tew hours previously.
“ Aud please Heaven something may !" was
tho thought in Daisy’s mind, as she reiterated
her request. “ But you will say ‘ Yes,’ Air.
Danvers? ’
“i suppose I must’’—unwillingly. “I can
not have you say that I refused you two re
quests in one day. But, to oblige me, will you
ior the future cease that formal ‘ Mr. Danvers,’
and call me • Ormond ?’ And will yon—just lor
once in a way—give me a kiss?”
“ I will give you one ot my rose-buds,” said
Daisy, with au enchanting smile which brought
all the dimples into full play. “ Here is the
colonel- I w 11 owe you the oilier 1”
bo it happened that, when the colonel entered
the room, intending to apologize to his guest
for being ten minutes late, bo found Daisy far
from appearing displeased at a tete-a-fete with
her,, iancee—nay, sm.ling in her moat bewitching
fashion, and occupied in pinning a flower into
Danvers’s coat. She put the snowy camellia
which elis had removed into her own bosom—
seeing which, Colonel Cameron, like a wise man,
quickly shi.ted the blame ot lateness from his
own shoulders on to hors.
“ Come, come, my dear—dinner is waiting I”
he said.
Daisy turned and looked at the clock.
“ I really do not know, colonel,” she said
emphatically, “ how you can have the audacity
to come in hero at ten minutes past seven and
adopt that tone! Why, Mr. Danvers and l
have been waiting just a quarter of an hour for
you 1”
“ Well, tbe fact was, I forgot that letter to
Collingwood,” the colonel answered, with a
laugh, as they passed through the entrance to
the dining-room; “and, as it was rather im
portant, as you know, I determined to bray?
your indignation.”
“ Ob, don’t mention it—we didn’t mind 1”
said Danvers easily.
Daisy looked straight across at her father
with an expression which seemod to say, “ See
how I make my bear dance ! ’—at which the
colonel looked down into the depths of the
soup-tureen, having the certainty that he would
see nothing there to make him leel as if he must
explode with laughter forthwith. After all, if
he had laughed outright, Danvers would never
have noticed it; tbe man was thoroughly be
witched by the dainty little person in the rich
gown of blue and pink. During the whole 01
that brilliant Summer day—at least since the
noon thereof—he had been haunted, possessed,
followed, plagued by one thought, and one
only, ond that was how charming Daisy had
looked in her temper -how provokingly pretty
as she stood railing at him in her white gown
under the shadow of the tall green hedge. But,
if he had thought her charming then, how much
more charming did ha think her when he saw
her in a gracious mood I Then indeed she was a
thing to be desired—a woman to bo won at any
cost. Shs was so pretty too, he thought, as tho
mellow light tell upon her,as shesat atthe head
of the table; the smooth rounded cheeks were as
soft as a baby’s, the sunny hair was 39 curly an<i
childish, the upward tilt of the coquettish uoSJ
and the dimples round her mouth were so bo
witchingly alluring—indeed it was but little
wonder that Danvers had not been able to keep
his mind that day to beetles or old stones—it
would have been a greater wonder if ho had.
Tbe eight of the squire utterly absorbed in bis
daughter sent the colonel’s memory back many
and many a long year to just such another day
as this, when he too had been just as utterly ab
sorbed in just such a face— yet with a difference.
Tbs yellow-brown sunny eyes of mother had
looked back at his with overwhelming love is 1
their clear depths; tho sunny waving hair of the
mother had always found a ready rosting-place
os his stalwart shoulder; the mother’s pretty 1
dimpliag monto had always been ready to moot I
his; with bar there was never any talking st 1
“ swing him tlis other.”
“By tbo by,” said tbe squire, suddenly ad- ’
dressing the colonel directly for the first time 1
since be bad told him that his tardy appearance <
for dinner did net matter, “ yon knew that old 1
plaee at Barnaby—the Rookery ?” J
“Oh, yes, of course—tumble-down old hole,
all gables aud ghosts 1” answered the colonel
promptly. i
“Lovely old place,” said Daisy—“ quaint 6
without being dismal. I always used to envy
the Greenwoods for haring the felicity of living
there.” »
" You need net envy them any longer,” re- *
turned the squire. “The Rookery is la the
market, and to be bad for an old song.”
