Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 13, 1897, Page 6

. the fact that she would have no dow- x a ee el CHAPTER L. “You are very lazy this morning, Elsie.” I am thinking, Judy.” “Ybinking!” Judith Hatfield's black ‘brows were knitted, giving to her dark face almost an expression of pain, as she contemplated the gracefulygirlish figure in a lounging chair by the win- dow in the full 1 of the fitful April ‘sun. “But would it not be wiser to employ your hands, too?” Al ing glance being the only re- sponse, Judith replaced her work on} the sewing machine and set it in mo- al minutes its the only sound in Judith’s thoughts busy as her idle sister's her face betrayed. The subject of Elsie’s meditations ras pleasant, judging by the smile aying about her pretty lips and in her turquise-blue e; Elsie had a lover—a man combining the attributes of good looks, large means and com- parative youth——though as yet unde- clared, Although she was twenty-two, and avowedly the prettiest girl in Clax- 1e had not yet had a formal de- aration. All the men ip Claxton ad- mired her; she never wanted a partner at a dance ora cavalier at any other entertainment; she was deferred to 1 spoken of as the sweetest-tem- red, fairest-faced girl they knew. Isi fond of pleasure and prett, , though she would never have a penny to bless herself with, and her poverty kept many would-be suitors at a distance. Claude Townshend, however, was sufliciently well off to be indifferent to ry, and, though Elsie only liked him, she was contented to take what the gods provided and be thankful. Be- there was something else most flattering in the contest—she had cut out Judith. ie had spent Christm her married sister; and while there Claude Townshend, who had bought a neighboring residence called ; ~The P: ’ came to Claxton and teck pos on. Of course everybody called upon the we achelor, and ng others, El: The vis- returned, saw grave-faced, Judith, with whom he seemed At any rate, when Elsie returned home, in Febru- urprised at the indetina- | stery in the methodical | in London with household. “What's the asked that night, when the two girls were in their own room. matter, Judith?’ she | “The matter?” echoed Judith. “I don’t understand you, my dear. “Why, papa is fractious, mamma laughs with me one minute and sighs . Jack is surly, while you seem from anxious thought than usu- | u would not have’ me look y on the first night of your oming, Elsie?” not; though”—with a quick sigh—*I am an addition to the hot eeping expens Judy.” “You don’t make much difference, 1, I certainly ve not an apre- tite like the boys or growing Lucy. So nothing out ef the common has _hap- pened while I have been away? Well, really, looking at you all to-night, Lj} had a notion that you had good news of some sort for me. At first I had an; idea that papa’s book was proving a greater success than it appeared to be” —Mr. Hatfield was an author, who would have been more successful had his energies been equal to his brain power—“but his grumpiness soon dis- sipated that pleasant notion. Then L thought that perhaps some one was going to do something for Frank or Bertie.” “Well, don’t trouble your head about anything to-night, Elsie,” Judith re- plied, “if there had been any pleasant } ‘thing to tell you, I should have done so before this.” “Candidly, I was awful sorry to have to come home, Judy’—and Elsie sighed again—‘for the life I have been living since Christmas suited me admirably. I envy Grace; Percy is so good-look- ing and so fond of her, her home is so Jolly, and she seems so happy, having nothing, apparently, to wish for, and she looks young as I; no one would think she was thirty.” “You—you don’t think they are ex- travagant, do you, Elsie?” “Oh, dear, no! Grace is almost as model a housekeeper as you are. By- she was talking about you one y, and said you ought to go and spend a few days with her for a change.” “I must try to manage it some day,” returned Judith, cheerfully. “Grace hoped she would be able to get me off your hands—that is why I stayed so long,” continued Elsie, sleep- ily, as she turned to get into bed; “but, though Percy’s friends were very nice and attentive, they did not mean busi- ness—not even Captain Herbert, whom I have mentioned to you several times in my letters.” “So many times that I thought you would have