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IT MAY NOT BE.
It may not bo our lot to wield
The sickle in the ripened field ;
Nor ours to hear, on summer eves,
The reapers' song among the sheaves.
Yet when our duty's task is wrought
lit,
In unison with God's great thoug
The near and future blend in one,
And whatso'er is willed is done,
And ours the grateful service whence
Comes, day by cay, the recompense ;
The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed,
The fountain, and the noonday shade.
And were this life the utmost span,
The only end and aim of man,
Better the toil of fields like these,
Than waking dreams and slothful ease.
But life, though falling like our grain,
Like that, revives and springs again ;
And early called, how blest are they
Who wait in heaven their harvest day !
—John G. Whittier.
Laura’s Mistake.
Laura had just been making out a bill.
“Miss Hayden, to Laura Stetson, Dr.,
satin overskirt, ruffling skirt, belt,
$53.”
“That’s all,” said the tired girl, let
ting her jie,noil drop, and breathing a
sigh of relief.
“I hope she will pay you to-night,”
murmured Mrs. Stetson.
“She is well aware of our needs,”
was the sad reply. “At the same time
she^carries her old habits of saving into
her new life, for she knows I shall not
charge one-half the price that a regular
dressmaker would. She would have to
pay Mrae, Sqliffe §100 at the least.”
“WeU, it’s a shame,” replied her
mother, “that you can’t get the regular
price when you do your work as well.
Time was when our father could have
bought an,d sold Walter Hayden ; and
now yqu must work your fingers off for
bin daughter, has neither your edu
cation, nor—” •
“Oh don’t, mamma!” pleaded Laura
with a little laugh that was partly
hysterical. You only make it worse for
mo, you see, calling up old times. J ust
saj it will all come right in the fall, as
papa used to,” and with the smile still
on her lips, she turned her troubled eyes
away.
For poor, proud Laura, earning a
Bcanty living for her mother and herself,
had a memory of the Haydens hidden
in her heart.
When Bart Hayden had gone away,
only a year before, she had thought 6f
him for months after, nay, even till
now with quickened pulse ami height
ened color. The Haydens were not
wealthy then ; hut within a short time
they had come into a fortune, and it was
rumored that young Bart was also grow
ing rich through lucky speculation.
It was just nine months since the
death of Laura’s father. He had
dropped down suddenly while appa
rently in the full enjoyment of health;
and after the funeral it was found that
hit affairs were in a tangled condition.
In fact, only a small house was left to
the widow, through the consideration
of creditors, and that far from com
fortably furnished.
Laura, the child of wealth and
fashion, her father’s idol, -a delicate,
thoroughbred, elegant girl who had
heretofore sunned herself in the warm
rays of prosperity, and hardly knew
whether she had a heart or not, proved'
herself a heroine. Whatever she could
find to do she worked at with all her
heart. Plain se^ig, embroidery, dress
making, for which she had a talent, and
. concerning which she had often laugh
ingly said that if she had not been rich
she might have l>een famous; every
thing was undertaken willingly. She
accepted the situation, though not
without some struggles with pride and
many secret team.
Mrs. Stetson thought of the time
when a carriage was at the call of her
beautiful darling.
“Dear, can’t I take it ?” she asked,
gairing at her anxiously. You look ill.
“I am ill—that is, my head aches';
but the walk will do me good,” Laura
responded, trying to look bright. “Do
you think I would let you carry home
my work ? No, indeed 1” and she bent
over and kissed her mother’s forehead.
Out in the open air she felt letter.
The nervous depression from which she
suffered gradually left her, anil she be
came interested in the sights and sounds
about her. Some of her former ac
quaintances passed her, a few with a
nod of recognition, put most without
noticing her at all—little stings these
were, but she held her bundle firmly,
lifted lier head a trifle higher, and
passed bravely on. Turning a corner
she came full upon an unexpected tab-
A smarUitadressed JA, wit!
with his nurse, who vainly pulled the
obstinate child till her face was purple.
“Why, Lucy! Why, Benny!” ex
claimed Laura, for the girl was nurse
maid at the Hayden’s, and Benny the
youngest hope of the house, “ What’s
all this?”
“ ’Deed,Miss, he’s awful,” said the gill
nearly crying. “ When he makes up his
mind, it’s a tiger he is. Just see him
now V”
Laura spoke a few words to the hoy in
a low tone, and he ceased struggling for
amoment.
“ We're all at sixes and sevens,” said
the nurse, “ and the missus is orful ner
vous. Mr., Bart’s just returned from
Californy, without no warning at all,
and brought a beautiful young lady
with him. I do suppose it’s his wife,
from what I heard—and it quite upset
the missus, and made such a time.