“Ah, Ihavent any old songs I” cried Daisy,
with a pretended sigh. f
“Bnt I have a few,” said tho squire meaning- '
ly; “ and I intend to buy tho plaee and give it to
you for a plaything.” •
It was on tho tip of her tongue to cry ent that
he need not, that she would not care to live in
it, that ohe would take no pleasure in its restora
tion, and in setting it out with the odds and ends
of her jonrneyings, er in the arrangement
against the dark old carven walls of different
schools and stylos of pottery from among the
manor etoreo. But then, quickly as a flash of
lightning, it entered her mind that tho sqnire I
was determined to have her for his wife, and c
that tbe two years of probation which he had T
just promised her might come to an end without I
anything having happened to prevent her mar- <.
riage, or to release her lather from the obliga
tion of that I. O. U. for five thousand pounds.
In that case, of a surety the Rookery would bo 7
an infinitely better abiding place than the manor, 1
with its vast entertaining rooms and its seven
and-thirty bed-chambers. ,
“ You would have to spend a lot over it,” she "
said at last.
“ Oh, yes—a thousand or two to make it hab- f
itable. Tho Greenwoods are selling the whole
place as it stands, oak and marqueterie and all. „
Tbe doing up of the furniture will cost a good ?
deal, to say nothing of alterations and improve- <
ments. But, if you would like it, Daisy, I will .
write to-morrow to Rees and tell him to secure *
it.”
“Oh, I should like it much better than the
manor 1” said Daisy, truthfully enough. n
“That settles the question,then,” said the h
squire, as if there need be no further discussion
of the subject. s
“ Well,” said the eolonel, as they rose to
gether from the table, “ I am going to have a
cigar on the veranda; will you come
“ No, thanks,” answered Danvers, though in s
general he smoked “like a chimney “I am v
going to listen to Daisy’s music.”
“ I did not say I was going to sing to-night,” b
Daisy answered pertly.
“ I hope you will”—watching her with a tan
talized expression as she stood just within the a
long French window. t
“ I sang to you this morning I”
The colonel had quitted the veranda by this a
(in« in h aiisU fiufoog tbs insa, ta4 Baayera
I caught ft fold of the rioh pink and blue gown in
; hie hand just as Daisy stepped out on to the
veranda with the evident intention of following
him.
“I hope you won’t sing that way to mo any
more,” he said gravely, yet with & great and
yearn ng Wisttuluess in his dark eyes.
“Do you ? Why not she asked. She was
softened and touched more than she had ever
been in her life by that look ; it appealed to the
real tenderness of her heart more powerfully
than all the words in the English or any other
language in the universe could have done at
that moment. “ Why not ?” she repeated, nerv
ously.
“ Why not?” Danvers echoed, smoothing the
■oft folds of the silken dress w th its satin bro
cade. “ Why not ? Oh, Daisy, I need, hardly
tell you that I lam sure you know that as well
as i do.”
“ I don’t I” said Daisy perversely, feeling ready
to cry.
“And to think a fellow overheard it all 1”
Danvers went on voxedly.
The sentiment and the feeling of tenderness
and sell-reproach died out of her heart in
stantly.
“Do you like this any bettey ?” she asked, all
the dimples coming out like so many naughty
children, directly :
( “ * The maiden in her simple feow'r,
The dove high in her firry tow'r.
Know none oi kte'e uui<ee|— *
Their word it is their uest.
And yet the dove hath to fly,
The maid will flutter by-aud-by,
Though now in solitude ;
And fancy, Iran they bruodj
O. maiden, and O. dove, /
Beware of eixned love— /
Beware the bird oi plumage gay
That hovers round you lor hie prey—
O, maid, O, dovet
•• • Thou maid, beware a lover’s gaze [
Thou dove, beware a gilded cage!
Chains are to bind and hold.
Although their links be gold.
Once captive, thou Riialt sigh ia vftitt
To live thy woodland lite again.
But find that Summer time
Lies dead in Winter’s rime,
O, maiden, and O, dove,
Beware oi feigned ;ove—
Beware the bird oi plumage gay
That hovers round you tor his prey—
O, maid, O, dove I’
“How do you like that?” she asked.
