Newspaper Page Text
December ! 9,1924.
U i .«»»iaunnimnniMmmm mmiM i i
A COUPLE OF
CAPITALISTS
They Saved and Saved to Get the Thin? They Wanted,
and Then Found It Didn’t Satisfy.
( By ELEANOR PORTER
i Author of “Pollyahna ,* “Just David,” Etc.
• M Oopyrirht by Eleanor H, Porter. FI
r QN tHB 'top of the hill
foo stood the big
c a o—a mansion, compared
to the other houses of the New Eng
land village. At the foo't of the hlU
nestled toetlny brown farmhouse, half
buried hollyhocks. in Iliads, climbing roses, and
. . "»•
y Years ago whan Reuben bad first
brought Emily to that little'brown cot
tage, he had Said to her wistfully :
‘•'Sweetheart, ’taln’t much of a place,
■I know. but we’ll save and save, every
•cent we can get, an’ by an’ by we’ll go
up to live In the big house on the
hill!” And he kissed so tenderly the
pretty little woman he had married
only that morning that she smiled
brightly and declared that the small
brown house was the very nicest place
In the world.
But, as time passed, the “big house”
came to be the Mecca of all their
hopes, and penny by penny the sav
ings grew. It was slow work, though,
and to hearts less courageous 'the
thing would have seemed an impossi
bility. No luxuries—and scarcely 'the
bare necessities of life—came to 'the
little bouse under the hill, but ‘every
month a tiny sum found its way into
the savings bank. •
Reuben never smoked. While 'other
men used the fragrant weed 'to calm
their weary brains and bodies, Reuben
ate peanuts. It had been u'curious
passion of hl-s, from the time when as
a boy he was first presented with
penny of his very own, to spend all
his spare cash pp this peculiar luxury;
and the slow munching of this ple
beian delicacy had the same soothing
effect on him that a good cigar or an
old clay pipe had upon his brother
man. But from the day of his mar
riage all this was changed; the dimes
and the nickels bought no more pea
nuts, but went to swell the common
fund.
It is doubtful If e ve n this heroic
economy would have accomplished the
Y desired’end had not a certain railroad
.^rnpany cast ehvious eyes upon the
mms
up through toe quiet village. A large
tract, of waste land belonging to Reu
ben < Gray suddenly became surpris
ingly valuable, and a sum that trebled
-twice over the scanty savings of years
grew ail An a night.
One crisp- October day, Mr. and Mrs.
Reuben Gray awoke to the fact that
they were; a EtUe under sixty years of
age, and in possession of more than
the big sum of money necessary to
•enable them rto carry out the dreams
* ^ their youth. They began joyous
preparations at once.
The big brick house at |he top of
the hill had changed hands twice dur
ing the last forty years, and the pres
ent owner expressed himself as noth
ing loath to part, 4K»t only with the
house Itself, but with many of Its
.
furnishings; and before the winter
snow fell the little brown, cottage was
sold to a thrifty young couple from
the neighborfhg village, and the Grays
took up {heir abode In tbelp new home.
“Well, Em’ly, this Is livin’, • now,
ain’t ItT’ said Reuben, as he carefully
let himself down Into the dopths of a
velvet covered chair In the great par
lor. “My! ain’t this nicer’
“oust perfectly lovely,” quavered
th< - thin voice of his wife, at she
threw a surreptitious glance at Reu
ben’s shoes to see if they were,quite
clean enough for such sacred pre
cincts.
It was their first evening in their
new abode, and they were .a -little
weary, for they had spent the entire
day in exploring every room, peering
Into every closet and trying every
chair that the establishment eon
talned. It was still quite early when
they trudged anxiously about the
house, Intent on fastening the .numer
ous dSors and windows.
Dear me! exclaimed tbe little
woman nervously, “I’m most afraid to
go to bed, Reuben, for fear some one
will break in an’ steal all these nice
things.”
to, '^Well, replied you her can husband sit up If you want
I shall to bed. dryly, ‘‘but
go Most of these things
na\e been here ni^h on to twenty
years, an’ I guess they’ll last the night
through.” And he marched solemnly
upstairs to the big east chamber,
meekly followed by his wife.