Now there’s that policeman, so you bet
ter come.”
Laura heard, and for a moment street
and houses whirled round so that she
had much to do to keep herself from
fainting. The words rang in her ears,
“I do suppose it’s his wife.” The
strange and sudden revulsion of feeling
passed, however, leaving her deadly
pale. Certainly Bart had a perfect
right to get married ; perfect right to
forget her—of course he had. Men had
done such things ever since the flood,
ami would, probably, to the end of
time.
The blood burnt her face now ; hut
as she came in sight of the dwelling it
receded, leaving her pale and almost
faint.
She stormed at herself for being, so
supremely foolish ; lut the tears were
very near her tired eyes for all that.
Huge trunks blocked up the hall. A
loud,’ cheery voice sounded, that struck
woefully against her heart; and the first
person she saw was stalwart, handsome
Bart Hayden, just coming forward as
he issued his orders to the men who
were taking the boxes up stairs.
“ Laura—my dear Miss Stetson !” ex
claimed the young man, hurrying toward
her.
But Laura’S face was like steel. She
made a cold little how.
“Welcome home, Mr. itaydbfl,” she
said, in a set, cold voice. “ I came to
bring some—” she bolild not say a wbM
—“ something for your sist er. I gener
ally go to her room. Is she there.”
He fell back a little. Strange how
the light went out of his face.
“I—I rather think she may be. en
gaged,” he said in a blundering con
fused way, there might have been a little
anger in the voice, “hut—yes, perhaps
you had better go up, ” and he turned
on his heel.
“ lie didn’t like to speak of his wift,
and no wonder,” half sobbed Laura to
herself.
“ What in the deuce makes her act so
coldly ?” muttered young Hayden;
then in a tender voire, “hut she might
have seemed just the least hit glad to
see me, I think,” and then be kicked a
box out of his path, and went moodily
to the door.
Anne Hayden was alone.
“ So glad you brought it,” shff cried ;
“and,oh 1 doesn’t it look beautiful ?”
and she shook out the creamy satin with
exclamations of delight.
“ Sit down, wonHyou ? I’ve so much
to tell you. Bart lias come home.” •
“ Yes, I know it; hut I can’t wait—
not a moment. It must he getting dusk
and~-and—” She grew desperate with
the fear that Anne should see the tears,
and stopping snatched up the hill, and
placed it ih the hand of her patroness.
“Oh, so sorry ! Supixxio you won’t
mind waiting for the pay till next
week.”
“ We are out of coal and wood, said
Iaiura, her cheeks crimson; “and in
fact, we need the money.”
“Dear me! Dear me! 1 was so
thoughtless as to spen# every cent I
had. But stop—I’ll go down and ask
Bart.”
Laura felt as if she could sink through
the fioor,
“Stop! she said, detaining Anne by a
hold on the arm, her face quite white
and proud again. “I can wait; never
mind.”
“Til run around, perhaps. Must you
go? You don’t knowhow much I’ve
to tell you. Well, then, good night
Laura had nut w^^^g^eil. TIkj
were
she hastii^Wesce^^^^^^^Bm^
the ho
l«ne<3
hui
street, nor hardly drew a breath till she '
was at home.
How dreary and meagre it all looked !
the few cheap di shes, the scanty table
cloth, the half-covered fioor, the worn-
out chintz on chairs and lounge.
“I’m dreadfully tired, mamma; let
me lie down,” she cried, in a suppressed
voice, and threw herself on the creaking
old lounge.
“What is the matter, my darling ?
I see—she didn’t pay, of course; and
not a stick of wood in the house. Oh !
heartlessness, the wickedness of those
who are rich!”
A loud rap. Laura hid her face. Her
mother answered the call and in strode
Bart Hayden, almost defiantly.
At least you will welcome me, Mrs.
Stetson, he said, the old, fine ring in
his voice.
Laura sat up, calm and cold again.
“Anne sent this by me,” lie said, and
laid a sealed envelope on the table.
When did you get home? asked Mrs.
Stetson as soon as she had recovered
from her surprise.
“Only a few hours ago,” was Bart’s
reply. I brought cousin Jack’s wife
with me; she was ordered home for her
health, and Jack couldn’t leave so I took
Mattie in charge. Poor girl, I am afraid
home is not going to help her much, or
indeed, anything else.
Laura made an almost imperceptible
movement. She was far from cold now;
her very temples burned.