“ I don’t like it at allshortly.
“Ah,” said Da sy, looking with extreme
sweetness at nothing, “I didn’t expect you
would 1”
She was turning to pass through the window
and follow her lather, still sauntering among
the roses, when Danvers, who had released his
hold of her silken gown, caught her again—by
the wrist this time.
“ You have lor got ten,” said he, in a reproach
ful tone.
“ Forgotten 1 What ?” she asked.
“ What you promised you would owe me.”
Daisy turned her head irom side to side, look
ing this way and that, as if in search of some
way oi escape; then suddenly stepped close to
him and held her fair young cheek out sido
w ys, just as a child all at once makes up its
mind to take an inevitable dose of physio and
have done with it. Danvers put his disengaged
hand under her chia and looked straight down
into the clear yellow-browu eyes. What he saw
there made him release her.
“ You .shall owoj it to me a little longer,”
he said—” until you learn to like me better
than to offer me your cheek as if you feared I
should bite it.”
Il he bad expected her to repent of her cold
ness and kiss him of her own accord, he was
mistaken. I aisy did nothing of the kind; she
turned away immediately toward the rose-trees
with such an audible sigh of relief that Dan
vers’s heart sank with pain and fury to hear it.
“ Never mind,” he thought, as he followed
her through the gathering dusk between the
sweet-smelling flower-beds—“never mind.
What is worth haying is worth the trouble of
attaining. A wife who would drop into my
month like a ripe cherry yes-it-you-please
and-thank-you sort of thing—wouldn’t be the
wife lor me. She is young, and lam not old—
scarcely middle-aged indeed—so I can afford to
wait, and happily there is no one else, and not
the least like! hood ot any one else turning up
in this dead-alive out-Ox-the-way corner of the
world, as she calls it. *
(Xo be Continuol.t
HUMOR OE TIIE HOUR.
BYTHE DETODIT FBE3J?RE33 FIEND.
WHEN HE GETS THEBE.
Bertie—" Say, mamma, me and Harry had a
race to-day.”
Mater—“ Yes, dear,” but you should say
Harry and I inatead ot me and Harry. Whoa
you speak ot yourself and another person you
should always place your friend first.”
B.—“ But he wasn’t first, mamma. I beat
him two rods. Timo enough to place him first
when he gets there.”
MOBE TIME WANTED.
As one of the hospital ambulances was gal
loping up Michigan avenue the other day, with
the driver sounding the goug every minute, it
passed a farmer and his team near Washington
avenue.
“ What is it?” asked his wife, who was on the
load behind him.
“ A fire engine, I guess.”
“ But I dido t see any fire coming out of it.”
“ Well, I e’pose the conflagration hasn’t got
fairly started yet. Give it a little time.
THE SAFE SIDE.
On the Lansing train tbo other day an old
man shoved up the window as the locomotive
whistled lor a crossing anti stuck half his body
out to see what the row was about. The brake
man happened to pass through the car, and
seeing the situation bo ssifl ;
“ Better take ybllr head in, sir."
“Why ?”
“Because you might strike a post or switoli.”
“ Y-o-s, that’s so,” muttered the man as he
pulled himself iu and sat down, “ and the rail
road would hop on to me for damages. It’s
better to be on the sate side."
BROKE LOOSE.
" Il’s all his fault, your Honor 1” exclaimed a
wife as she was arraigned in the police court
the other day.
“Whose fault?”
“ My busband’s.”
“How's that?”
“ Well, sir, he came homo half-tight just as I
had finished a bard day’s work and was making
mv supper off ot cold potatoes. I felt mad and
desperate, and he begun to argue about
Heaven.”
“Wbat did he say?”
“He said Ibero wasn’t no such place, nor
Hades, either, and be argued the case so well
that I believed him.”
“ And thou what?”
“And then, sir, thinking that if that was the
case I might as woll waltz in and have a good
time on earth, I picked up a stick of wood and
run the old man all over tbo heighborbood and
mala him roar for mercy.”
Sentence auspcpdod, owing to mitigating oir
eums tau cos.