news to tell us when you came home.” “No, Judy”’—sighing—“and. I liked him better than any one I ever knew. Grace thinks he cared for me; but he has only his pay, and I will have to marry money, for his people, although in good position, are not wealthy. I wonder how it is that men always ‘want money with their wives? Percy must have been quite an exception to tthe rule.” “I hope not, for your sake,”’ respond- ed Judith, with a quiet little smile, and with just a faint wonder whether some one with a pair of dark eyes ewhich had looked very often into her -own of late, was as disinterested as he -seemed. é ¢ Judith was not yet aware of her love sfor Claude Townshend, nor was she -sure that his attentions meant mar- -riage; but sbe was conscious o1 a ~strange sense of happiness when she ' natural amiability was marred by hi ) a | (ee | thought of him and what his glance conveyed; and realized that he might possibly release her from her deadly- dull existence—one that, as long as she could remember, had been relieved only by trivial pleasures, which, in their turn, had to be paid for by in- creased cares. She thought that it would be very strange if she were to find a lover, and one, too, whose nature seemed so well in accord with her own, after all these ; years—Judith was twenty-eight—and | just when she was beginning to have it forced upon her that her youthful bloom had Vanished. Indeed, the dream was too sweet. She had for so long now made it her creed to say unto all kinds of happiness, “I can do without thee,” that she dared not dwell upon any chance of change in her life, but could only put it from her with the sigh, “If it come to me, how happy I shall be! It not, I must endure?” And endurance meant putting aside entirely all thought of self, and con- tinuing to be devoted only to the in- terests of the family. Mr. Hatfield, the son of a clergy- man, possessed literary tastes which had prevented his choosing any pro- fession. At an early age he married a woman two years his senior who had five hundred pound a year, which sum, in the early days of their marriage sus- tained them well, enabling him to in- dulge in dreams of future fame with- out necessitating his working too hard; but, as his family increased, he founa it incumbent to contribute something toward their maintenance. He had written a few novels which had hit the public taste and had given him a cer tain standing in the ranks of litera | ture, though not that position which he | thought he held in reserve. Mrs. Hatfield was little fitted for the cares of a family. The daughter ot | wealthy but extravagant parents, she had been brought up in a self-indulg- ent fashion that precluded the possi- bility of her proving a sensible moth- er. Her children had been left to the care of servants until they were in their teens, so that whatever virtues or grace of mind they possessed were natural to them. After the birth of her youngest child | Mrs. Hatfield had fallen into delicate | health through neglecting a cold. Ju dith, being then fourteen and grave and practical beyond her years, w called upon to try her hand at ma ing the family affairs, and, having s ceeded, had been kept at it. The task would have devolved upon Grace, as the elder; but that young lady, who | had no taste for household cares, wa so attractive that her mother thought she would marry quickly; and she did, having arrived at the age of and- twenty ere doing so, and she was nevy- er called upon to take up her share of duty Judith had more than enough to do to know how to provide for the family, | consisting of a father who, for the most part, lived in dreamland, know- | ing little or nothing of what traaspired | ste in his household; a mother, who was) never happy or resigned; a brother, | John, aged twenty-six, who, owing to fough usage at school, had been a crip- ple since he was fourteen, and who misfortune; Elsie, who was more fond of dress and pleasure than her means rarranted; Bertie. aged twenty, who was articled to a solicitor in Claxton; and seventeen-year-old Frank and fif- teen-year-old Lucy, who were still at boarding school. Judith and John were the only mem- bers of the family who resembled their mother in appearance. Strangely enough, they were the two Mrs. Hat- field was most exacting with; and, with a more considerate mother, Ju- | dith’s lot would have been happier. It was no wonder that the girl sometimes looked forward to emancipation from her cares, and the prospect of having won Claude Townshend’s regard ap- peared to her almost too happy a fate. Elsie, meanwhile, slept happily; and only late the next morning remem- bered her conversation with Judith by noting again her mother’s alternate liveliness and melancholy. “Why do you sigh so, mother?’ she at length asked, when Mrs. Hatfield turned restlessly on her couch after a short silence following upon a spirited description by Elsie of what she had seen and done in London. The two were alone, Mrs. Hatfield being out and Judith being up stairs with John, who had had a restless night. “Did I sigh, Elsie?’ Mrs. Hatfield responded, with yet another doleful in- drawing of her breath. “I was think- ing of Judy, dear. Can’t you see what reason I have to be upset?” “No,” replied Elsie, wonderingly; I thought she seemed all right—indeed, rather brighter than usual. What is the matter with her?” “Hasn’t she mentioned it?” “Mentioned what?” queried Elsie, in jgthought he was more youthful than} astonishment. “I thought there was something; but when I asked her, she evaded the question. What is it, moth- er?” “Why, your father and I greatly fear that Mr. Townshend has taken a fancy to her’—one would have imagined that some great catastrophe was likely to befall the family. ‘I don’t say that Ju- dith returns his liking; I hope she has more thought, for she must know that for her to marry Mr. Townshend would be, practically, ruin to us.. Who would copy your father’s manuscripts and write at his dictation when he is tired and John is too ill? Who would manage the servants and look after the tradespeople? Who would keep the boys in order and attend to poor John and me? I try to give as little trouble as I can and bear my hard lot silently —and I am sure you are not fit to take her place. Indeed, I hope you will marry, as Grace has done.” “Has it gone so far?’ demanded Elsie, in amazement. “Why, Mr. ! s : x 4 5 ; your father’s call, saw Judith, called | He can’t really admire her, for dark | with a quivering sigh, she put away again and again, and has already sent her books and flowers. He always walks home with her if he meets her out, and actually went so far as to tell me she would adorn any station. Tan- ey Judith adorning any station, Elsie, with her straight figure and sallow face! Why, I declare, she looks fiveé- and-thirty sometimes, while she is as methodical and prudish as any old maid of fifty! Of course, it would be all these years, considering how useful she is at home, she ought to have dis- carded all ideas of marriage.” That was one way of looking at the; matter. Judith was simply a machine for the conyenient ordering of the! household. She was not to love and be | loved, or to form ties of her own. wherein her care would be shared by some one who would sympathise with and cherish her as a human being with a soul and a heart. “Well,” ejaculated Elsie, with a laugh, “you amaze me, mother! Judith | with a lover! Why, she has always | seemed as if she didn’t care whether a man looked at her or not! Grace was} saying, only the other day, that when | Iucy and I were married we three} should have to take it in turns to‘have Judy on a visit; and Judith was play- ing her game without our knowledge | all the while!” | “You seem to look upon it as a jest, ae: Mrs. Hatfield exclaimed, fret- ww You are wrong, I assure you,” re- sponded Elsie, laughing; “for I have | no taste for the drudgery of house- | keeping. But is seems so comical—Ju- | idth with a lover—possibly a husband —and me taking her place! It isn’t to be thought of for a moment! Have you told Judy so?” “No; I don’t like to do so, though she knows quite well that we suspect Mr. ‘Townshend's intentions.” “What is he like, mother? Old, of course?” “No; that is the amazing part of it. He is only thirty-eight. He is ratheg a fine man, too dark—almost as dark as Judy herself—and of rather a gloomy temperatment, I should imag- ae for he talks very little and grave- “What made him come to Claxton :n the first instance?” | “Simply because the hunting and | fishing are good, and he is fond of | he has quite a fine stable at the your father says. Mrs. Gard-| has told me all she knows of his history; she seems to like him