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T
IHE quiet wedding in the little village
church was over, and the pretty, fair
| faced girl who had entered its doors
as Lucy Birch came out Mrs. Philip
Wade The small hand resting on the coat
sleeve of the newly made husband may have
trembled a little as the young couple walked
down the aisle and out to the carriage that
waited to convey them to their new home, and
the tender heart that beat beneath the pretty
bridal costume may have throbbed a trifle
faster than it was wont to do, but no one of
all the lookers-on knew it, if such was the case,
and surely none thought that the little bride
was even the least bit frightened at what she
had done. But such was the fact, neverthe
less, and this was the reason, she had married
a man whose parents were not “willing.”
When Philip Wade told his parents that he
had made up his mind to marry, they were de
lighted; but upon, being told that the lady was
a poor young school teacher, whose beauty had
first attracted, and whose intelligence and w’o
manly sweetness had afterward won the heart
of their son, a decided change came over their
feelings. The paternal Wade kept ominous
silence, while Philip’s mother, a rather stern
visaged, hard working woman, gave her son
to understand that “she had expected better
sense on his part, and if he thought she was
going to have a young snip of a girl coming
there to be waited on and play the fine lady
over her, he was mistaken.”
“She is used to waiting on herself, mother,”
Philip replied, “and I am sure she is as neat
a housekeeper as even you would wish to see.
Her beauty is nothing against her, and her
youth is a failing time will cure”—a quiet
smile passing over his lips.
But nothing that Philip could say would
change his mother's opinion that the bride
elect was a vain, “stuck-up” chit that would
try to usurp her place at the head of the fam
ily, and, for her part, she wouldn’t stand it.
And then old Mr. Wade opened his lips wide
enough to mutter something about inexperi
ence and ignorance of the duties of married
life, and Philip had looked mischieviously at
his father and asked if he meant the young
lady was not experienced in bringing up a
family, as that was about all of domestic duties
that she was lacking in knowledge of. This
piece of “impertinence,” as his mother termed
it, capped the climax of opposition to Philip’s
cause, and Mrs. Wade declared “that if ever
he had the impudence to marry an upstart, he
should never bring her to a home there. If
he must marry, why could he not marry a girl
who would be of some use to her. such a girl,
say, as Susan Brown—”
Here the old lady was interrupted in her
tirade by a sudden ejaculation from her us
ually respectful son:
“Hang Susan Brown!” he exclaimed, with
such energy that his mother forgot, in her as
tonishment ,to go on with her remarks, and
Philip had made his exit from the room with
out saying any more.
So the young man had left his home, and,
CHAPTER I.
THE GOLDEN AGE FOR WEEK OF SEPT. 18
THE LITTLE “STUCK UP”
By MARIE LOUISE HAYNES.
after a few weeks spent in preparing the neat
little cottage in the village where he had first
met pretty Lucy Birch, he had married the
orphan school teacher.
Philip had told Lucy of his parents’ objec
tion to his marriage with her, and the reason
of it, and she had timidly expressed a wish to
wait awhile, and perhaps the old folks would
get over their dislike, and “after all,” smil
ing archly up into the handsome face of the
young man, “perhaps he had better marry Su
san Brown, so that his mother might have some
one to help her about the house;” at which
Philip declared that it was himself and not
his mother, who was to marry a wife, and
therefore he preferred to suit his own taste in
the choice of a wife, and, with a kiss upon the
Tempting lips so near his own, the young man
dismissed the subject; and Lucy’s inclinations
swayed her so strongly to Philip’s side of the
question that she had also dismissed the mat
ter from her mind, and trusted to time to show
whether she did wiselv or not. And now the
deed was done. The pretty bride was wel
comed lovingly by the young husband to the
modest little home he had prepared for her,
and life seemed to have commenced in earnest.
That first evening, sitting down to their first
tea, Lucy’s bright eyes dimmed for a moment
as she glanced about the dainty apartment,
and, after pouring out a cup of the fragrant
beverage for her husband, she arose from her
seat ,and, coming around behind Philip’s chair,
laid her head down against his face and said,
half tearfully, half laughingly:
“How nice it is to have you, Phil deal*, all
for my own, but T am sorry for that poor moth
er of yours. 1 wish she could be here to see
how happy I mean to make her boy. I think
she would like me better.”
Philip drew the loving little woman down
upon his knee, and smiled into the sweet face.
“Os course, she will love you when she
knows you. and I mean her to have the chance
some day. Don’t fret, dear; it will come right
very soon.”
And Lucy, having full faith in whatever
Phil said, believed it would, and so put away
all trouble from her mind, and set herself to
enjoy the pleasant life a kind Providence had
given her.
CHAPTER 11.
Life passed monotonously enough to the old
couple left at the old homestead after Philip’s
marriage. He had been the only child at home
for many years. Some had married and moved
away; others died, and out of a once numerous
family of children none now remained to cheer
the hearts or brighten the fireside of the lone
ly parents. Not that either admitted that they
were lonely, for Mrs. Wade upon receiving in
telligence of her son’s marriage, snapped out:
“Well, he’s made his bed; now let him lie on
it. I don’t care what becomes of him;” and
went on with her occupation, which happened
to be baking pies, and as she uttered the words
she shoved an unoffending pie into the oven
and shut the door vigorously, giving one the
idea that she had mentally disposed of her ab-
sent son in the same manner. The old gentle
man still preserved silence on the subject, but
went about the house and farm in a vague,
restless sort of way that was very different
from his usual habit. Secretly both missed
the bright face and cherry ways that had
been, unconsciously to them, the light of the
old homestead, and when at last, after some
months of loneliness had passed, and Mrs.
Wade contracted a heavy cold, rendering
much activity impossible, the suggestion of one
neighborly soul that they “advertise for a
young woman to come and take charge of
things and be a sort of companion for the old
lady until she had recovered her health,” met
with entire approval, and the thing was imme
diately done.
But to advertise for a companion and to ob
tain a suitable one were two widely different
things. Plenty of applications were received,
but none seemed to suit. Either the person
was too young or too old, wanted too much
salary (as they termed it), or could not do
what was required; and old Mrs. Wade was
almost in despair. At last, inability to endure
any further annoyance made her resolve to
take the next woman who should apply, be
she young or old; so when .a timid rap on the
door, late in the afternoon, announced still an
other comer, the summons to “come in” was
sharply uttered, and in answer to this rather
doubtful invitation a small figure clad in sober
gray stepped quietly in, and in a sweet, lady
like voice spoke a gentle “Good evening.”
Mrs. Wade raised her head from the rumpled
pillow that supported it, as she lay on the
broad, old-fashioned “settee,” and cast a quick
glance at the new comer.
“Well, what will you have?” she question
ed, sinking back, as a sharp pain darted
through her head.
“1 came in answer to your advertisement
for a companion and helper,” said the stran
ger, lifting her veil and advancing toward
her questioner.
“Hum,” muttered the old lady, holding her
hand to her eyes, ostensibly to ease the pain,
but in truth furtively scanning the self-pos
sessed figure standing on the opposite side of
the fireplace. “Make beds?” suddenly, in a
jerky tone.
The young woman raised her eyes inquiring
ly an instant, and then perceiving that the eja
culation was meant to be a question, replied
quietly, “Oh. ves, I can make beds.”
“Make butter, tend chickens, wasn dishes,
cook, lead newspapers and mend socks?” A
pause and a jerk of the head at each question,
as she went through the list of her require
ments, indicated the importance she attached
to each of these occupations.
“Yes, I think I can do all of those things,”
(Continued on page 15.)
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