SOMETHING WRONG.
An old farmer living near Chambersburg, Pa.,
was telling a member of the Sixth Michigan
Cavalry bow he took the invasion ot the State
by Lee's army, said h»:
“We’d gone to bed, and I hoard our «»g I
bark, bays Ito the old woman, says I, tboro’s
somebody moving around, or that deg wouldn’t
bark that way. Go to sleep, yon eld fool 1 says
the eld woman. Says I, 1 won’t do it 1 I toll yo,
a eritter or somethin’ or other has got into the
garden, or that deg wouldn’t keep up his
barking. Wall, he barked and barked, and I
finally wont Io sleep and left him barking. I
’spoofed the brindled sow would get in and eat
all the cabbages up, but I was sort o’ mad at the
old woman and didn’t keer. I woke up about
six in the morning, and that dog was barking
yet.”
” What at?”
" That’s what I wanted to know. I knoivod
it must bo suthin’ er other, and I went out to
” Well, what was it?”
“ Jlsi about 35,000 rebels had been stringin’
along past the house during the night, and
that’s what ailed Bose. I knowed that dog had
his eyes on critters or aemahedy.”
KNOCKED OUT.
When Tack Dompsoy was in Detroit thia
Spring he was interviewed in a social profes
sional way by a reporter who was hunting alter
pugilistic reminiscences, and who finally ob
served:
” Mr. Dempsey, you travel a great deal ?”
“ Oh, yes.’
“You moot with all kinds of people?”
“ Of eonrse.”
“ Ever have any rows ?”
“Never had but one.”
“ I was just thinking what a surprise party
was in store for the fellow who jumped on your
collar. So you had a row?”
'• Yeo, in the Cineinnati, Hamilton & Dayton
Bailroad depot in Cineinnati. I was waiting
there for a train, and I saw an oldish man cuff
ing a bey about. I didn’t fool particularly pleas
ant that morning, and I was riled at oace. I
walked up to the old man and warned him to
let the boy alone.”
“And he did?”
“ No, he didn’t. Furthermore, he threatened
to break my head.”
“ And you tapped him on the jaw for his im
pudence?”
“ Not exactly. I started out to, but he knock
ed ma down with a right-hander, piled on to
me like a load ot sand, and the first thing I
knew I was the worst licked man iu the State of
Ohio. Sinee that date I take ‘ sass ’ from most
any one, and never interfere with anybody.”
A DUBIOUS COINCIDENCE.
He was an exite, poor follow, and glad to
meet a man who know of the parts from whence
he hailed.
“ Yes, sir,’’ he said, "I lived in New York my
self for four years.”
" And then you went te Milwaukee ?”
“ Yes, sir ; that’s where I landed next.”
"Strange to say, it was that eity I struck my
self after leaving New York. Fine town, Mil
waukee.”
" Yes ; I was quite sorry to leave there, but
business ere long called ma to ”
" Denver.”
"Yes, sir, you’re right; Denver. Now there’s
a booming city—regular stem-winder. Ever
been to Denver ?”
" Yes, siree. Denver is a pretty slick sort of
a place. Didn’t stay there long, eh ?”
"Just a law days, but long enough to become I
quite in love with tbo city. I went te Kansas
aitor leaving there.”
: “Kansas?’ (referring to his note-book),
‘Yes, that a rigtit; you were just twelve hours
ahead of me there.”
“ Well, seems to me. stranger, we have trav
eled pretty much over the same ground.- Curi
ous coincidence, ain’t it ?”
" Ye-* ’tis a trifle funny, mate ; but the best
of the joke has to follow. VVe now go to Now
York. After all. New York is the only place
worth living in. Any objections to exchange
cards? There’s mine."
It reads:
: jack phipps, •
: dbteotivs, :
; New York,
"Th s is my warrant for your arrest. Em
bezzlement ; that’s it. Curious coincidence,
ain’t it?*’
The Uncle and His Nephew.
A JAPAN MORAL STORY.