It was the next morning when Mrs.
Gray was washing the breakfast
dishes that her husband came In at
the kitchen door and stood looking at
,her thoughtfully.
“Say, Emily,” I
said he, you’d ought
llR ve a hired girl. ’Taln’t your
Jflace to be doin’ work like this now.”
Mrs. Gray gasped—half terrified,
half bleated-—and shook her bead;
but her husband was not to be
slleueed.
Wen, you had—an’ you’ve got to,
too. Asr* you must huy some new
clothes—tots of ’em! Why, Em’ly, 1
we’ ve got heap* of money now, an’ we
hadn’t ougtrter wqar such lookin’
things.”
Emily nodded; she had thought of
this before. And the Mred-girl bint
must hnve found a worm spot In her
heart in which to grow, for that very
Afternoon she sallied forth, intent on
' a ' v,8 ‘' h> her counsellor on all occa
sions—tbe doctor's wife.
“Well, Mis' Steele, I don’t know
what to do. Reuben says I ought to
.have a hired girl; but I haln't no more
Idea where to get one than anything,
an’ I don’t know's I want one, if I
did.”
f-fld Mrs. Gray sat back in her chair
and rocked violently to and fro, eyeing
her hostess with the evident con
sciousness of having presented R
poser, Wmt resourceful woman, how
ever, WtfS far from being nonplussed;
she beamed upon her visitor with a
Joyfitfl ‘Smile.
**Just the thing, my dear Mrs. Gray !
Y<du know I am to go south with May
fiwr ^he winter. The house will be
dosed and the doctor at the hotel. I
had Just been wondering what to do
With Nancy, for I want her again In
toe spring. Now, you can have her
until then, and by that time you will
hnbw how you like the Idea of keep
ing a girl. She Is a perfect treasure,
'Capable of carrying the entire work
'it the household, only”—awd Mrs.
^Steele paused long enough to look
doubtfully at her friend—'“■glie is a
: little- independent, and won't ‘Stand
I mdfih Interference.”
s ,
' Fifteen minutes Inter Mvs. <Gray de
jlittle jparted, well pleased, though 'Withal a
frightened. She spent the rest
of the afternoon in trying ‘to decide
between a black alpaca and a green
cashmere dress.
That night Reuben brought home a
large bag of peanuts and put them
down In triumph on the kitchen table.
“ThereT" he announced In high glee,
‘‘I'm goth' to have a bang-up good
tlmeP*
“Why, 'Reuben,” remonstrated his
wife gently, “you can’t eat them
things—you haln’t got no teeth to
chew 'em with!”
The man’s lower jaw dropped.
“Well, I’m a-goin' to try it, anyhow,"
he insisted. And try it he did; but
the way his poor old stomach rebelled
against the half-masticated things ef
feCfdaily prevented a repetition of the
feast
tiCorly on Monday morning Nancy
aspect, hx,. Mrs. Gray assumed a brave
she showed the , her shoes
as mg
to her room.' Five minutes lata,
Nancy came Into the kitchen to
Mrs. Gray bending over an obstinate
coal fire in the range—with neither
coal nor range was the little woman to
the least familiar. --------““"T
“There, now,” said Nancy
* i I’ll fix that. You Just tell me what
y.ou want for dinner, and I can
the things myself.” And she attacked
the stove with such a clatter and din
that Mrs. Gray retreated. In terror,
murmuring, “Ham and eggs, it you
please,” as she fled through the door.
Once In the parlor, she seated herself
In the middle of the room and thought
1 hownlce It was not to get dinner; but
she, jumped nervously at every sound
from! toe kitchen.
On Tuesday she had Mastered her
fear suffictentiy to go into the kitchen
and* make a cottage cheese. She did
not notice the unfavorable glances
■ of ,,her i jnald'Of-all-work. Wednesday
morning she spent happily puttering
ever “doing up” some handkerchiefs,
and she wondered why Nancy kept
banging the , oven door so often.