“Well, good night,” he said, stealing
a glance at Laura as he rose, after an
swering Mrs. Stetson’s inquiries, “I’ve
done my errand; and Mrs. Stetson, you
at least, will let me come sometimes and
talk with you, won’t you, for the sake of
old times?”
“To he sure, was the quick answer,
“if you will come to so humble a place.
You see how the wheel has gone round
with us. Poor Mr. Stetson—”
‘Yes, I heard,” he said pityingly, “long
ago Anne wrote me. But I am not
one of the fickle.kind, Mrs. Stetson.”
This with a reproachful glance at
Laura.
“Good flight t” hfe said the next miu-
ute, and flowed to bflth women.
He had reached the door, when a faint
vofee called:
‘^art J”
He came back with half-suppressed
eagerness in his manner; and glance
wary, hut anxious.
“I was just a little rude to-night,”
she said, in looking dangerously beauti
ful in her humility. ‘ ‘Please forget it. ’ ’
“Indeed I will;” and he seized her
pretty hands, his eyes radiant. “I un
derstand—you were always such a sen
sitive little creature! So you forgive
me, eh ?” he blundered.
“It was you who were to forgive me,
I believe,” said Laura, demurely, her
lips quivering, ready to cry and to laugh',
too.
“Mrs.- Stetson, will you allow me t
whisper?” asked straightforward Bart.
“Certainly,” said the old lady, her
heart beating quicker. What was go
ing to happen? Had poverty done its
worst for them? Was there indeed
bright hope for the future ?
Bart put his full shining beard close
to Laura’s ear, and the second time said
the mystic words that had so long lin
gered in her memory.
Laura did not repulse him. He felt
then that her heart belonged to him, that
had never gone out to any other.
For Our Youth.
A Comprehensive Cry.
A woman living on Tenth street
entered a grocery on Michigan avenue
the other evening with her apron at her
eyes, and, when asked tlie cause of her
trouble, she replied:
“ Poor Mrs. Brown !”
“ What about poor Mrs. Brown?”*
“ Why, she’s dead.”
“ Since when ?”
“ She dropped off last night. My
hustiand said she was found dead in her
bed. Oh. sir, you don’t—don’t—
know 3”
She silt down on a barrel of crackers
and gave way to her feelings, hut as
soon jis the grocei had recovered from
his surprise, ho said :
“ You might as well cut that short,
for Mrs. Brown was in here not half an
hour ago, in the best of health.”
Is that so?”
“I assure you that it is a fact, and
you have had a big cry for nothing. ”
“No, I haven’t, either. If Mrs
t dead Mien At, will
Restitution.—A very pleasant in
cident occurred in one of our public
schools not long since. It seems that
the hoys attending the school, most of
whom are at the age of from seven to
eight, had, in their play of hat and hall,
broken one of the window panes in a
neighboring house. No clue could he
obtained to the hoy who hail broken it,
as he would not confess his act, nor
would any of his associates expose him.
The case troubled the teacher. The
next day a gentleman called to see the
teacher, who knew how to talk to chil
dren. After telling him of the break
ing of the glass and her inability to as
certain which of the hoys had broken it, !
she asked him to make some remarks
to the school and to speak of the wrong i
the hoys were doing in not acknowledg- 1
ing the act.
The address to the school, therefore, i
was upon the conduct of hoys in the 1
streets and at their sports. He told j
them in simple words that honesty, |
truthfulness and kindness should gov-1
ern their conduct everywhere, even
when they were alone and no one but
themselves and God knew what they
were doing. The scholars seemed in
terested and somewhat impressed by the
remarks of the speaker.
A very short time after he had left
the school, a little hoy rose in his seat
and said :
“Miss Lane, I batted the ball that
broke Mr. Dash’s window. Another
boy threw the hall, but I batted it, and
it struck the window. I am willing to
pay for it.”
There was almost death-like stillness
in the room as the little fellow was
speaking, and it continued for a full
minute after he sat down.
“I don’t think it would be right for
Charley Darke to pay the whole for the
glass,” said another boy, rising in his
seat. “All of us who played ball then
should pay something, because we were
all playing the same as he was. I’ll
pay my part,”
“And I.”
“And L”
A thrill of pleasure seemed to run
through the whole school at this display
of honesty and right feeling among the
boys. The money was brought the
next day, and the lesson will not be for
gotten by either teacher or pupils.
The Merry Adventures of Rob
in llooib—Up rose Robin, one bright
morning, and said to his merry men
all: “For fourteen days have I seen
no sport, so abroad will I go ; but if ye
hear me blow my horn, come quickly,
for I will need your aid.” So saying,
he strode away until he hail come out
from the forest.