The old man said :
The vulgar only seek for gain. In the hands
of a charlatan even the best remedies become
poison. I remember a little story oh this very
subject
Once upon a time there was a young man be
longing to a wealthy family, who frequented the
pleasure resorts ail day and all night, and
squandered his money most foolishly—just as
it he were throwing so much dirt away. His
lamily and his servants overwhelmed him with
remonstrances and warnings. He would listen
to them a moment, but never profited by them
for any length ot time. Ho that at last he oamo
to be extraordinarily hard up.
His uncle was a man who had had a great
deal of oxper ence in life. One day he sent for
the young man, and explained to him all those
principles which should guide the actions of a
man of common sense. Then he wrote the
words — KANNIN-BAKO — meaning “ money
box,” on the cover of a beautiful little chest
which he had made expressly tor the solemn
occasion.
“Now, I give you this box,” the uncle said,
“ for the following reason : I saw something in
the beginning ot the book called the Nosegay
of Plante, about a Kannin-bako, or money-box,
and I read there that a certain grandfather once
had a box made which he called by this name—
Kannin-bako. The regular expenses o; tills man
had been about one hundred me (or about $l5O
American money-the me being 1-10 of an
ounce, or $1.50). But he reduced his expenses
to eighty me, and put the twenty remaining me
in the money box. And whenever he deemed
it opportune to spend about two hundred me.
he would only spend one hundred and sixty and
put tha remainder in the money-box. Thus, as
he always reduced all his expenses by twenty
per cent, and kept putting all his savings in
the box, he grew to be quite- a rich man.
“ Now I really think this an admirable way of
doing If one has one hundred me to spend,
and one knows it is possible to economize any
thing at all out of that amount, however hard it
may seem, e .penance teaches that tweafty >ne
ought to be saved, and only eighty spent—
which represents quite a handsame percentage
or savings.
“ Well, out of whatever you have te spend in
tho places ot amusement, you must now
making up your mind to reform from this day
forward you must now always put aside, in
this bex, twenty me ot every hundred which can
be devoted to pleasure, and must only spend
eighty me. Just in the same way, if you should
have five hundred me to spend, you must spend
only four hundred; and the remaining one hun
dred must go into the box.
“If you onoo begin to practice economy in
this manner, you will begin to see the good of it
after a little while. Beside, as you cannot help
feeling pleased to see the money piling up in
the box, you will begin to spend loss, and you
will not be so crazy to go all the time to those
resorts of pleasure. Please now, to remember
carefully all I have said.”
And with these words he gave him the money
box as a present.
Filled with admiration the young man replied:
“ Your instructions have deeply penetrated me
with gratitude. And since you tell me to put a
check at once on my expenses in the resorts of
pleasure, I must, however hard it may seem,
follow that suggestion ot yours about putting by
twenty per cent, of whatever I have to spend.
Then, of course, seeing the delightful spectacle
of the money accumulating in this box, 1 shall
cease of my own accord to spend iny money.’*
The young man said all this with so much
joy, that his uncle ceased to be tormented iu
his mind; but only about thirty or forty days
after, one ot the young man’s servant’s came to
see the uncle, with his face full of woe.
“Sir,” he said, “ after that speech that yon,
his uncle, made to that boy some time ago, he's
been throwing his money away more than ever
before in those places of pleasure; and now he
is again reduced to a state ot distress.”
After saying these words the old servant re
quested the uncle to make some remonstrances
to tho boy, and he went his way.
The same evening the uncle sent for the young
fellow. He gave him a severe reprimand, and
asked him how it was, that a 1 ter having prom
ised to followed the suggestion about the money
box. he had thus continued to frequent tho re
sorts of pleasure.
The young man replied:
“ indeed, my uncle, I have only been just
following out those rules of economy which you
laid down for me. The idea was that once the
money begins to accuthulato in the money-box,
tho mere pleasure of seeing it increase will
make one try to reduce his expenses of his own
accord.
“ Thinking, therefore, that the most import
ant thing to do, was to fill the money box by
reducing all my expenses 20 per cent., I have
latterly been going to the reports of pleasure
just as often as possible. Only tnd nignt Le’ore
last,when I had made up my mind to have about
one hundred worth of fun, I deducted
twenty me out of that sum, and put it in the
box.