Thursday she made a special kind of
,ple that i Reuben liked, and remarked
potatedlyto- Nancy that she herself
never washed, dishes without wearing
an-extra aprouV furthermore, she al
ways placed r the pans the other way
in the sink. Friday she rearranged
•the tins on'the pantry shelves, that
Nancy had so unaccountably mussed
up. On - Saturday the inevitable ex
tploslon came:
’’If you please, mum, I’m willin’ to
do your work, but seems to pie it don’t
make mo difference to you whether I
wear one apron or,six, or whether I
hang my dish-towels on a string or on
'the bare, or whether'I/wash goblets
pr kittles first ; and*I;ain’t In the habit
of havin’ folks gpyln’ round on me. If
am want me.ito.jb. iFU go; but It 1
*tay, I want to be let alone t”
Poor little Mm. G*ay fled to her
in theparWr, and, for -the rest
that winter she did not dare to call
her soul her own; but 'her table was
beautifully set and served, and her
house was ’as neat as wax.
The weeks passed and .Reuben be
gan to be restless. One day he came
Ip from the post office fairly'bubbling
over with excitement.
M Say, Emily, when folks have money
they travel. Let’s go somewhere’!"
"Why, Reuben—where?” .quavered
his wife, dropping into toe .nearest
chair. •
"Ob, I .dunno," with cheerful vague
ness; then suddenly animated, -"Let’s
go to Boston and see tbe sights !”
“But, Reuben, we don’t know bo one
there,” ventured his wife doubtfully.
“Pooh! What If we don’t? Haln’t
we got money? Can’t we stay at a
hotel? Well, I guess we can!
Nancy was tremblingly requested (o
take a two weeks' vacation, and great
was the rejoicing vrhen she graciously
acquiesced.
On a bright February morning the
journey began. It was not a long one
—four hours only—and the time flew
by as on wings of the wind. Reuben
assumed an air of worldly wisdom,
GRIFFIN DAILY NEWS
qujte awe-inspiring t® hi* wife. He
bkd visited Boston a* a boy, sad so
had a dim Idea of what to expect;
moreover, be had sold *tock and prod
uce in the large towns near his home,
and on the whole felt quite self
sufficient.
As the long train drew into the sta
tion, and they alighted and followed
the crowd, Mrs. Gray looked with
round eager eyes of wonder at the
people—she bad not realised that
there were so many In the world, and
she clung closer and closer to Reuben,
who was marching along with a show
of indifference.
“There,” said he, as he deposited
his wife and his bags la a seat In the
huge waiting room; “now you stay
right here, an’ don’t you move. I’m
going to find out about hotels and
things. »»
He was gone eo long that she was
nearly fainting from fright before she
spied his dear form coming toward
her. His thin, plain face looked won
derfully beautiful to her, and she al
most hugged him right before all
those people.
“Well, I’ve got a hotel all right; but
1 hain’t been here tor so long I’ve
kinder forgot about the streets, so the
man said we’d better have a team to
take us there.” And he picked up the
bags and trudged off, closely followed
•by Emily.
His shrewd Yankee wit carried him
safely through a bargain with the
driver, and they were soon Jolting and
rumbling along to their destination.
He had asked the man behind the
newsstand about a hotel, casually
mentioning that he had money—plenty
of it—and wanted a “hangup good
place.” The spirit of mischief had en
tered the heart of the newsman, and
he had given Reuben the name of one
of the very highest-priced, most luxuri
ous hotels In the city.
As the carriage stopped, Reuben
inarched boldly up the broad steps
and entered the palatial office, with
Emily close at his heels, ’Two bell
boys sprang forward—the one to take
the bags, the other to offer to show
Mrs. Gray to the reception room.
“No, thank you, I ain’t particular,”
said she sweetly; “I’ll w*#t for Reu
ben here. »» And she dropped down 1
into the nearest chair, while her hus
band advanced toward the desk. She!
noticed that men were booking curt- 1
ously at her, and she felt relieved^
» * V .
