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would have been Mary’s; and, as she was
not of a yielding disposition, and Ellie,
in all matters where only her own pleas
ure was concerned, was, there would
have been probably little need for discus
sion in the matter, but for a great, empty
white house, which fronted the main
street, just where the town or village
ended. It was a dreary, desolate-looking
place, with staring, unshuttered windows,
and was known among the school chil
dren as the “Haunted House.” Why it
was so called no one could tell, except
that it had been f>r years untenanted,
the owner being in another country, al
though no crime was imputed to him,
causing his absence, and that in the de
serted garden rank and noxious weeds
had eradicated roses and lilies. But such
was its reputation; and Mary and Ellie
dreaded exceedingly passing this house.
Even in broad daylight it was done fear
fully ; but now, as the shadows were
lengthening, it could not be thought of,
so the lane was decided upon,
The delay, however, had enabled little
Charlie, their lame school-fellow and
neighbor, to overtake them.
“Oh, Ellie,” lie exclaimed, “please wait
a little, just ’til I can catch up with you.
You’re going through the lane? Ho carry
my bag of books for me. I’m so tired
already, and I’ve got to go round on an
errand for mother, and they are so
heavy.”
“That comes of waiting,” exclaimed
Mary, very ill naturedly, “and of this
hateful lane. Yes, of course you’ll take
them, and load yourself with them, and
the sun almost down. I’ll not wait for
you.”
Ellie could not help laughing, but she
took the satchel and promised Charlie to
leave it for him, and walked so fast that
Mary had nothing to complain of. Hot
far, however, for they had just crossed
the common, and were commencing the
ascent of the hill, when Ellie saw a poor
little lamb lying by the roadside—a dog
seemed to have worried it, for it was
covered with blood, and, apparently
dying. Ellie could not bear to sec it
suffer, and so, although Mary at first
tried ridicule, and then became exceed
ingly angry, she lifted the poor little
thing in her apron, resolved to carry it
home, and see what could be done for it.
But the lamb and the bag of books were
almost more than she could manage.
“Please, Mary, help me,” she exclaimed ;
“just carry the books to the top of the
hill for me. I will take them when we
get there.”
. “I will do no such thing,” was the rude
reply. “Put the lamb down. Who cares
BITBK K’ S \Y K , I, Y .
whether it dies or not ? I shall not wait
for you,” and Mary angrily walked on.
Ellie debated for a few minutes what she
should do; she could not think of leaving
the lamb, neither could she put down the
books, so putting the string of the satchel
around her neck, and tenderly holding
the lamb in her arms, Ellie walked on.
She saw Mary at some little distance
ahead of her, but she neither stopped nor
looked back, and her manner was so in
dignant that Ellie could not help laugh
ing. She could not walk very fast, how
ever, loaded as she was. As she reached
the top of the hill, she was surprised to
sc% Mary coming back to meet her,
and at some little distance ahead of
Mary she perceived a singular looking
person, of whom Mary was evidently
afraid, and for a moment even Ellie’s
heart stood still. She was a queer look
ing person, there was no denying that
fact. She was exceedingly small, bent
almost double., and walked with a stick;
then her dress was of bright green, her
coarse gypsy hat was tied under her chin
with a green muffler, and the border of
her cap was very broad, which is always
you know unbecoming. Altogether, she
was so queer looking, that it was not
astonishing that the little girls, when
they first saw her in the narrow lane
ahead of them, should have felt fright
ened, and drawn very close to each other,
as if for protection. A\ hat should be
done ?—go back and take the other path ?
It was too far back, and besides it was
almost sunset, and there would be the
“haunted house” to pass. That would
not do. Hun on very, very fast, and pass
the little woman so quickly that she
would not have time to catch them, or do
anything else to them? That might an
swer; but Ellie carried weight, —she
could scarcely walk —she certainly could
not run.
“Put down the hateful little lamb !
exclaimed Mary; “let it die, who cares ?
I’ll hide the books in the hedge here, and
Charlie can get them as he goes to school
to-morrow, and then you can run.'
But Ellie shook her head.
“ You are the most hateful and obsti
nate girl I ever knew in my life!” ex
claimed Mary, passionately, but Ellie did
not heed her, for, as she turned in her
perplexity to look how low the sun was,
hoping that they might have time to stop
where they were, and let the little woman
go on so far that they would not over
take her, a sight so beautiful, so wonder
fully beautiful met her eyes, that Ellie for
a moment forgot the old woman, and the
lamb, and the bag of books, and all her
perplexity, and gazed with exclamations
of delight. The lane in which the child
ren walked was a regular lane, shut in on
either side by a low fence and hedge.
Across the fence, on one side, was what
was called in the village “The Woods.”
It stretched out into quite an extensive
park, filled with great trees of maple and
hickory and oak, where the birds sang
and the squirrels chattered all day long,
finding beautiful homes in the old hollow
trees, as their ancestors had done before
them. On the other side was an open
field, where the golden grain was ripen
ing, to give the farmer bread for the year,
the heavy heads bowing and yielding like
ocean waves to the gentle evening breeze
as it swept over them. Beyond the fields
were low, sloping hills ; and still farther
off, other and higher hills ; beyond which,
again, the western sun was sinking in a
sea of liquid gold. Ellie Avas so entranced
with the beauty of the scene, that she
did not heed Mary’s exclamations of im
patience and anger.
“Watching the sun set! as if you could
not see the sun set every evening. I
think you had better watch it and hurry
on. Ellie, do put down the lamb, and
hurry on. I’m afraid of that horrible
old woman, and I’m afraid to go by my
self; do, do come!” thus she incessantly
appealed to Ellie.
At that instant a cry of pain close by,
or so it seemed, startled them both, and
made them turn from the sunset. The
old woman, when they stopped, had
stopped too, and seemed to have been
coming towards them, but, stumbling
over a stone, had fallen to the ground,
and was apparently much hurt.
Home, Ga.
[to be continued,]
The Telocity of Electricity.—Late
ly experiments were made through the
Atlantic cable, in order to find the differ
ence of longitude between America and
England. By these it Avas found that the
time required for a signal to pass through
the Atlantic cable is 31-lOOths ot a second.
This is equal to a velocity of six thousand
and tAventy miles a second, considerably
less than the speed of the electric fluid
through land lines.
The Way to Find Out. —If you wish
to know how an associate speaks ot you
to others, mark how he speaks of them to
you.
A teacher said to a little girl at
school, “If a naughty girl should hurt
you, like a good girl you would forgive
her, wouldn’t you ?” “ l r es, ma’am,” she
replied, “if I couldn’t catch her.”
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