“Just in the same way, two nights ago, I had
five hundred me to spend; and yet I only spent
four hundred, and put one hundred in the box.
And even to-day, out of three hundred me I was
going on a frolic with, I saved sixty for the box.
“These economies, put aside, little by little
at a time—nithough it’s money, of course—do
not represent what might really be called a good
lot of money. Still, if I can just keep on going
to those pleasure resorts until next spring, with
as much zest as 1 feel iu going now—why, then,
I think it can be said that a good deal of money
has been saved in that there box.
“So you see now’ tho reason I. keep going all
day and all night to those placos of pleasure is
to simply keep piling up the mouoy iu the box
by reducing each ot my expenses 20 per cent;
and please don’t get mad about it.”
Being totally upset; by this discourse, the
uncle shed tears—thinking, I suppose, that his
nephew was a creature apart—inspired by the
Kami (genius) of Poverty.
A CONNECTICUT TRICK.
WORSE THAN WOODEN NUTMEGS
{From the Bridgeport Kews.)
I went up to one of the slaughter houses to
see a Irisnd of mini. While I was ther. a man
wh. poddies k.roseno around the oity iu a
wsgsn drove up aad Wasted earn, bladders.
B« finally bought a tot of those sheep bladders
that will held when blows up from a pint to a
Snart After h. toft w. talked it over and won
ered what the man oouid want them for. They
ar. used m makiiq, bplpgaa aauaagos, but h.
««uldn’t want th.m fw that. Finally I sterted
f.r home, and, in cutting acc... a field, same
upon tho peddler’s wages standing bv tho
fonee.
The kerosene ease in the wagM were severed
with a .loth. I walk.fi up ol.ser, and saw tho
man at work partly under the cloth. He w.nld
take a bladder, f.ree it d.wn through the month
of a can, blow it up with a etiek with a kola
through it, take a siring ir.m a banoh air.adv
ent and ready, tie the month ot the bkdder,
and lot it remain in the osn. I watohod him un
til he had fixed up all bis eass in thia way. He
had some bladders toll, and I was anxieus to
see what ho intended to do wit* them. Ho drove
along to a house, and a woman oame out to buy
some kerosene, brinamg her own ean. He got
partly under the ototh while filling the ean, and
I saw him put »M ef the bladders ia her ean
and blew it up the same as he did in his own
eaas. Ho then gave her the ean and went
along.
This Is a pretty sharp iriek. Every ean with
a bladder inside will held, et cenree, from a
pint to a quart less nil than he ia ceiling pay
lor. Full er empty, no one will be likely to dis
cover the bladder m ths ana. It weald not rat
tle, being soft, would add nothing to tho weight,
and could net bo seen.
A QUEER COBEAN LEGEND.
THE RIP OF THAT FAR AWAY LAND
aiMILAR TO IRVING’S Bll*.
(Letter tn Neu> Tork Fest.)
Was the legend of Rip Yan Winkto wholly the
creation et Washington Irving? or did ho pat
into such pleasing shape some story he had un
earthed in hie antiquarian rosearehes ? In Per
ceval Lowell’s book, “ A Hketeh et Corea,” p.
205, 1 find this legend under the head of "Deman
Worship:”
There lived onto upon a time a certain well
to-do countryman where business toekhim into
tho woods. He was a folier ot timber, and in
pursuit of hie work he often wont iar into the
mountains. All Ceroane are fond ot nature, and
this man was no exception to tho rule; so, with
hie business as excuse and his lore as incentive,
ho would ramble an in the virgin forest. Ono
day ho wandered further than usnal, and found
himself at last some distance np the side of the
mountain. Before him lay the peak seemingly
close, and under the impulse ot that species ot
tolly which urges men to go te tho top et any
thing lofty, in spite of their better judgment and
repeated experience that the end never justifies
the means, he eiimbed it. When at last he
reached the summit he found there four eld
men busily intent on a game ot go. They were
seated, squatting in a circle, the go-board in
their midst while aronnd them on the grass lay
fiagous of sul, and a page sat hard by to re
plenish the cans as they were emptied. The
four looked up'as he approached, bowed with
great civility, and, observing that he was tired,
ordered the page to pour him out some sul. He
sat down, sipped the sul, and looked on at the
game.