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“ w by, Reuben <&eayl Whatever in
th * WorieS -Ate You Doing?”
___, wmii/ ___. ^
back and " tthev ^ ' ’ WouM g ° UP to
r ra
lh» , h onvh jTf l^ ' a Uttle , * a «P (which Yf U ’
ntor/t rt° ^ ^ tte bo L U
I “Where can I get .somethin’ to eat?”
L ™'„ nt ^ n U ” dl C . h “‘ f n >n *-«*« J**® a 111 * ® erv fi * d «t floor, the
'
! vielona of a lunch asi he knew It in
* y S pantry eame tto blm, and he
, looked . a little dubious.
“Well, I’m pretty ihuagry; but If
(bat’s all I^can g«t l apppoae It will
have to do ”
Ten minutes later an officious head
waiter, whom Emily looked upon with
thnid awe, waa seating them In a su
I’crtdy appointed dining-room. Reuben
lo °kcd at the menu doubtfully, while
-W attentive, aoft-voieod man at hi*
elbow bent, low to catch his order,
,£**■?* ed ,he * *<*t tr un«e-I<w<ktag of words con
ve y any meaning to tbe
poor hungry man. At length spying
chicken” halfway dowa the card, he
pointed to It In relief.
•*r i! m ,o.. j- S 111 i'll t (* .i„ ke * _ 01a< _____ ^ (hat, he
said, briefly; » then be added, “I don’t
got t no lo price pTceTrier aner It. . ha,n,t
ihe waiter comprehended at once.
The luncheon Is served to courses.
sir; you pay for the whole—whether
you eat It or not,” he added shrewdly.
“ f° U } et me * e rTP you * ccord -
please ^ you. u ^ dKn,ent , ’ Slr , ’ 1 , ,h,nk 1
Two hours later they siarted tor «
long walk down the wonderful, fas
clnating street. Each marvelous win
of'sSion of attention, C Z*< but L they stoorl ‘!* f , U, J longest " harP
before bakeries and restaurants. Fi
nsliy. upon coming to one of tbe latter,
entl ^ n f * lkB “ nDOUnced
“Boiled Dinner Today, Sorved Hot at
All Hours, Reuben could endure It
n
By Jinks Km ly, I ve just got to
have some of that. That stodged-up
mess I ate at the hotel didn't go to
the spot at all. Come on, let’s hove a
*
The hotel knew them Just one night,
flte next morning before breakfast
Reuben manfully paid hit—to him as*
•founding—bill and departed for more
'.found coogenii'- 'quarters, which theF soon
on a neighboring side street
The rest of the visit was, of course,
delightful, only the streets were pretty
crowded and noisy, and they couldn’t
!sleep very well at night; ; moreover,
fteuben lost his pocketpook vyith a
’small whole, sum of money In ft; so, on the
they concluded to go home a
little before the two weeks ended.
When spring came Nancj returned
to her former mistress, and her va
cant throne remained unoccupied.
Little by little the dust gathered on
the big velvet chairs In the parlor and
the rboiii was opened less and less.
When the first green things com
menced to send tender shoots up
through the wet, brown earth, Reu
ben’s restlessness was very noticeable.
By and by he began to go off very
early In the morning, returning at
noon for a hasty dinner, then away
again till night. To his wife’s re
peated questioning he would reply,!
sheepishly, “Oh. Just loafin’, that’s
all. M
And Emily was nervous, too. Of
late she had taken a great fancy to a
I daily walk, and It always led In one
direction—down past the little brown
house. Of course she glanced over
the fence at the roses and lilacs, and
she couldn’t help seq|ng that they all
looked sadly neglected. By and by
the Feeds came, grew, and multiplied;
and every time she passed the gate
her throat fairly choked in sympathy
with her old pets.
