Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, June 26, 1897, Page 6

a CHAPTER X—(Continued,) He kept his word, and in the morn- ing sent a man and woman to the cab- in to put the premises in good order the use? In a nd as ever. But day the little child strayed to the ion. She came so softly that the vaptain would be unaware of her pres- ence, until he happened to look up from his book, and see her sitting still upon the steps of the porch, or upon the footstool near his chair. And then the content upon the little pale face w good to see. She nev spoke ex- cept when spoken to; but seemed fied o1 to sit upen that plea porch and enjoy the beauty, music and fragrance around her. Sitting on the ‘sic of the po he would some- to that grew on lean caressing]) the rere trees the entrance, and put up her little and draw the blooming boughs lo ly toward her face; but she never plucked a flower. The little birds were id of her, but would light upon 1d as readily as upon a twig. U-heaith. ill-treatment, or depressing surrow joyous. r hood, lo you like to come up here, the captain would sometimes s is so nice here,” was her able reply. ch day, when she had finished her » she would disappear as silently he had come. Judy no longer took the trouble to come after her, or in any way inter- fere with her visits to the porch. Since the child’s presence at the man- #ion gave no offense to the captain, her absence from the cabin gave no @necasiness to Judy. CHAPTER XI. So passed all the summer and au- tum:n. Winter came with its deep snow The land ed like an enormous bride-cake, frosted and dec- ith evergreens. The captain © confined to the house, and saw no » of his baby visitor. The captain Ss romances in his pretty library, whose French windows opened upon the front porch. On the morn- m« sat and read hi in h tures of Oliver Twist, when, down his book for a moment. that he micht stir the fire, his eyes fell upon “Daney- Bt sitting demurely upon a stool in the chimmey corner, and letting her large blue eyes rove in admiration all over the room, from the brilliant flowers of the Brussels carpet, and the crimson velvet arm rs and ottomans, to the gilded blinds and crimson curtains of the windows, the richly-framed_pic- res that decorated the walls, and the cases through which gleamed row upon row of richly-bound books—( you see, the captain dearly loved fin- ery, even in the dress of his favorite wolumes.) “Why, Daney! however did you get here?’ asked the captain, leased surprise, for he had mis entle presence of his little Twore than he was quite conscious of until her reappearance enlightened hini. ‘How did you get in, Daney?” “Trough de glass door. Ob! it is so here?! ”" said the flattered captain, looking around with renewed appreci- ation of his comforts, and feeling him- rm and brighten in that glow of m and gleam of gold. Then he rned his eyes upon the child, id thought bow cheerless, comfortless $ must be her life in that aunty, especially now that she could not seek relief among the trees and bird: nd flowers. And as he looked, he was shocked to see how cold and pinched and blue the child looked. Her head and feet were bare, as in summer, and she wore the same yellow cotton frock that she had on when she first came to the porch in the preceding squalid sh ang of remorse shot through the n's heart. W. had he been of—sighing over Oliver troubles, and leaving this little ehild to suffer? The child saw the disturbance in the old man’s wo g face, and mistook the cause. R meekly from her » she said trouble you; me will go home mov But, with a burst of compunctious tenderness, the captain stretched forth his arms and caught her, saying: a Daney; no, little one—you don’t trouble me; you never did. And you need not go away, Daney. You may stay here and be my little girl forev- er “Me! tay here!” cried the child, in incredulous wonder. > i Daney, foreve! Should you not like it?” “Ol! so much!” cried the amazed and delighted child, while a smile of such rapture lighted her pale face as it was qvorth half his wealth to have lighted up. He raised her to his knees, gath- ered her to his bosom, and cherished and thawed her naked, half-frozen feet iu his large, warm hands. “Daney,” he said, as though he felt sure he was addressing one who could mnderstand him, and with whom he ‘as about to enter into deeply re- spousible relations—“Daney, this is the ®ve of Christmas. More than eighteen hundred years ago a child was born to us. who, by his life of suffering and death of agony, was to redeem the qworld. When he w yet on earth, he said of a child: ‘Who so receiveth one such little child in my name, receiveth me.’ And on this eve of his natal day, and in his name, I receive thee, Da- ney- And as I deal by thee, may Christ the Savour, deal by me!” “And you will always teep me here; and never send me away adain?” in- anuired the child. with beaming eves. WEALTH. PAPE Sevr SS & “T will alw: keep you, Daney, un- less you yourself, when you grow to be a young woman, should choose to leave mie.” “But Daney will never go.” “Do you like this place so well, then?” said the captain, feeling so hap- n the happiness he was conferring, to wish to dwell upon the subject. “Oh. so much! It is lite Heaven! ain't it?” “It must. indeed. seem so to you, by contr: my poor child!Oh, dear Lord! to think that I—even I—should have it in my human power to place even the aust of the little ones in an earthly heaven-” said the captain, with emo- tion. Then he arose and rung the bell. and said te the servant that answered it: nd Miss Hit to’me; and do you go down to the fisherman's cabin, and tell Drury a wife that I want to see them immediately.” ‘The servant withdrew, and in a few n that ever was seen. The captain y, but a very big man, and ale Powers was a gre bigger than the captain. She wa a very tall, stout, fat woman, with large head covered with flaxen curls, and a broad, full, fair face. She pant- ed for breath as she walked and talked. She liked light clothes ,even in win- ter, and upon this occasion she wore a light drab merino dress, that made her seem even larger than she was. Miss Hit was intelligent, conscientious. be- nevolent and, notwithstanding that she was the most forlorn of all forlornites —a poor, helpless and friendless gen- tlewoman, she was cheerful. She had been a govern in her youth and middle age, but never having been able to save money at that thankless occu- pation, she had found herself, when past labor, penniless, homeless, and, alas! by consequence, friendless. She had lived by making long visits to each of her acquaintances in sueces- sion, and wearing out all. For oh! you see, Miss Hit was so big and panted so hard, and had such an enormous appetite, and required so much air, hat she might have counted for three ‘ors instead of one. Her name be- a ‘household word’ of no very ng import in the neighborhood. fiveryone dreaded a three-months’ itation from Miss Hit, and everyone got with whom she had the slightest keeping his house than she was of do- poor thing? But nothing could ex- ceed the cheerfulness, good-humor and fortitude with which she endured re- buffs, affronts and coldness that would have broken any other heart. But “God fits the ba to the burden,” and Miss Hit’s was one of the broadest. The captain had heard a great deal of complaint made of Miss Hit, and a t deal of dread expressed of her tions. And from the bottom of kind heart he pitied her. Now, he more need of a jiousekeeper than ceach has for a fifth wheel. And Miss Hit was no more capable of keeping his house tha nshe was of do- his had no ing anything else useful. And he knew it. And yet, out of the compas- sion of his benevolet hea he offered her five hundred dollar: year to come and keep house for him! Miss Hit did not exactly jump at the offer for two reasons—first, she was a great deal too big, fat and unwieldy to jump at any- thing, and. secondly, she felt her own utter incapacity, and frankly con- fessed it. But the captain, who wished to do her good, and not to make her useful, would take no refusal. “Oh, captain!’ she said, at length, “you are very good, but—consider peo- ple’s tongues “Nonsense about people’s tongues, Miss Hit! Fear God and keep the ten commandments, and you m: ple’s tongues at defiance-” honest old sailor. And so Miss Hit moved to the island, and as the end of children’s stories say, ived happy ever afterward.” She poured out the captain's coffee and tea, and t was the extent of her housekeeping; for she would have no more ventured to interfere with the do- mestic government of old Aunt Molly, the cook, than she would have run h flaxen head into che kitchen fire. Mi: Eht had been with the captain more than a year when she w summoned to his presence this Christmas Eve. And now she stood, panting and blow- ing, and gazing with astonishment at the captain’ occupation, while she awaited his commands. livs Hit, this is my child, and IL h you to be a mother to her,” he “t peo- id the Ww said. “Well, Captain Fuljoy! I'm sure, sir! And at your age! And to me! What next, I wonder!” rather incche- rently exclaimed the deeply-scandal- ized lady Bi I meant to say that I, who am childless, have adopted this little child, and t I wish you to be very good to her. And, first of all, 1 want you to put a warm, nice new suit of hes on her immediately. ood gracious me, captain! do you think I could find a suit of clothes for her to-day? There never has been a child in the house, or a it? “Why, sew one up for her