very; much, for she speaks most highly of | his personal cha ar, although I fan- cy he is as reserved with her as with any one else—but Judith. It appears that his father was senior partner in a great firm of ironfounders, who left a/ great deal of money and an estate in | the North when he died, and Claude, being the only son, inherited aearly ev- erything. Mr. Townshend’s mother died last year, and his only sister is married and at present with her hus- | band in India. I asked Mrs. Gardiner how it is that Mr. Townshead vn- married, and she tells‘me that it is #1 owing to his ungovernable jealousy, | for when he was about seven-and- | twenty he was engaged to very | beatiful girl, whom his unwarrantable suspicions rendered so unhappy that she broke off the engagement anid soon after married some one else. Very wise of her, too, for a jealous man is | pn abomination. Mrs. Gardiner says | he has never cared for any one else, and she was surprised to find that he paid Judith so much attention. I think she was vather pleased, for, as you; she is fond of Judith. Of course, | y be attracted by your siste s and certainly will never reason to be jealous of her— it her age!” at that moment, entered the | room with Mrs. Hatfield’s luncheon. As the former stood by her mother’ side, Etsie regarded her sister curious- | ly. Tall, straight and thin, Judith had! yet a grace that was peculiarly her! own. Her black hair was knotted with attistic carelessness at the back of her | smail, well-shaped head; although her worn, small-featured face had lost its | youthful bloom, the dark skin was soft and clear, her lips were well-curved, | while the long and heavy lashes that! shaded her. dark-hued eyes were as dark as her hair. “Some people think she is good-look- ing, I know,” Eslie thought. “I don’t see it myself—because she is so differ- ent from the rest of us, I suppose; but there is no doubt that she is stately | and every inch a lady. Very likely, too, better dress would improve her.” Whatever attractiveness Judith pos- sessed at that moment was not attrib- utable to dress, for her shabby black | gown was relieved only by a narrow white collar and cuffs, for she had to cut down her own expenditure to sup- ply the deficiencies that were always! making themselves manifest in the ac- counts. It was considered only natur- | al that, at Judith’s age, she should do without the fresh ribbons, lace, flew- ers and dainty gloves and gowns that were considered indispensable to the get-up of her more youthful sisters. With some curiosity Elsie waited to} see “Judith’s lover,” who made his ap- pearance one afternoon on his way home from a meet of hounds. He had tied his horse to the gate and was} walking, in a perfectly-familiar fash- | ion, to ask Miss Hatfield for a cup of | tea. It was dusk; but Elsie, who was! sitting within range of the fire-glow | which fell upon Mr. Townshend’s fine | figure in the becoming hunting dress, | she had imagined he could be; also, better-looking, and could not under- | stand why he should be in love wita with quiet Judy. Elsie watched the pair curiously and wonderingly, as she sat apart, teacup in hand. Judy, although in a plain gown, yet looked quite pretty in the fire-glow, as she laughed and talked to her admirer, who leaned forward in his chair looking chiefiy at her, though he included the quiet girl in the corner and Mrs. Hatfield—who was lying on the sofa near the fire—in the conversa- tion. As if he thought that Judith must be interested, he fully described the incidents of the run and the casu- alties attendant thereon; and certain- ly he seemed justified in the thought, for Elsie did not remember’ to have seen Judy so happy-looking or so ani- mated for a long time. “It is strange,” thought Elsie, “for hardly any of the men in Claxton affect Judy; they steer as clear of her as if she were a blue-stocking, and far Townshend hasn’t been in Claxton two months!” plainer girls than she got more atten- tion. I suppose Mr. Townshend Ditiea) “That is the dreadful part of the} her: perhaps he will never really love business, Elsie. He took a fancy to| again, and so thinks he may as well, the gate, her hand went up to her a very good chance for her; but after} | since his broken engagement. and men very seldom admire dark women. 