Evenings, she and Reuben spent
very happily on the buck stoop, talk
ing of their great good fortune in
being able to live in such a fine large
house. Somehow they said more than
usual about It this spring,
One day, In passing this same little
house, Emily stopped a moment and
leaned over the gate, that she might
gain a better view of her favorite
rosebush.
She evinced the same Interest the
next two mornings, and on the third
she timidly opened the gate and
walked up the old path to the door.
A buxom woman with a big baby In
her arms, and a bigger one banging to
her skirts, answered the knock.
“How do you do. Mis’ Gra y . Won’t
come in?’ said she civilly, looking
mildly surprised.
No,' thank you—yea—I mean—I
cara e tf *, see you > stammered Emily
’ C0 “£ You . us< ! (y - good,
re very murmured the
w ®“ an ’ 8 5 iU sta nding in the doorway..
Your flowers are so pretty, »» yen
'fared Mrs. Gray, unable to keep 'the,
Wistfulness out of her voice.
0 ^ ou th ^ k so? ' f ar8 j!:f 8ly '' 1
* , pose they need weedin’. What with
lnty b a ^' es an’ all, I don’t get much
’time for posies.”
“Oh, please,—would it be too much
'trouble to let me c6me an’ putter
around the bedsV’ queried the little
-w-w^-».,-»qerl*’. “Oh, I would like it
wo nBcbr.'”
The other laughed hearflly.
i I really don’t see how it’s
to trouble me to have you
j]' [think re Wlii* the my shoe flowers; would In be tact, the I should
toot.'* op Other
Then the red showed In her
face a little. “You’re welcome to do
whatever you want, Mia’ Gray.”
“ 0h thank You exffiaimed Emily,
’
* s ®he quickly pulled up an enormous
weed at her feet
11 took but a few hours’ work to
bring about a wonderfully happy
change In 'hat forlofn garden, and
then Mrs. Gray found that she had a
big pile of weeds to dispose of. Fill
ing her apron with a portion of them,
she started to go behind the house in
search of a garbage heap. Around
* he eorn * >r she came face to face with
hPr h «*band, hoe in hand,
“Why, Reuben Gray! Whatever in
the wor,d ar * ^ doUj e ? ’'
For a moment the was crushed
W,th the * Bonntt Y of his crime; then
be canght sight of IDs wife’s dlrt
stained Anger*
" Wel ^ I I ainY doing no worse
than you her And he turned Uls
back and began to hoe vigorously.
Emily dropped the weeds where she
stood, turned about, and walked
through the garden and up the hill,
pondering many things,
Supper was strangely quiet that
night. Mrs. Gray had asked a single
question; “Reuben, do you want the
little house back?”
A glad light leaped Into the old
man's eyes.
' “Em’ly—would you be wfllin’.to?”
Aftto the supper dteWS were put
away, Mrs. Gray, with a Kght shawl
overhead, came to her husband on the
back stoop.
' “Come,
dear; I think we’d .better go *
down tonight” t
A . ** f „± minutes . later . ,, they *at stiffly
i n the beat room of the farmhouse he/hus
while the buxom woman and
band looked wonderingiy at ’
“You wa’n’t thlnkin’ of filin' was
ye ?” began Reuben insinuatingly.
The younger man's eyelid quivered **
'
a little.
“Well, no,-I can’t hardly say that
I "as. I hain’t but just bought.”
Reuben hitched his chair a bit and
glanced at Emily.
“Well, me and my wife have coa
duded (hat we’re too old to transplant J
„ we d( , n ' t ^ to wry
nd we ’ ve been thinkin’-would
you swap even, now?”
It mul!t haw been B ,
that Reuben Gray and hi* wife were
contentedly sitting in the old familiar
kitchen of the little brown house.