at once! She is a little thing, and the seam wouldn’t be half as long as my arm, ard that wouldn’t take you five min- utes to sew! I know something about needlework, if I am an old bachelor,” said the captain, confidently. This took the last whiff of Miss Hit’s short breath away, leaving her quite incapable of remonstrance or reply. And before she recovered her wind or wits. the captain put the child in her arms, saying: “There, take her away! I see Judy coming, and I wish to see her alone. And hear! Miss Hit! to-morrow is Christmas Day, you know! So have the child a pretty, nice, new suit; and let it be something bright and soft, and warm, and—you know what I mean!” “May I die if I do!’ groaned Miss Hit. as she lugged her burden off. “Me tan walk! and me dont want clothes; and me will give no and me will be very good if yeu wil let me’tay. It is so nice here,” pleaded the child. Miss Hit, who was really very kind- hearted, laid the child's cheek against her own by way of reply, and then dz the little Irish girl from “Yes, ma‘am.” “I thought so, but I did not know you at first,” said Miss Hit, bearing her out of hearing. Meantime Judy entered the libr “I sent for you about Daney,” the captain. “Sure and I knew it! I said she'd tire your honor out at long last! I’m heart-scalded along of the throuble of that child! Sure and I wish I had nev- er seen the face of her!” said the wo- man. The eaptain Iooked at her in surprise and disgust, as well as with renewed suspicion. “No mother ever wishes that of her own child,” he said. “Indade, and she is my own child. though!” said the woman, obstinately. “Ve well, you know best. But now have a proposal to make to you. ‘The ld is here.” d! and I know that same.” sh to adopt her. I will bind myself to support, educate and provide for her. If you are her mother, you will be glad of any improvement in her circumstances. If you are not her mother, you will be still gladder to get rid of a child that you consider so very troublesome.’ The woman drcpped her head upon her breast for a moment, and seemed to turn the matter over in her mind. Then, raising her keen, black eyes to ry: said » if your honor has ng to the child, and will do a good part by her, you can have her. But sure, your honor wouldn’t even want to ask to take a poor woman's child without making her some satisfaction fer it.” “Satisfaction?” 1epeated the captain, dubiously. “Yes, your honor. Indade and I wouidn’t be eveaing a human baby to a brute baste; but still your honor wouldn’t even want to take a pet dog off the likes of me without paying for it, let alone a child!” The captain gazed at her in horror, turned pale and red, left his chair and trotted up and down the room, groaned and blowed, and wiped his face, and then. with an effort at self-control, he returned and sat down and said: “Did I undersatnd you aright? Did you mean to say that you would sell the child?” “Yes. your horor,” was the undaunt- ed reply- “Woman you are no more the moth- er of tnat child than I am! nor half as much! To wish to sell her! I will not buy her! I will adopt her! I will not give you one cent for her! But I will give you and your husband five hun- dred dollars if you will go off the isl- and and never tet me see your faces again!” The woman smiled a very unpleas- ant smile—and looked down for a mo- n.en and then replied: “IT will speak to Drury.” Where | She went away and spoke to Drury. And the result was that they took the ptain’s money; and the same day re- moved themsely-s to Corrport, the lit- tle town at the mouth of the creek of which I have already spoken, and the sine week they ieft that place also for “parts unknown.” The captain did not see “his child” the remainder of that day. Miss Hit had Daney up stairs in her own room, where she held a solemn consultation with Mandy and maids, on the feasibility of providing the little ene with a decent suit of clothes from the resources of the house. Miss Hit was at her wit's end until she happened to think of a fine piece of red flannel which she had purchased for an underskirt for herself but which she now determined to sacrifice to Da- ney’s necessities. Miss Hit. Mandy and Seply each put 2 thimble on and nt to work, and the result was that on Christmas moraing Daney was pre- sented to her guardian in a dress “soft, bright and warm” enough to suit the ptain’s taste. And this was the history of “Daney’s adoption,” upon which, I fear. I have dwelt too long. CHAPTER XII. Day: by day Daney improved in health and spirits. Her place was al- ways in the library with the captain, who loved to see the quiet, happy little creature about the room. And oh! but Daney loved the cap- tain! The lonely old man who had never known love since the death of his Mary, knew