Now he met a gallant knight, now a
pannier-laden ass, now a merry whist
ling page, now a couple of buxom lasses,
and now a fair lady on an ambling pad,
but adventure found he nev^r a one.
At last he took a road that led to a
broad stream, spanned by a narrow 7 log
of wood. As he drew nigh, a tall
stranger approached from the other
side; thereupon he quickened his pace,
seeking to cross first.
“Now stand back,” quoth Robin,
“and let the better man pass.”
■“Then stand back thyself,” answered
the stranger, “for the better man am I,”
“That, we will see,” quoth Robin;
“meantime stand thou still, or I will
show thee good Nottingham play with
a shaft betwixt thy ribs.” i
“Now,” quoth the stranger, “I’ll tan
thy hide if thou dost touch a finger to
that bowstring.”
“Thou pratest like a fool,” said
Robin, “for I could send this arrow
through thy heart before thou couldst
wink.”
“ And thou pratest like a coward, to
shoot at one who hath but a hawthorne
staff to meet thee with.”
“Now,” quoth Robin, “coward’s
name have I never hail; and if thou
darest abide my coming, I will go cut
me a staff to meet thee with. ”
“Ay, gladly will I abide thy com
ing,” answered the stranger, and he
leaned right sturdily upon his staff.
Then Robin stepped quickly to the
coverside, and cut a good staff of.
ground-oak, straight,
anil six feet long ; then
back, trimming away
branches.
Tall
here is my staff; now meet me if thou
darest,” and straightway stepped upon
the bridge.
Then came the stranger twirling his
staff, and met Robin midway over the
stream.
Never did knights of Arthur’s round
table meet in stouter fight than did
those two. For one good hour they
fought with stroke and parry, the blows
rattling like hail on pent-house shed until
here and there were sore hones and
humps ; yet neither gave way a single
foot. Now and then they stopped to
rest, panting ; and each thought in this
heart that never had he met so stout a
youth in his life before. At last Robin
gave the stranger a blow that made his
jacket smoke, and nearly tumbled him
off the bridge. But the youth quickly
regained himself, and gave Robin a
crack on the crown that fetched the
blood, and then ere he could regain
himself, gave him anothir that fairly
tumbled him heels over head into the
water.
“ And where art thou now, my good
lad ?” shouted the stranger, roaring
with laughter.
“Oh, in the flood, and floating adown
with the tide,” cried Robin, laughing at
his own sorry plight. Then regaining
his feet, he waded, splashing to the
bank.
“Give me thy hand,” cried he, when
he stood on dry land. “I must own
thou art a stout man with the cudgel.
Marry, my head hummeth like a hive of
bees.” Then he clasped a bugle to his
lips and blew a blast both loud and
clear, and after a space the thickets
swayed and rustled with the coming of
men, and presently Will Stutely and a
score of yeomen burst from out the
covert.
“Good master,” cried Will, “how
is this ?—thou art all wet from head to
foot.
“Why,” quoth Robin, “yonder stout
fellow hath tumbled me into the water,
and beaten me into the bargain.”
“Then shall he not go without duck
ing or drubbing himself,” said Will.
“At him, lads!” Thereat they all
leaped upon the stranger; but he
struck right and left, so that though he
went down with press of numbers,
many rubbed cracked crowns thereat.
“Nay, forbear,” cried Robin, laugh
ing until his sore bones ached. “He is
a good man and true. Say, merrv blade,
wilt thou join us ? Three suits of Lin
coln green shalt thou have each year,
and share and share alike with us.
Thou shalt he my own good right hstad
man, for never did I see thy like in a
merry bout at cudgels.”
“Why should I join ye?” said the
stranger, surlily. “Who be ye that
fall a score upon one man ?”
“I am Robin Hood,” said the out
law, “and these are some of my merry
men.”
“ Ha t” cried the stranger, “ art thou
Robin Hood, indeed? Marry, had I
known that, I would not so have
thwacked thy ribs. Truly, I will join
you gladly.”
“Well said,” cried Robin Hood.
“And what is thy name ?”
“Men do call me John Little.”
Then up spake Will Stutely : “I like
thy name, good fellow, and yet I like it
not. John Little hast thou been called,
Little John shalt thou he called hence
forth.”
Then all shouted and laughed and
clapped their hands, and Little John
was he called forever afterwards.
Then they all entered the forest,
through which they traveled until they
came to the great oak tree beneath
which the band slept through all the
mellow summer nights. And there
they held a great feast, which Will
Stutely called the christening feast.
And thus it was that Robin Hood
gained his good right hand man the;
famous Little John.—Howard Pyle.
Aphorisms from the Quart!