Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1866-01-27
MTSCEELANE.
A CHECK FOR A CARPET.
By LOUISE CHANDLER MoULToN.

Pretty little Mrs. Lane spoke coax
inoly. with her hands clasped on hen
husbands arm. He looked down at heT
n moment before he answered. She
had been his wife for five years, but
her face was as sunny and as girllsh as
when he first wOoed her. Her blue
eyes had scarcely shed a tear IN al
those YEAR, except the lazy, luxurious
tears such happy little souls weep over
the ideal woes of story-boOk herOines.
Her monthly rose in the French win
dow was not pinker than her cheeks
her scarlet geranium was I.'t h'',s1t"f
or redder than her HpS-and the pet
canary chirping above the clos Oms was
no gayer or merrier than the little
birdIike woman who waited for John
Lanes answer. He smiled as he look
cd at her, and brushed back her soft,
brown hair with an unconscious ten
derness.
s.Yes, about the carpet, Annie. If
thought we needed il, wOuld get IT.
Of course. Bnt we use the drawing
room so little. The carpet that is on II
now is almost as bright as it was the
dav we chose it, and you know how
pretty we both Thought it then.
The girlish young swife pouted heI
dainty lip
well, John, but it's been down five
years, and it's only nice because I've
taken such nice care OF it. If I'd been
careless and let 1T get spoiled, yOu' u
have bought another without grumb,ing,
you know you would. It's too bad, If
I've gOt to see things round forever,
list because I'm careful of them. Don't
yOu get tired of seeing tue same things
always, John?"
''Not easily, 50 long as they are the
same, fresh and bright as ever. 1 am
not tired of yOu, YETI
She laughed, and her pink cheeks
flushed u little.
But I'm not a carpet. Ours is only
a Brussels. you know. and 1 did SO
want Wilton. like Mrs. Mayne's.
$50 Mrs. Mayne is the serpent in our
Eden? Well. Annie, give me till night
to think about it, and he bent toward
her for his goodbye.
After he had gone, she went into the
drawing-rOOm and took a survey of her
possessions. The carpet was that soft.
maDy-sbaded, moss ike green, on which
everything looks so we'll. She confessed
to herself that it had a more refined air
than Mrs. Mayne's large-figured Will
ton, which held your gaze, Ike the eye
of the ancient mariner, from the mo-
ment you entered the room. But then.
she thought, she needn't buy great,
gaudy thing; and Wilton was really
so much more elegant, so much more
III keeping with her rosewood and bro
catelle. Then she began dusting some
of her books and ornaments.
While she stood there she heard til.
bell ring, and n short paFley at the
door-a chlld's voice, apparently asking
for food, and the cooks answer that to
day there was nothing TO spare. A
sound in the young, sad voice, "a sort
Of accomplishing hopelesSness, struck
her, and she stepped down stairs just
as Bridget was about to shut the
door.
Come back a moment, little girl, :"
she said in those gentle tones that John
Lane liked so well to hear.
The child turned, an eager light
coming into her face for a moment,
aud then going ont. Mrs. Lane was
acting on impulse. She almost always
did; it was a good thing, therefore,
that most of her impulses were sweet
and gentle and true.
. Are you hungry" she asked,
piiyingly.
1T doesn't matter SO much about
me, mama. / could bear to be hungry.
but l don't know whas to do for my
mother. l have tried to get I lace to
work, but no one will take me. They
say child ten years old is more plague
than profit. Mother had To work so
hard TO keep us, and now she's been
sick a while, and she can't work. and
we've eaten up everything. So 1 came
out to see IL anybody would give me
something for mother, and I've asked al
every house in the street, and every
where they said Just the same, that they
had nothing to-day"
Where do you live,-is it far?" Mrs.
Lane asked.
Only few steps, ma'am-three
streets of. "
well, then, I'll go home with YOU.
and see your mother. Come into the
house, while | put On my bonnet, and
Bridget shall give you some bread and
butter and cold meat. %
Mrs Lanes sweet young face was
iull OF pity, as she hurriedly packed a
basket with bread and tea and sugar
Tor the sick mother. Then she ran mn
STAIRS and tied on her pretty summer
hat, and down again while the hungry
girl was finishing her breakfast.
Come, little girl, " she said. "What
is your name?"
Ellen Stanton, ma'am: Int nv IA
iher always called me Nelly, aud so
does mother"
And is your father dead?"
'Ol, yesl that's the way our trouble
began. Father died, and mother wasn't
used to lard work, and she had to work
3 hard to keep baby and me-
Mrs. Lane asked no more questions.
!lst then She was thinking more seri-
otusly thansshe had eve thought In her
NE, remembering how she had been
born To ease and luxury, shielded ali
1er days from care-hoW her deepest
useontent had been when some other
PERSONS carpet was handsomer or tbair
Iluiah shawl had a deeper border.
ana now she was going where hunger
snu sorrow were tenants. Had She
S Seen hvlng all this time for herself9
one questioned, with sudden pang Of
.error and self-reprOach, whether ever
her life she had done one really nm
seinsh sct--whether, if tue great harvest
uay were come, she would have one
sleai to show to the Master. She had
Sen Oh her abundance now aud then.
S.Sourse, when charitable subscriptions
Lau been presented tn bsr. I,,t -. -