it now. And this love that Daney bore him taught her a thorsand little ways of service and at- tention that greatly pleased the cap- tain—if they did not substantially ben- efit him. She was often in the library before he came down in the morning. And often when she saw him coming she would put her baby strength forth and try to roll his big arm chair to the fire. She would sit quietly at his feet all day long, watching him read or write, perfectly contented only to be near him. She knew by his looks when he going to ring for wood or water, and almost always started up and saved him the trouble. Sha would watch his countenance as he read. The captain was a_ sensitive reader, and would drop tears or break into smiles as pathos or humor in the subject moved him. One day he laughed out loud over his book, and Daney, who was watching him. laughed in pure sympathy and then said: “Oh, toc!” Thaé was just what the captain had always wanted! a sympathetic listen- er; though he scarcely expected to find one in such a mere baby. He read out, however. And Daney listened, and un- derstocd and sympathized. And from that time, whenever the captain @me to any very pathetic or very humorous scene that he thought suited to the child's capacity, he read it aloud to her. And she seemed to understand, appreciate and enjoy. One day he said to her: “Would you not like to learn to read yourself, Dane; “Oh! so much! “Then you shall,” said the captain. And he took her on his knee and wead out loud!Let me hear, gaye her her first lesson in the alpha- bet from the iii : .Daney was an apt pupil. Indeed, she was older than she seemed. ‘The ptain had ascertained from the Dru- rys that she was really seven years of ase, though from her very minute size and ker imperfect speech, he had taken her to be only four of five. To teach his little favorite was the captain's most agreeable recreation during that long and very severe winter. Daney progressed so rapidly that before the spring opened she could read ffuently and write a Tittle. Her speech was also very much improved; though stiil, for some reason or other, she found it impossible to pronounce certain con- son.nts. June, with roses, came at length, and the captain and his Tittle child sat upon the front porch, enjoy- ing the glorious weather, the beautiful scenery and the lovely flowers. “Oh, grandpa!” said Daney, “to think of last year and to think of this! I'm so happy here!” “And you will be still happier, Da- ney. in a few weeks from now. My nephew, Fulke Greville, is coming down here to spend’ his midsummer vacation. He has not been home fora ar before. He is a fine boy, Daney, nd will be like a big brother to you. Shouldn't you like a big brother, little Daney?” “Oh, more than anything in the world. I should get well and grow tall if I had a big brother to play with me—a, tall, strong, rosy-cheeked, black- eyed brother, like Well Dun.” “And who is Well Dun, Daney?” He came o the great er in the big ship with us. And he cried oysters in the city where we lived.” Daney’s memory and understanding were evidently excellent, although her utterance was imperfect. This was the first time she had ever alluded to her past life; and now, by diligent questioning, the captain made out tliat Daney had lived in a very large, fine place, before she came over the great water—a place much larger and finer than this. even—where the people were very good to her, and where the men- servants were dressed like soldiers and where a flag was hoisted on the high- est tower when grand-pere came Grand-pere called her ma-petitte-fille.” “y Roy: nd-pere, nothing else.” “Where was the great house in which you lived?” “T do not know. It is ke a dream.” “How did you leave that great house, Daney ?” “I do not know. I think I woke up in the big ship with Judy. And I did not know what she said, and she didn’t know what I said, and I had to learn to talk all over again.” The captain brooded over all this. He thought he saw it all plainly enough now. The child was probably French and of high rank. She had been, for some inexplicable reason, torr. from her friends and country at three or four years of age. She had gradually jost the little she knew of her mother-tongue, and had learned to speak imperfectly the language of strangers. He could but hope that some chance association of ideas, “striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound,” might some time re- vive in her mind some further remin- iscence of her former life that might afford a clue to her parentage. Now he reverted to his nephew. “Such a fine, spirited fellow, Daney! He will put you on horseback and teach you to ride; and take you ina boat and teach you to row: And that will bring the roses to your pale cheeks. You are the