1 wonder what he will think of me.” Irritated, perhaps, by Mr..'towns- | hend’s almost exclusive attention to | her elder daughter, Mrs. Hattfiela rather sharply desired Judith to light | the gas. Naturally, Mr. Townshend performed the task, and in putting the taper down he saw a girl with a deli- cate-featured face that was fresh and pink-tinted, with eyes like turquoises in their soft, blue loveliness, bright-au- burn hair that glistened like gold in | the gaslight, and a _ perfect figure, | charms that were added to by a styl- ishly-cut gown of some pearl-tinted | material that was fastened at the round, white throat with a becoming pink ribbon. Elsie was. aware that he regarded her intently for some seconds, but she appeared unconscious of it, and so again, later, when she stood by Judy’s side, and he was bidding them “Gooa- bye.” His dark eyes traveled from the younger girl’s fair, untroubled, smiling face to the other with the dark skin, the somber eyes, and the little crease between the eyebrows, returning to ; the fairer face to linger theré. Mr. Townshend called on the follow- ing day, when he talked to Judith as before. but looked at Elsie. The next time he drew the younger girl more into the conversation, until, gradually, | Judith was, metaphorically, left out in the cold. After that, although the girls never spoke of him except in the most casual manner, both knew that, if he had ever been Judith’s lover, he was no longer. One evening, at a musical party, giv: en by the vicar’s wife, Mr. Townshené stood by Elsie’s side, complimenting her on the sweetness of her voice; and Mrs. Gardiner, watching them with something like a frown, turned to Ju- dith and said: “Judy, I am afraid it is a case; and | it is a mistake—a terrible mistake.” “Why?’ asked Judith, quite compos- | edly, though her heart seemed to sink | within her. | “Because he will make her wretched | hy his jealousy. She has not the pow- er to control his outbursts as—as 2, warning her sister of what lay before | {2 the first bloom of iscre sensible girl would have been | able to do. Judy, I must confess,” she | whispered, “that I am angry with | Elsie, and Claude, too, because I am | disappointed. Manlike, he ‘has al- | lowed himself to become so enthralled | with her beauty that he has not asked himself if she would make him a suit- able wife. If he married you, he | would no doubt be happy; but mar- | riage with a girl like Elsie would be | his ruin. He is fond of admiration, | end I feel convinced that they would | never live in peace.” | “There is a fate in these things, | dear,” remarked Judith, calmly; “and Elsie is very affectionate, so that if she | loves Mr. Townshend she will sacrifice | her little vanities for his sake.” “Love!” echoed Mrs. Gardiner. “It is not®in her nature to love much! | Elsie admires the man who pays her } jyst as she had enjoyed the rivalry for former flushed the greatest compliments. She may | marry Mr. 'Townshend, but to love him | is another matter altogether! ‘Then, as | to yourself, I shall never forgive her; | she knows the cruel circumstances of | your position have prevented your en- | joying yourself as other girls do, and yet she has stolen your loyer.” “You must not say that’—Judith’s voice trembled a little—he was never | that, for, if he had been, Elsie could | not have taken him from me.” “Well—I know what I know,” re- | torted the vicar’s wife. “Mr. Town- | | | shend himself told me that you were | the fi t girl he had really taken to} think he has behaved very badly to be | led y by frivolous Elsie. if he is | punished by her conduct later, it will be his own fault, and it will serve him r ” | ; you would be sorry fot him—as | I should be—but we shall never have our sympathies tested, for, if Elsie | nfarries him, she will make him a good , wife.” M Gardiner. looked at the girl's face and compressed her lips. ‘It is a shame!” she murmured to herself. ‘Elsie lives. a life of compar- ative ease—wears pretty clothes, takes all the pleasure she can get, and has | nothing to do but smile and be ad- | mired. Why should she rob this girl of the one gleam of happiness held out | to her? It is cruel; I almost hate Blsie’s fair face.” When the time came for departure— the vicarage parties always terminat- ed at an early hour—Mr. Townshend expressed his intention of seeing the Misses Hatfield home, their residence