The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1872-08-01
LOVE AND PAINTING.
BY AMY RANDOLPH.

be @ very nice thlnS W nave DeatfiCe WeiA se1-
tied in LIFE"
every nice" said Miss Victoria Western,
with grave nod. -.
Poor little Beatrice MOORE Ever since she
could remember, she had been banded and
bufeted about from one home to another-from
the unwilling charge of one distant relation to
the loveless care of another. She had no
abiding place; nobody seemed to want her.
The chief object in life of those around her
appeared to be to get rid of her as quickly as
possible. 1t was bitter consciousness to
darken the life of o girl of eighteen, but such
it was.
Beatrice looked shyly across at the glass,
with mental marvel whether Major Chelsey
really could like her we'll enough to marry her,
and what did she see there? A round, rosy
face, touched with fresh pink on either side,
and framed in by shining rolls of nut-brown
hair-eyes of deep violet gray, almond-shaped,
and full of wistful softness, and small ex-
pressive mouth, crimson in color, and beauti-
fully shaped. It was not such an unsatisfacto-
~ survey, after all.
"You had better change that rusty wrapper
for more decent-looking dress, Beatrice" :"
said Victoria Western. 81 should not be sur
prised if Major Chelsey were to call to-day"
eyes, Victoria," said Beatrice, meekly, "when
have washed the breakfast china and busted
Ghe drawing g-rooms."
"Let Betty do those this morning; it's almost
swelve now," said Victoria, pettishly. "Dont,
for PHYS sake, be the one to overturn all our
plans for getting you marriedw
Beatrice sighed softly as she went up stairs.
aIt would be so nice to be loved p thought
our poor little heroine, with the instructive
longing for affection that forms part of every
woman's nature "I think Hugh Chelsey loves
me, and yet 1 scarcely dare to hope"
So Beatrice Moore put on her one silk dress
"a deep crimson, that Victoria Western had
worn for three winters before it descended to
the dependent cousin, and pinned on the little
lace collar, that had been darned and mended
until there was a very small portion of the
original fabric left, and brushed the brown
rolls of hair until they shone with satiny gloss.
And then Beatrice took the family basket of
stockings and good-sized darning needle. and
sat down in the recess of the back parlor win
dow to darn her aunt's stockings and think
OF what2 Well, of what do girls generally
think when the shadow of great, all-absorb-
ing love is creeping over their whole nature
OF what do they think when they cannot but
feel how surely their own individuality is being
merged into that of another? Beatrice Moore
at the hours end could herself scarcely have
told Just what she had been thinking of, and
vet the thoughts had been very sweet, and the
time had slipped away with almost impercepti-
bile lapse.
And what was Hugh Chelsey about that he
did not make the expected visit?
"Ill 90 and see Beatrice Moore this morn
ing,n Hugh Chelsey had said within himself,
as he sailed out inao the brilliant sunshine
Major Chelsey was tall, ine-looking man,
of some seven or eight and twenty, with bright
black eyes, and curling black hair brushed
away from an olive brow--a man whose life
had nearly all been passed under the burning
glow of an East Indian sun, and whose man.
ners were q curious compound of easy frank
ness and total defiance of conventionality.
"I don't know what to make of Major Chel-
sew" Mrs. Milton had said, to whose house the
eccentric East Indian had brought letters of
Introduction. Sometimes he acts like prince
of the blood, and then again you would take
him for brigand. They say he's very rich,
and yet there is not particle of assumption
about him. declare he's quite, an enigma p
Hugh, blessedly unconscious of all the spec
ulations he inspired in various female minds,
walked along, swinging his cane, and whistling
the sad, strongly-marked refrain of some old
oriental air, as he wondered within himself
whether Beatrice Moore would consent to 60
back to the palm-shaded valleys of the golden
East with him.
"Hallop calculated major Chelsey, suddenly
cut short in his meditations by the unexpected
apparition of man in soiled garments and
paper cap, sitting on Mrs. Westerns doorstep,
and another somewhat better dressed, berating
him most soundly.
"Why, Tom, it isn't you?"' cried the Major,
recognizing man who had come over from
India in the same ship with himself--a light
hearted, merry young Englishman, whose con-
q of ;r;t nod a
al favorite. "What's the matter? Are you
sick"
"Sick-nol" retorted the other, interposing
before the man addressed could reply. cts all
q make-believe game. Pve paid him before
hand for his time, and now he needn't think
Tm going to be gammoned by this sort o1
thing. Come, Meredith, up the ladder with
YOU, man This house has got to be painted
by noon tomorrow, or my contract falls
threughp'
tI could not climb that ladder again, Mr.
Field, if you were to give me thousand dol
lars. My head swims, and =
''Nonsense it'll be steady enough when you
once get there
"Bat if the man is really ill?" interrupted
Major Chelsey, rather sternly.
Cant help that" said the master painter
"The lob has got to be done, i'll or not ILL.,"
"Go and get another hand" said Chelsey, il
an undertone, glancng at the haggard face O
poor Tom Meredith. "Don't you see the fellow
ought to be in bed"
ATS easy to say get another hand,'" sale
the painter, apparently driven to the very verge
of frenzy, "but 'taint SO easy to 90: Iher' her'
aint hand to be had. They are pantin' St
Bartholomew's, and the Lefevre Hotel besides
and YOU can't get fellow to work for you TO
love norsnfopey."
"At all events, Meredith is very ILL.,"
'He's always complainin, Tom Meredith il
and the job must go ahead, !,
'Tt's no use, Major; Pm obliged to you, al
the same, but ri try it once more. 1t aim
for myself 1 care, but the wife and the little
ones''
He took the paint pail in one hand and {
stack of brushes in the other, and put one foo
~ Oh I1uort ronn1 e ba loIdnr, Rut ever