-Tve been wondering, Reuben," * a ld
wife—“I’ve been wondering If
*twoulfo*t have been ^ Just as well If
> e . d taken of
while they was goln’-before we got *
too old to enjoy ’em ”
‘ “Yes—peanuts, for Instance, ■c
quiesced her huaband ruefully
HER WEDDING *
JOURNEY 1
;
What She Most Wanted in Life, She Worked for Yean
to Get—But When the Chance Came . « t
By ELEANOR PORTER
Author of “ Pollyanna,” “ Just David,” Eta, ; [j
[ Copyright by Kloonor H. Fortor. ] ”
rPHERi was never a time that
* honeymoon trips had not vpos
eeaaed • wonderful fascination for
her. A* a child, she had eagerly de
voured every available bit of informa
tldn concerning the wedding Journey*
of the entire village, and In time it
became a settled thing for each re
turning bride to subject herself to the
admiring questions and worshipful
homage of little Matilda Jones.
When It was that the Idea of her
own wedding trip first came to her,
she could not tell, but It grew with her
growth and strengthened with her
strength, until It became the beet pert
of her life. The supposedly necessary
adjuncts of a man and a marriage
never occurred to her- *
To be sure, as she grew older, a vil
lage youth would now and. then sham
ble diffidently up the garden walk on
Sunday afternoon, or shyly' offer his
escort home from evening service at
the little church. But all these things
only frightened her, and by and by
the young men ceased from troubling.
Then one day her mother died, and
she was left all alone in the little
white cottage at the end of the lane.
As time passed, the thin little face
wore a look of placid contentment, and
the faded blue eyes looked out se
renely—Matilda was about to take her
wedding journey.
Away In the top of the tiny house,
far back In a bureau drawer, lay a
little pile of money. She could tell
the history of almost every penny
there.
This was the dollar her pickled
pears had brought, and that was the
# t r &
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<*
■A
*
'*( i
fWt Can't Take Matilda:” Any at AIL ifllaa
quarter saved on the trimming for her
black alpaca dress. All this little pile
of hlckels and dimes she had earned
selling blackberries.
She made dally pilgrimages go the
shrine at the top of tbe bsuse, and
lovingly fingered her accumulated
treasures. She thought—she was al*
moat sure—she had enough now.
There were nearly twenty wheie dol
lars! She caught her breath at the
,
audacity of spending suen a fortune.
When people took wedding trips
they wore new things 'lack She looked
doubtfully at her alpaca;
brushed it—sponged It—pressed It—
and regarded It with a dubious sigh.
It would have to do—-she certainly
could not afford a new dress. But In
some trepidation ahe did Invest In
white cotton cloth and erpbroldered
edging, and her cheeks grew pink with
the excitement of making tbe un
wonted finery. ---
Her evenings were especially de
lightful. She would fo tntd the parlor
and bring out the big atlas, and rever
ently turn the pages until ahe came
to the map of her own state. There
her allm forefinger would find the
black dot which stood for the little
village, and her eyes would gloat over
tbe unknown world before her.
Juat above that dot—where all those
black lines met—was the Junction,
and sometimes she held her breath as
she carried her finger away out along
one of those lines, and stopped with
a little gasp of delight at toe extreme
end of the map. Then she would
draw a long sigh and shake her -head,
and, giving a quick little hitch to her
chair, would settle herself to the de
lightful task of marking out her wed
ding Journey.
Bhe would go to the Junction by
Mage. Then she would follow one of
those black lines until she came to
that iar to round ring with a dot In
the middle.
Such a bit of a way it looked to be
on the map, but she knew it was forty
miles from home, and a big city!
Her breath came fast and she trem
bled a little when sh# thought <vf a
bote). Ye»—she should go to one!
She had never been to a hotel—a real
hotel—she Cmught, regarding the Til-
0:
j^ge inn with fine scorn. She waa not
qu , te gore she wouW know h0w to
iwho behovObut she should certainly go.
ever heard of a wedding trip
without a hotel 1
She decided to stay three days, per
haps four, and she looked fondly «t
the little round ring on the map.
which contained ao many delightful
possibilities.
' Then she would close the book and
go to bed only to diream of wonderful
electric-car rides to the moon.