being only a few minutes’ walk from the Triory; and Judy, feeling herself | very much de trop, walked home be- side the enamoured pair. Just as they arrived at the road | where the girls lived, the subject of conversation turned upon flowers and | colors, Mr. Townshend remarking that roses were his favorite flowers, though he preferred scarlet as a color, and saying tenderly to Elsie—“I have nev- er seen you wear any shade of red.” “No,” she retorted, laughingly, ‘it too nearly approaches my‘ shade of hair.” “What!” he ejaculated. “Who says so? Your hair red? Preposterous! It | is an exquisite shade. I never saw anything like it but once in my life”— Judy guessed by the tender inflection | in his voice that his fiancee had hair | resembling Elsie’s—“and that was so beautiful that men raved about it, and | the women were so jealous that they averred that it was dyed.” “Never mind,” returned Elsie, eb- stinately; “I would rather haye hair like Judy’s.” “Black hair suits Miss Judith, but it would not have suited you. hy, had | ‘Titian been alive now, Miss Elsie, he | would have made you sit to him until he could have copied every light and shade in your beautiful hair!’ “Would he, indeed?’ retorted Elsie, tossing her head. “Perhaps I should not have allowed him.” > Mr. Townshed laughed softly, say- ing, as he looked down at her: “He would have bribed or coaxed you, and I should have added my en- treaties to his. Would you have had the heart to resist both of us?’ i Elsie shrugged her graceful shoul- ders. “I don’t know—I never saw but one of Titian’s women, and she was a fright. What would he have painted me as, do you think?” “As Venus or Psyche. Venus was jealous of Psyche, you know, and the God of Love himself loved‘ her,” Judy heard him say, softly; and, as Judith walked up the garden path, and left’ Elsie and Mr. Townshend standing at di her immediately. He came to return | do a generous thing in/marrying Judy. breast ‘to still the: heartbeats; but, frem her forever the one dream of her life. This devotion to Elsie had opened her-eyes.- and taught her that the weeks in which Claude Townshend ; had made part of her life were the happiest she had ever known, CHAPTER It. Judy was not thinking of her own | disappointment as much as of Mrs. Gardiner’s confidence of the previous i evening, and wondering, if Mr. Town- hend did marry Elsie, whether her | er would really be cgntent, in his love, to forego all the little flirtations and fattering attentions she had been accustomed to receive. She feared not. Judith knew that Claude Townshend ; was an intensely jealous man—indeed, | he had admitted as much in one of | their semi-confidential conversations— suppressing the fact of how it had! marred his life, but confessing that he | had such a vile temper that he did not think it was possible for him ever to become a happy man. | “Realizing that.’ she had said to hiv have you not the strength of will to crush your jealou If you ‘believe in people sufliciently to love them, surely you can also trust them?’ “I cught, I suppose,” he had admi ted. “I cannot sz whether I shall; but I think one might as well try to stem a cataract as control a jealous nature. is a tyrant to the object of his love s a curse to himself.” Judith knew that he would neyer 2 and. | think of her again as a wife, and in pity for him alone she regretted it, feeling that her very affection and longing to be loved would have en- abled her to make him happy, much | in the same way as her calmer nature Would haye been a check upon his, which was so passionate. But that was past and done with. It was not for her now to try to exercis any influence over him; she m stead, think of pretty, spoilt Elsie, who had the power to make or mar his hap- | piness and her own. Judith felt that the present was not the moment for i her; she would wait until Claude had declared himself, and then she would let Elsie know what she would have to guard against if she wished to render happy the man who was gentle, urt- eous and honorable, as well as fierce- temperéd; and who would love as deep- ly and truly as he would love jealous- ly. Elsie, meanwhile, was dreaming of sed and of what the grave lips had s: the night before; and though M Townshend was an older man than Tilsie had ever thought she would mar- ry, he was sufficiently attractive to