After tarrying what seemed but a very short
time in such agreeable company, he rose to
take his leave. They hade him good-by with as
much courtesy as they had welcomed him, and
he started down the mountain. He descended
without accident, and reached the bottom ia
much less time than it had taken him to go up.
Mindful ot his wife and children, ho struck out
for home and arrived there in safety before sup
per. On entering his own abode he was some
what surprised to find the place occupied by
people Ire had uever seen. What was worse
they ordered him off tho premises as an in
truder. He remonstrated at thus being turned
ont of life own house, and in the altercation that
ensued, the master of the place oame out from
an inner room to see what was going on. Ho
was a man well on in life, and yet the woodman
never remembered to have laid eyes on him be
fore. Appealing to him, however, for redress,
the woodman was asked his name, and on giv
ing it the man replied that sneh wae his first
name, too. [ln Corea the first name Is equiva
lent to our last name.) On further question
ing, it turned out that the present incumbent
was the woodman’s grandson. Tho wanderer
had come back to another world. His wife hail
long since died, his children all were buried ;
moat ot their children, too, had passed a,way.
and his great-grandchildren had grown up to
manhood. Ha had been gone one hundred
years.
A Cat in a Strange Garret.
OLD HAYSEED WANTED PLENTY
OF VEGETABLES.
(Fi'om the Kansas City Star.)/ y
A farmer, racked between tho serene .'convic
tion that be belonged to tire only class <jt people
that bus any real right to live, and the uaoom
fortsble realization that he was in a place where
he didn’t know what to do or how to do it, wan
dered into the highest-priced restaurant in
Kansas City a day or two ago. A waiter deftly
seated him betore he bad decided whether or
not to tako off his overcoat. A bill ot tare was
laid before him, and he pondered it with the ex
pression his face would probably have worn it
he had been given ten lines of Greek to trans
late with the alternative ol decapitation in case
ot failure. He glanced sidewise at a real estate
man who was waiting lor his luncheon, bat
found no relief in tho impassive countenance
of his table companion. Then he looked up
ward covertly and tonnd tho waiter regarding
him with a stony stare.
Tho most utterly miserable man in Kansas
City at that moment was tho ruralist, although
he determinedly relused to toss sight of hie
conviction that he was of the salt ot tho earth,
while real estate men and restaurant waiters
were a very inferior sort of condiment. Ho
fumbled the bill of fare in hopeless contusion.
Thea he cleared his throat and said to tho la
pending waiter:
" I guess you caa gimme seme corn beef aa’
cebbige.”
“Corn beef an’cabbage," echoed the waiter,
with no change of countenance. “AU right,
sir.”
“ Hole on a minute,” said the farmer, nerv
ensly, as his eye caught a familiar line on tho
card, “gimme salt mackerel instead o’ the corn
beet and oabbige.”
“Salt mackerel; all right, sir,” said tho
waiter.
“ An’ hole on agiu,” said the farmer, rapidly
gaining confidence m himself as he noticed tho
waiter’s obsequiousness. Then, with some
thing of a domineering tone, ho added : “Don’t
be in so much ot a burry. Bring mo a line o'
vegetables with the mackerel, o’ eonrso.”
“ What vegetables will you have, sir ?" asked
tho waiter.
“ Why, vegetables for a meal, o’ course.
Some ’eparagus an’ some corn an’ some lotiis
an’ some string beaus an’—got any new pota
toes ?”
” Yea, sir.”
“ Some new potatoes an’ some green peas aa”
some onione an’ some cabbage an’ all o’ them
that goes to make up a meal,” eaid the dinor,
with mental visions ot the infinitessimal quan
tities of “ side dishes ” that he had encoun
tered in a “ regular-diunor-twenty-ilve-centa ”
house somewhere.
“AU right, sir,” said the imperturbable
waiter, with a reassuring drawl of the “ all.”
After waiting several minutes, during whiok
tho ruralist relapsed into his uncomfortable
self-conscious condition, the waiter arrived with
tho order. The diner’s eyes bulged with as
tonishment when he saw hair the table covered
with huge plates bearing tho items of his dinner.