At last the great day came. It
dawned clear and cloudleaa, and a
very happy Matilda climbed the atairt
for her treasure. Joyously she grasped
the precious pile with eager hands,
then looked ruefully at the empty spot
In the drawer. She hesitated a mo
ment, quickly found the dingy nickel,
and smiled content as she placed It
hack in Its old comer and closed the
drawer.
With trembling hands ahe arrayed
herself in her wedding garments and
seated herself on the doorstep to wait
for the stage.
“Matilda Jones looked almost hand
some this mornlag, with her cheeks
so pink," said a pretty girl on the
back seat to her companion, as the
coach stopped for Us passenger.
“Why, Nellie,” said Matilda to this
same pretty girl, as she clambered In,
“am I going to have you to ride with?
That will be nice, I’m sure!"
“Yes, I am going up to the Junction
to do some shopping—you know I'm
pretty busy these days,” said she, with
an adorable blush, which suddenly re
minded Matilda that It was nearing
Nellie's wedding day. This wanned
her heart to her at odee, for was she
not on her own wedding trip? She
beamed anew on Nellie as she settled
herself comfortably for the two-mlle'
drive.
How the shone aad the birds ’
mm
sang, and how good th* air was to
breathe.
“Are you going away for long, Mlsa
Matilda?’ Inquired Nellie politely.
“No—only a little trip,” she replied,
trying to look unconcerned, as if trip*
were an everyday occurrence with
.her; but the red deepened In her
cheeks, and her voice trembled a little
ds ahe asked abruptly:
“Where are you going to take your
wadding 'ipie trip dear?’
girl colored painfully.
•*We can’t take any at all, Miss Ma
tilda—Isn't It dreadful T" and the
young face looked pinched and drawn
with woe. “You see, Jim’s money,
that he'd been saving up to go with,
got all burned up in the fire, and—and
—we’ve had to give it up!” she fin
ished with a wall that clearly told her
disappointment.
Miss Matilda sat very still. She
thought bar heart had stopped beat
ing—then it gave a thump, ami
there was a strange, tight feeling In
her throat. She did not say anything,
and by and by Nellie looked out at
the scenery with a grieved expression
on her pretty face. When they
reached the Junction, the young girl
turned her head, and said constrain
edly, as she Jumped lightly from the
coach: “I hope you’ll have a nice
ton*, Miss Matilda.”
“Thank you," she murmured with
out smiling, and clambered slowly
down. Then she walked along the
platform, ant”, ‘jot down on an old set T
tee on the snady side of tbe building!
By and by a train rumbled In—
shook itself of passengers—gathered a
new lot—and rumbled out again. Ons
—two—three trains did the
thing, and tbe forlorn little woman
Mill sat on the old settee
"Didn’t you want to take one o'
them tralna?’ good-naturedly asked
the blue-coated man, who had been
curiously watching her for some time.
She looked at him with dull eyes,
and shook her head.
When the stage coach made Its
evening (rip to the village Nellie w*i
surprised to find Miss Matilda on the
baek seat. ------------—-——----------—
“Why, I didn’t expect to see you SO
soon! Didn’t you go?” asked toe
young girl pleasantly.
“No, I had—I bad a headache—I
mean a throatache,” stammered Ma
tilda In confuaion.
The next night Nellie burst Into her
mother’s room with an excited face,
holding an open letter and a paste
board box In her hand.
"Mother—what do you think I I
told Miss Matilda yesterday how we
couldn’t take any wedding trip, and
She never said a word, and then I
felt real cross, ’cause I thought ahe
didn’t care a bit; but Just see what
that dear old maid has done!”
My Dear Nellie:
I think wedding tripe are the nicest
things in the world, and I don’t want you
to give up yours. I had a little extra
money that I did not know what to do
with, ao I send It to you for your wedding
trip. I hope you will have a nice time.
Your friend.
MATILDA JONES.
And Nellie’s tears dropped fast on
the dimes and nickels tout rolled out
of the pasteboard box.
Away at the top of a tiny house, In
a bureau drawer,’ a lone nickel keeps
guard over a dainty pile of wedding
garments.