render her elated at his choice, with- | out being as much in love with him even as she fancied herself to be. thought his disposition wa jealous one, and liked the idea of id r. a t, her favors that had existed between the Claxton young men. She also rel- ished the notion of becoming Mrs. Townshend, of the Priory, Claxton, and of Gatly Pa orthwold; of be- ing petted by th da isaged man; of having more expensive finery, great- er pleasures, and larger number of friends and admirers; but, more than all, ske enjoyed the fun of eutting out Judith. “Poor old Judy,” she said to herself —“she didn’t think I should return and spoil her chance! Perhaps it is a shame: but I more suited to Claude than she is. She would never have spent half she ought om dr and knick-knac and shed gather @ lot of old- fogies yout him that he'd get tired of in a month. Besides, it will be a relief to her to get me off her | lands, and perhaps, by-and-by, I can have John or Lucy to stay with me, | or get Claude to do something for the | boys. Then, again. Judy has so set- tled down to the life at home that it | would be a pity to remove her from it. I wonder if she is jealous? I dare say she is; but she keeps herself so well in hand always that it is difficult to | tell. I am sure Mrs. Gardiner is an- noyed at my success, but I don’t care for that. She always seems to consid- | er Judy put upon in some way, and | pities her accordingly. I wonder 1-n Claude will propose? How glad moth- | er will be when she knows it is not Judy he wants, but me! Grace will be | delighted, too, for she said it was hish | time I married.” | Her reverie was brought, to an end | by Judith’s voice addressing her. “Blsie, dear, it is just half an hour | since I spoke to you.” | “Is it?’—with indifference. “Well, I think I’ll go and practice for an hour, for papa is out in the garden, so there will be no fear of my disturbing bim;” | and a few minutes later Judy heard the tones of the piano and her sister’s sweet voice singing, “For Ever and for Ever,” the refrain of whieh haunted | her. | Judith rested her weary head on her | hand for a moment, murmuring to her- self, with more sadness than bitterness or envy: “Yes—for ever and for ever—sewins, eooking, looking at every penny before I spend it, dreading the ameunt of the weekly bills. anticipating mother's quarterly income, anxiously waiting for the success or non-stecess of papa’s books, but never satisfying any one. | ‘For ever and for ever! No, thank | Heaven—not for ever—I shall die some day. It is cowardly, perhaps, to think of that, but it is so lomely, so dreary at times!” The tears started to her eyes; but she shut her teeth and clenched her hands determinedly, and by the time Elsie had chosen another song, sing- ing with all her heart— “Oh, how delightful—oh, how entranc. ing, From this dull thraldom so soon to be ; free!’— Judith had set to work again, and worked steadily, until interrupted by the entrance of the servant. “Ii you please, miss, Mr. John is up, and would like to have his crayo for he feels inclined to sketch. A) morning; she will be glad if you wilh come and rub them. I offered to do it, but she wouldn’t let me.” i es half a piat of of? down t! the’ missis’ arms are very bad this | So Judith semt John his sketching materials and went up-stairs to her mother. Having rubbed the afflicted arms and assisted her, to dress, she helped ber down into the dining reom, and, harving made her eomfortadle on the sofa, went to the kitchen to }-re- pare Mrs. Hatfield’s luncheon, . As Judith passed through the hall, { ratay days.—Indianapolia Journal, her father came im from the garden. He was a spare man, ef medium light, with ‘a gray head and clever. Clean- shaven face. As his absent-looking af cyes fell upon his eldest daughter, be . said, with a smile: tf “Don’t go into the gardem, Judy, or you will interrupt a most interesting and important tete-a-tete—Tow. ned is there with Elsie. He came “ver to see me, and, having obtained my (on- sent, is clinching the affair. Of course, ‘ou guess what that means. !t i great relief to me, Judy, fer 1 have been worrying myself with the idea that he came to see you. We qt spare you, ny darling.” he addest as ! he bent to Kiss the girl—and, sfter all, marriage is a mere lottery. Where is your mother? The news will please her, for she has