palest child I ever saw, Daney.” “Yes; as pale as that,” said the child, taking up a white violet and handing it to him. On the first of July Fulke Greville cane. He came by the little steamer Bee, that plied between Balti- more and the towns and villages on the Chesapeake. and its tributaries. And ence a week it ran up Cornpott Creek, past Fuljoy’s Island. to a tobac- co Gepot called Creekhead. Upon its present trip it stopped te Iond Fulke Greville at the island. The captain waked down to meet his rephew at the little pier. Fulke sprang upon the pier and advanced with a joyous step and a beaming countenance to meet his uncle. He was about sixteen years of age, a fine, tall, stalwart stripling, durk-skinned, black-eyed and black- haired. He held out his hand, and spoke with eager, gladdened tones: “Oh, uncle! I have won this year! See! here is the annual report. and my name— “Yes, yes, my boy; I knew you would do yourself credit,” said the cap- tain, stopping Fulke, as the latter would have drawn the printed report from his pocket. “But come in now, and get some dinrer.” They went on through the thicket and up the lovely slope of the green hill, and through the shrubberies and flower garden toward the house. And as they went the captain told his neph- ew of the little girl that he had adopt- ed. Fulke listened with interest to the simple story; but shrugged his shoul- ders at his uncle’s supposition that Da- ney was any other than the child of the Dru + Who, he said, were prob- ably servants at the great house of which she had spoken. It had been the novel-reading captain's pleasure to weave a little romance of Daney’s lite, and now he felt annoyed that Fulke should have brushed it away, as if it had been a cobweb. But they had now reached the house, and Frlke went to his room and washed and changed his dress, and then went down to join the captain at dinner. “This is Daney,” said the captain, presenting a tiny, pale-faced, flaxen- haired girt to the youth. “And, Da- ney, this is my nephew, Fulke—your big brother that is to be. Speak to him!” But the child, instead of obeying or taking the offered hand of the youth, stood staring at him as if she were struck dumb and motionless. “Why don’t you speak to Fulke, Da- ney? It is very rude to stare at hin in that way. Daney,” said the captain. “Why it—it is Well Dun!" cried Da- ney, in amaement- “Who?” “Well Dun, that came over in the ship with us, and cried oysters in the city!" The captain looked in perplexity from the boy to the girl, while Fulke burst into a loud, boyish laugh. “There! now I know him by his laugh. I'd know him by his laugh, even #2 I did not know him any other way! But I know him every way! I know him by his eyes. and his nose It was so long ago. and mouth, and all! I know him just as well as I know Miss Hit or you, grandpa.”" said the child, positively. “Ha. ha, ha! you are mistaken this time, young ’un. I am no fish boy, but Fulke Greville, a long descendant of the celebrated Fulke Greville, who flourished in England in the reign of Queen Eliabeth,” laughed Fulke. “Oh Welf Dun, how can you say 80, when I know better? Didn’t I hear you cry, ‘Fine oystet every morning in the city? And there! there’s the very mole on 7¢ upper lip that Judy used to call a beauty spot!” “What is the meaning of all this, Fulke?” inquired the old man. “Indeed, I hav2 not the Ieast idea! I never set eyes ort the child before,” re plied the boy, with a look of surprise. “Oh! Well Dun! how ean you say so?” said Daney, Beginning to ery. ome, come, it i case of mistaken identity! Here’s Miss Hit, and we will sit down to dinner,” said the cap- tain The housekeeper entered, and was duly introduced to Mr. Greville, and then they gathered around the table, Daney often Ieaving off her meal to gaze spell-bound upon Fulke Greville. until her guardian would have to call her to order: It was only after the cloth was re- moved, and Miss Hit had led Tittle Da- ney away, that the captain and his nephew drew their chairs together, and over the wine and walnuts, began to examine the annual report of the Uni- ver There; sure encugh, Fulke Greville’s name stood. high in honor. We had distinguished himself, not only in many branches of knawledge, but also in Steady and regular deportment. And now,uncie, do you know. I should like to send’ that to my step- i. sther. She evidently dees not trou- ble her lead about me; but I should like her to learn, Ly this report. that I am not a worthles: ‘amp, if I did run away from school “Well, my boy;.T think it quite right. t; that it should be that IT had better S accompanied by a letter. ex- plaming that T have adopted’ you and n to be responsible for your edu- and establishment in some learned profession;” said ©zptain