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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 . ■ /"“* _X t oTj \ , A SFoLi/ h#l f “ 1 'i « 1? ; V « 'OlX a ‘V / ) 1 H 1 / / ./ t / t [ I f ’ M. llM, V*; (i ][ J I J 1 / 7 V I i < A |l j Rll v. X\^ 4 f// §/’j|7 & Htw| 1 \ 11 i&Nvj'S &.f vf l t'wld I j Vj 0 /{ ! Wii r M 'jjJ- iw' | S jG/1 < YL / IIW \j |j fl. II J A Sj ?V > * J- I j ‘ l | I I l f ^ * ^ W* “ 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 & rc? v> ^ <* ■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.