After staring helplessly for a minute, ho be
gan to oat, overwhelmed by the conviction that
there had been a gigantic mistake somewhere.
When he had finished, provender for an ordi
nary family remained untouched. The waiter
slipped a check under the edge of his plate and
the wretched man took it up clandestinely and
looked at tho amount of his bill. It was iu tho
neighborhood of $2.50.
BY MRS. M. L. RAYNE.
Children are happy counselors ! They are to
•ur hard, practical, everyday lives what tho
stars are to tbo heavens, or tho flowers and
birds to the earth.
“ Ab 1 what would the world ba to us
Il the children wore no more ?
Wa should dread tho desort behind ua
Worse than the dark bolero. '*
There is a family in this city who aro depend
ent at this moment upon a little child tor all
the present sunshine of their lives.
A few weeks ago the young wife and mother
was stricken down to die.
It was so sudden, so dreadful when the grave
family physician culled them together iu the
parlor, and in his solemn professional way inti
mated to them the truth—there was no hopo I
Then the question arose among them, who
would tell her.
Not th? rtoctpr | It would be cruel to lot the
man of science go to their dear one on Buch an
errand.
Not the aged mother, who was to be left child
less and alone!
Nor the young husband, who was walking
the floor with olenehed hands and rebellious
fifty fj
Not—there was Ohly one other, and at this
moment he looked up from tho book he had
been playing with unnoticed by them all and
asked gravely:
“is my mamma doin’ to die?”
Thon without waiting tor an answer ho sped
from the room and up-stairs as last as his little
leet would cawy him.
Friends and neighbors were watching by the
sick woman. They wonderingly noticed the palo
face of the child as he climbed on the bed and
laid his small bead on his mother’s pillow.
“ Mamina,” he asked in sweet, caressing
tones, “ is you ’lraid to die?”
The mother looked at him with swift intelli
gence. Perhaps she had boon thinking of this.
“ Who— told—you —Charlie?” she asked,
faintly.
“ Doctor an’ papa an’ gamnte—everybody,"
ho whispered, “ Mamma, dear ’ittle mamma,
doan’ be ’ftald to die, ’ll you.”
“ No, Charlie,” said the yeung mother after
one supreme pang of grief; ” no, mamma won’t
bo afraid i”
“ Jus’ shut your eyes is ’o dark, mamma;
teep hold my hand—an’, as’ when you open
’em, mamma, it ’ll be all light there.”
When the family gathered, awe-stricken, at ths
bedside, Charlie held np his little hand.
“ Hu-s-h I My mamma doan to sleep. Her
won’t wake up here any more 1”
And so it proved. There was no heart-rending
farewell, n» agony sf parting, for when the
young mother woke she had passed bevond,
and as baby Charley said: “It was all’light
there 1”
PREJTY POLL
NEW AND OLD STORIES ABOUT
PARROTS.
An English paper publishes a number of in
teresting and same amusing parrot stories.
Ono of them muht help to illustrate the proverb,
“ When the oat’s away the miae will play.’’ A
young couple want away from homo for soma
weeks, leaving the bouse ia charge of the ser
vants and a parrot. Alter their return the par
rot wonlfi repeat, from time to time, “Let’s
have another bottle; there’s no one hero to
know I” atoompanying its words with tha sound
of tho appropriate “ plop 1”
Another story io not unlike it. A Yorkshire
gentleman had a favor, and his parrot was taken
from the dining-room to the kitoben. During
its abode there of several weeks it stole tha
raisins intended .era pin m-padding. The cook,
in anger, throw some hot grease at it, and scalded
its head. When tha master get hotter the par
rot’s cage was taken up-stairs again, and the
bird, seeing tho gentleman's newly-shaven head,
said, slowly, "Yon old bald-headed ruffian, so
you stole the cook’s plums I”
A gray parrot was stationed in a nursery,
whore his greatest delight was to see the baby
battled. The child besoming siok, tha parrot
was sent to the kitehen. There, after a time,
be set up a terrible cry, “ Tho baby, the dear
baby 1" All the family rushed down to find tho
parrot, in the wildest excitement, watching the
roasting of a sucking-pig.
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