The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1872-11-06
"A Atcut a year ago. I said, meekly.
She gave vent to a pretty little

oh7 gave vent 10 pretty little
scream.
"A year2 Shocking! Oh, couldn't
sit down in room that hasn't been
cleaned for year. This must be put
to rights
She said this ina very determined
tone and then set to work. She con-
verted my linen coat into an apron.
tied a cunning little handkerchief
over that pretty head, and snatching
up the fiy-duster, busted away valiant
ly-raised cloud Of dust in which I
sat gazing on the vision. What did
this mean? [ consulted Moliere, nv
standing authority, but Molicre could
give no explanation. Could she be an
angel sent to cast ray of light over
my dismal path of lief Perhaps.
But did angels wear white MarseiIles,
and talk about satteens and paniers
Impossible! 1t must be dream.
She suddenly paused, and held out
her arms and said:
'Roll up my sleeves, phase. I can
work better with them up
I did roll the white sleeve up, and
then Immediately secuted the idea OF
its being q dream, Couldn't dream
of such arms, with a dimple in each
elbow.
Certainly not! They were real. /
did not think that sculptor would
have been proud to have them for a
model, because l was morally certain
that any sculptor would have been
distracted at the sight, and dropped
his cbisel, despairing Of ever doing
them justice.
And then she busted, and while she
busted she sang. What voice
Don't mention Nilsson-I won't hear
of it.
And then she drew up a chair and
sat down beside me, having first re-
moved the handkerchief aud the
improviscd apron. Then she shook
her curls and addressed me.
MY dear uncle, let US have talk
Her uncle If my head had snd-
denly changed to lump of lead,
it couldn't have sunk any quicker than
it did then.
you know she continued, that
you wrote me letter, saying that
you considered it best for me to stay
at the farm until you wrote again.
But, then, didn't want to stay; |
felt so lonely away out there, hardly
saw new face once mouth for the
twelve years | have been therefor
you know you left me there when !
was six years old. Well, I thought |
would come to the city, SO took the
fifty dollars and bought this suit.
Mrs. Marsh picked it out for me. You
know she has been in tho city, 30 ]
came; and you are not angry, are you?
Because if you are, III 60 right back
again, uncle-indeed l will.
My feelings during this brief speech
had been very painful. l gradually
awoke to the TACT that it was all .
blunder that the visit of this angeI
was not intended for me, and / felt
very bitter over the discovery; but
my duty wss plain.
Ny dear child, said I, bumbly, will
you have the kindness to inform me
what your name is?
She opened her eyes, and then
laughed.
Why she said. surely you cannot
have forgotten me? Little Bess, you
know
Little Bcss ? I repeated.
Bessie Ludlow she said, gravely,
your niece
No, said 7, sadly ; not my niece. ]
have no niece. There has been some
errcr-my name is Floyd.
Then, said she, you are my uncle
Richard Floyd. l saw the name
on the door, and l came in. Now you
do remember me, don't you?
Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Lud'
low. said 1, calmly, but am not your
uncle.
You saw the name of R. Floyd on
the door my name is Robert.
Then, said she, helplessly, where
is my uncle?'
l felt bound TO confess my igno,
rance. whereas she sat looking in.
credulous. I explained that, strange
as it might seem, [ did not know
everybody personally, who happened
to rejoice in the same surname as
myself.
But, I said, checrfully, seeing her
look blank, we can find out. Here is
a directory. Now, your uncle's name
is Richard Floyd?
Yes
His occupation or profession?
'Eh 2
What does he do for a living?
Nothing. He's rich-awfnl rich
All! q gentleman Let us hope
they are. Now get ready, and we'll
90 and find your uncle.
. She stood by my side in the street,
and looked ten times more bewitching
than ever. We walked along streets,
and how male friends stared and
wondered and cnvied me.
We found the first Mr.. Floyd just
into his carriage, in front OF
his house. He was big. pompons and
vulgar. l tapped him on the shoulder:
Your niece, Mr.. Floyd, said, and |
commenced to explain, when he cut
me short.
Nothing of the kind-not my niece
an adventures, no doubt. You are
a swindIcr, I suppose. Drive on
/ inwardly vowed to assassinate
that man some duSk night. Ny COM
panion gr@sped her pongee fercely.
oh, | could beat him. she said,
savagely. ! trembled at his outhurst.
But however she said, laugLingly,
I p,