The Vermont transcript. [volume] (St. Albans, Vt.) 1864-1870, 1867-05-10
A Check for a Garnet.

BY LOUISE CHANDLER MouLToN.


"And how about the new carpet ="
Pretty little Mrs. Lane spoke coax
llngly, with her hands casped on her
husbands arm. He looked down at
her moment before he answered. -
She had been his wife for five years,
but her face was as sunny and as girl
lsh as when he first wooed her. Her
blue eyes had scarcely shed tear in
all those years, except The lazy, luxu-
nous tears such happy little souls
weep over the ideal woes of story
book heroines. Her monthly rose
IN the French window was not pinker
than her checks her scarlet gerani-
um was not rcdGer than her lips, and
the pet canary chipping above the
blossoms, was not gayer or merrer
than the little bird-like woman who
waited for John Lanes answer. He
smiled as he looked at her, and
brushed back her soft, brown hair
with an unconscious tenderness.
Yes, about the carpet, Annie. If
l thought we needed it, l would get
it, of course. The carpet that is now
on is almost as bright as it was the
day we chose it, and you know how
pretty we both thought it then.
The girlish young wife pouted her
dainty lip
We'll, John but it's been down five
years and it's only nice because I've
taken such nice care of it, ira been
careless and let it get spoiled you'd
have bought another without grum-
bling, you know you would. Its too
bad, if I've got to see things round
forever, just because I'm careful of
them. Don't yoU get tired Of seeing
the same things always, John ?"
"Not easily, so long as they are the
same, fresh and bright as ever. l. am
not tired Of you yet.
She laughed. and her pink cheeks
/ flushed a little.
But I'm not carpet Ours is on
( ly Brussels, you know, and l did so
want a Wilton, ike Mrs. Maynes"
80, Mrs. Wayne is the serpent in
our Eden? Well, Annie, give me till
tonight to think about it, and he
bent toward her for his good bye"
After he had gone, she went into
the drawing room and took a survey of
her possessions. The carpet was that
soft, many shaded, mosslke green on
which everything looks so wen. She
confessed to herself that it had a more
refined air than Mrs. Mayne's large
/ figured Wilton which held your gaze
like the eye Of the ancient mariner,
from the moment you entered the
room. But then, she thought she
needn't buy a great gaudy thing; and
Wilton was really so much more ele-
giant, so much more in keeping with
her rosewood and brocatelle. Then
she began busting some Of her books
and ornaments.
While she stood there she heard
the bell ring, and a short parley at
The door-a child's voice apparently
asking for food, and the cooks an
swer that to-day there was nothing to
spare. A sound in the young, sad
voice, a sort Of accomplishing hope
( lessness, struck her, aud she stepped
down stairs Just rs Bridget was about
to shut the door. Come back q mo-
ment, little girl, she said in those
gentle tones that John liked so well
to hear.
The child turned, an eager light
coming into her face for moment.
and then going out. Mrs. lane was
acting on impulse. She almost al
ways did; it was very good thing,
therefore, that most of her impulses
were sweet, gentle and true.
"Are you hungry ?" she asked, pit
tyingly.
ut doesn't matter so much about
me, ma'am could bear to be hun
CRY, but | don't know what to do for
my mother / have tried to get q
place to work but no one will take me.
They say child ten years old is more
trouble than good My mother had
to work so hard to keep us, and now
she's been sick awhile, ard can't work,
and we've eaten up everything. So
came out to see if anybody would
give me something for my mother,
and I've asked at every house on the
street, and everywhere they said just
the same, that they had nothing
"Where do you live,--is it far ??
asked Mrs. Lane.
! "Only a few steps, ma'am-three
streets off.
"Well, then, I'll go home with you,
and see your mother. Come into the
house, while l put on nay bonnet, and
Bridget shall give you some bread
and butter and cold meat.
Mrs. Lanes sweet face was full OF
pity as she hurriedly packed bask-
ct with tea and sugar and bread, forthe
sick mother. Then she ran up 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; but my
father always called me Nelly, and SO
does my mother"
"And is your father dead ,?
ooh, yes, that's the way our trouble
began. Father died, and mother
wasn't used to hard work, and she
had to work SO hard to keep the baby
and me.