The Jasper weekly courier. [volume] (Jasper, Ind.) 1858-1922, 1872-11-08
STORx BOUND.

STOk0 BOUNUs
VI know l am pretty" said Clar
Nottingham to herself, gazing CON
posedly into her mirror, "but do nc
think am sufficiently beautiful to SEN
al the young men of M Acquaintance
into ecstacies over me-"
1t is not always very easy for a girl l.
judge of her own looks but Clara trie,
70 be as impartial as possible on thi
special occasion. And what was it sh
saw reflected in the glass before which
she stood, critically surveying the crea
ture whom the world called Clara Whit
Firgham.
A tall, supple figure, with slopin,
shoulders and daintily tspered waist;
skin as soft as satin, and tinted like an
oleander blossom; deep blue eyes, .jus
shaped into violet at the iris, and little
fresh mouth, where the teeth shone a,
every smile like pearls through Grim
ION she'll.
"Yes," said Clara, nodding her head
70 that certain spirals OF golden brown
hair which always hung over her head
danced ccquettishly up and down, 81
am pretty. Then that five hundred
pounds year that Uncle Bruces will
secured me isn't altogether disagree.
able pill for some of my lovers to swal.
low. don't think l was made for an
heiress. ! like to make and mend, to
patch and contriye, and I've always had
m idea that | would make a splendid
poor mans wife. l mean, of course,
appended wife for poor man."
She took from her belt withered red
rose and a bunch of violets as she spoke,
and arched her pretty eyebrows over
them in puzzled fashion.
Harvey Gillette gave me the rose"
abe soliloquized. He's very handsome,
70 Harvey, and always did have weak.
ness for handsome people; and he's a
rising young man in his profession,
people say. / like talented people, too.
III keep the rose just a little while.n
And che laid it away in a certain satin.
Lined box where she was wont to treasure
souveniers of these her girlish DAYS.
" And Frank Hoods violets-poor
Frand Hood He's so silent and SO
awkward and yet there is something
about him that won't let one despise
him. He certainly is not handsome,
though he has fine eyes, and face like
one OF those old marble creations one
SEES in the School of Design. Well. /
won't throw away the violets either, OF
just yet" Clara took the ieweled hair.
pms out Of her shining tresses, and laid
aside the white tarlatan dress and
wreaths Of blue blossoms, and went com.
Posedly to bed.
For why should she lie awake and
lose the fresh roses of her complexion,
and dim the spark of those glorious
violet eyes, thinking about the respec.
tive claims of the various lovers who
lowered, mothlike, about the torchlight
OF her charms? There was time to
make up her mind-quite time enough.
why. she was not yet nineteen, and life
MAS 50 full of bloom and freshness for
her. Clara knew that the autumn must
rome sooner or later. but she meant to
have a good time first. Sensib'e Clara
SO, in the very middle Of the season,
when balls, parties, operas, masquerades,
and dejsuners sontantes were at their
height, and when old Aunt Dalmayne
wrote piteous letter up to her brother
in town, setting forth that "she had
the rheumatic dreadful bad, and there
want any help to be had, and she was
that lonesome that she couldn I stand it |
NO longer, and wouldn't one of her three
nieces come down and stay with her
for short time? Clara astonished the
family circle by volunteering to 20.
"My DEAR" said Mrs. Nottingham,
"you don't know what you are under.
taking. 1t is a common farmhouse
"And Alantha Ann is full of whims,"
said Papa Nottingham, rubbing his |
nose: But, I suppose she is poor and
loneley."
Well, butt" said Clara, Miriam is
Busy with her music lessons and her |
German class, and Laura belongs to |
those sociables / seem to be the only |
one disengaced. Besides I'm getting |
tired of balls and parties and twelve |
o'clock suppers. ! should like to try |
the other extreme just for fun"
1You'll find it anything but fun"
said Mrs. Nottingham, putting her |
casolette to her aristocratic |
nose.
Well, at any rate, ! mean to try"
said Clara, valiantly. $50, papa, you
may write to Aunt Dalmayne that am
coming"
The scene looked indescribably beau.
tiful to Clara Wintringnam, that frosty
December night, as the jolting old
chaise, with a sleepy old horse tiotting
N front, turned into the valley road,