Ful- joy: The letter was wriitem and dis- patched with: the report the same evening: The next morning Captain Fuljoy, finding himself alone with Daney, said: “Why did you'suppose my nephew to be: Well Dun. my child? “Because: he: isi. grandpay'’” said Da- ney. firmly: “You are mistaken, dear;: this is my own nephew, whom I have known ince he was bern, and whom ft e years all hi “You are mistaken, grandpa; he is Well Dun; he me ever in the big ship with. and lived in the same street with ws (it v § ty), and he a morning: Well Dun. grandpa, for: there's: thle very mole om his lip!” insisted Daney- ‘The capiain laugiied and patted hee head: “My dear little obstinace Daney, you are: ¢razed’ on this point. But now Tet me tell you, you must not stare at him so, nor call him by any other name than Fulke Greville, for you know, to do so would annoy me. “Weil, grandpa. I will eal? him any- thing yow pleas; but he is Well Dun, al the same. only be is better dressed, and so any I.”* It was evidently a fixed idea with the child that nothing could move. But now came an ‘nexplicable mys- tery. Return of pest brought a letter from Mrs Greville, the step-mother of Fulke. It was eyen'ng, and the tain was sitting in his I ry with his nephew and the little child. He took the letter eagerly, Irom Mrs. what Madam He opened the lett as follows: Let us see y for herself.” rand read aloud New Yor! July 7th, 184—. Captain } I do not in the least unders your extreordi letter, or the still more ext presence of Fulke Greville’s name in the list of students published in the an- nual report of the University of Vir- ginia. There seems to be some great error. It is true that about eighteen months since, my nephew, Fulke Gre- ville, in a fit of boyish pride. left the school where I had placed him, and was missing for several d: » But so diligent was the search instituted for him that he was recovered before he had the opportunity of leaying the city, and is now regularly pursuing his studies at the New York College. I have augmented hi: nee, otherwise redressed his financial gi ances, and he seems quite. happy is everything I could wish. Who the youth may be whem you have taken under your protection I cannot ifagine; but if you fancy that I could have left my husband's con to his own devices fer eighteen months, as you seem to, you do not know, Your obedient servant, —Gertrude Greville. The uncle and nephew stared at each other in blank amazement. “What in Heaven's name is the meaning of this, sir?’ exclaimed the ain. The Lord only knows! I do not,” replied the youth. Are you an imposter, then, sir?” de- manded the old man, sternly regarding the speaker. “As the Lord hears me, No-"* solemn- ly answered the boy. “How can I be, uncle? You yourself, who have been in the habit of seeing me at intervals ever since my infancy, should know my person well.” “So, also, should the step-mother know the son that she has had with her almost daily for years!” “Uncle, I cannot solve the enigma; but I repeat that, as the Lord in Heay- en, to whom I shall give an account of every idle word, hears me speak this night, am no imposter, but your neph- ew, Fulke Greville. Test my identity in any way you please! Cross-ques- tion me about any events that might have transpired between you and my- self, in our various: meetings, events such = could ony be known to you and me. Or go with me to New York and confrent me with my step-mother and her so-styed Fuke Greville! Uncle, I am np imposter!” cried the youth, with tears of shame and indignation starting to his eyes. “My boy, I am constrained to believe you; but all this is very strange. Of course, there must be an investigation. I will write again to Mrs: Greville: aay: I will go on to see her,” ly. + aa eid he was Well Dun,” thought ring Daney to herself, but: remembe! her promise, she forbore to speak her thought. The captain wrote again and er but received no further answer to his’; letters. And just as he was ge up his mind to make a journey to t ” North, he happened to see in the list of passengers that sailed on the steamer ‘America for Earope, the names of Mrs. Gertrude Greville'and. Mr. Pulke Greville. CHAPTER XIE. Mrs. Grevilee and her niy stein young protege remained for several years abroad, extending their wan- derings over the greater portions 3 rope, Asia and Africa. And during all this time Captain eas heard nothing directly from them. Young Fulke Greville, being desired by this self-constituted guardian to choose a profession for himsef, decid- ed in favor of that one which. with his aristocratic prejudices, he considered to be the most noble—namely, arms-— Captain Fuljoy acquie: in his 's decision. promptly and success- srted himself to procure for ppointment as cadet at the Milita ‘Academy at West Point, where young Greville ‘soon distin- hed himself by his perfect propri- ety of deportment, his close attention to his cl, an milite s and by rapid progre: atter. : Daney remained at home with the old man. ever growing dearer to his atfecticns : Once. when the captain was very il. and his attendants would not let her stay in the room, she lay on the mat outside his door, with her forehead on the floor. like some poor, faithful little dog. in dumb despai Upon another occasion, soon after his convalescence and while he was still very feeble, he and the ¢ id crossed the creek in a boat, and walked up the opposite weoded hill to call, on their nearest neighbors, the Burnses of Burnstop. As they approached _the house they were met by a ferocious bull-dog. which came bounding toward them with the ferocity of a tiger when, with a piercing shriek. Daney sprung forward and threw herself before the enraged brute. as a mouthful to em- poy his huge vs. whie the old man might get aw: But the surprise of the onset. or the flaming sword of the angel in her ey caused the savage beast to recoil. and before he could re- pew the attack, the hurrying servants of the house called him off. and Da- But she had not the ‘ed up her little life for the preservation of the dear old friend whom she loved far m her own existence. When asked what she had been thinking of when she did such a rash deed, she answered. sim- I did not think at all; I did it so the dog might take me instead of grand- pa.” I might multiply instances to prove the earnestness, tenderness, and even heroism of Daney’s love for her guard- jan; but let these suffice for the pres- ent. But you must acknowledge it was no wonder the captain grew to dote om this child. La The captain brooded day and night- ¥ over the future prospects of his two proteges. He had long determined to leave them all his property, except’ a few small legacies to his pendents. factorily between the two he could not decide. He did wish to leave his loye- ly home to Daney, who admired it with so much enthusiasm. But then he thought to give it to the girl would scarcely be just to the boy, who, as his adopted heir, had a right:to expeet the inheritance of the real estate. The old man was at his wit's end un- til at last a bright thought struck him. He would marry the young pair. and then the property need ‘not be divided at all; for both could possess the whole and both enjoy the: same beautiful home in common. And that they might: certainly be united ihe proper age,, he resolved to begin at once to train them toward each other; thinking—simple old bach- elor!—that it might be as easy: te do with them as with two rose trees each side the entrance-of his porch, which he had trained to meet and intermin- gle their branches overhead: He be- gan his human horticulturing: artfully enough. To neither of the young peo- ple did he hint such a project as: their future marriage. But he took other measures. With a fine tact of seizing fitting occasions, he covertly: drew the attentions:of each to the attractions: of the other: With Fulke Greville he hoped he: was: succeeding, for the -young man often cordially joined him in his praises ef ng: s, indeed; she is an excellent girl; a girl of'rare goodness, and genius and 4 beauty also. if she were not so pale.” With Daney he feared: that he was failing, for she never united with him in his commendations of Fulke. On the contrary; she would droop her head. whi the faintest wildrese bicom would tinge her white: cheek. And the old man mistook the reti- cence of the maiden for aversion to the subject. and the frankness of the rou for love of it, and he said to him- set— “I shall have very little trouble in training Fulke toward Daney; but I shall have to train him all the way round to meet her, fer she dees not grow an inch toward him, but rather the other way.” And that was all the old bachelor knew of youth, maidenhood and love. Whenever Fulke Greville was home for the midsummer holidays, he gave his time, with a youth’s genuine ardor, to the amusement, instruction and im- provement of Daney. He was an en- thusiastic devotee to the fine arts, and had attained breat proficiency both in music and in painting. And it “ris delight to instruet Daney in complishments whieh she co otherwise have attained; for could she have found teachérs in out-of-the-world retreat? So young Greville was both music and drawing- master to Daney, whom he liked to A look upon only as a little sister. But, alas! youth turns to love as the roses turn towarl the light. To Be Continued, He—What'’s the matter with Bilaucoe Pedal’s wheel? She—Oh, that’s her "96 wheel made over. It's wretch H Cate edly unbecoming— “ needy di \ But how to divide it-s is re co