been as much con- cerned at the contemplated loss of ber right-har s I have.” “Moth is in the dining-room.” Ju- dith answered, with a smile that cost her a greater pang than her father guessed at, and passed on into the kitchen, with ceadened sens: after she had conquered her and s busying herself i the invalid luncheon, she took it into the dining room, she found When her father and mother t n ap- uy the highest spirits; and the id, more cheerfully and kindly he had spoken to her @aughter in many weeks: Your father "t he as brought good news, ‘ancy our little 1 serce- ? It is a good though I do not approve ¢f difference in age. Gracie d—you might drop her 2 h mate so great will be line, Judy “No—I think I will let Elsie tel! her good news herself; she will preter to do so.” Judy answered, quietly. Put M Hatfield retorted, sharply: I hope you are not jealous of your ers good fortune, Judith Tt is very absurd, if yow are, because it is not likely that you. at your age, could make such a marr as Elsie, who is Judith was too used’ to this Kind of speech to a a than with a quiet laugh: quitted the room, Mr. Hatiield sharply: “J think that was uncalled for. lia; Judith has no need to be jenlous of her te pretty as they are, as you must confe if you will only re- flect. Which of you ther daughters could take her p! , “That is all very well—we cout? pot do without her, certainly—but the yal- ue we set upon her would stand her in 1 his shoulters- seldom argued wifhout re with his wife. Out in the hall Judy came face to face with E and her lover, the nd =smillig, while Claude looked years younger in this first stage of triumphant happiness. He ha arm around her, and had, py uy been sing her, for Elsie w y herself hurriedly, and, rm nnig past Judith, went into the d ing room. Claude looked after her with a hap- py smile; then he turned to Judith: “Judy,” he sai y call you Judy now, ?—econg ulate ime- ie loves me! ell me that you hope we shall be happy.” “I need not say I hope * she replied, earnestly. you with all my heart. nk It is an additionuat ure th shall be enabled to vlaim a relation with yon, Judy. It will be my own fault if fam not happy. “Yes.” agreed Judy; frankly, hope you will remember that. going to see father and mother—they are in her He smiled at her;. but, as the light fell upon Judith’s pale face as she turned to open the dining room: deer, Claude’s smile faded .and a cloud de- scended upon hi pirits that he re- | membered long after. “You are not well—you work too hard.” he remarked, his sympathy in touch with her; ttiouglh he did not guess at her secret: “fam qute well, but I have a lead+ ache,” she explained. “Look here, Judy, I am not going to wait many weeks for Elsie; so promise me that directly we are settled im Northwold you will come: and! stay with us.” “Thank you-—T shall be: delighted,” she replied, with) a readiness. that sur- prised herself: Judy hesitated’ a moment before she summoned up sufficient resolution to go in and congratulate her sister, whom she found standing by the open win- dow. “] have come to wish you joy; Blsie. You are happy, dear?” Oh, very, very happy, indeed, thanks, Judy! How eouid [I be otherwise?” Elsie asked, hurriedly. “What do papa and mamma say?” (Lo Be Continued:) Squeaked Once Too, Oftem. Maccabe, the ventriloquist, was a great practical joker. Severali years ago he was on board a river steam- boat, and}. having made friends with the engineer; was allowed the freedom of the engine room. Presently a certain: part off the: ma- chinery began to creak. The engineer oiled it amd went about his duties. In the course of a few minutes the creak- ing was heard agaim, and the engineer rushed! over, oil-cam in hand, to. hubri- cate: the same crank. Agaim he resumed his seat, but it was only a few minutes before the, same old crank was creaking lot tham ever. 7) “Great Jupiter?” he yelled, “the t! is. bewitched.” Mere oil was administered, but engineer begam to smell a rat. Pretty soon the cramk creaked again, when stipping up behind Maecabe, squirt- joker’s. ek. f “There!” said he, “I guess that crank =, squeak any more.’—Spare Ma meopts. Unprogressive Ma. Laura—Ma, here is one of the loveti~ est rainy-day costumes in the maga~ zine, Ma—Oh, there is, is there? Well, them.old wrappers are good enough for you to wear around house on - “= | ,