Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1873-12-16

to share it, dear. / leave it for you
to decide-shall go or stay?"
"Go, by all means. Should I ask
you to linger by my side when du-
ty calls you away, poor wife l
should be-"
He kissed her flushed cheek with
admiring tenderness.
"And where shall l leave you, my
bonnie bridew
"Oh, l will make brief visit
home in the meantime. 1t will cut
our wedding tour short, but then
you know we have a lifetime to fin
ish our honeymoon in"
So the brief Niagara sojourn
came to an end, and Mrs. Charles
Remington, for the season, was q
widowed bride.
"He will be back soon," she said
to herself, "and in the meantime
must do, oh, so much"
EYES," said old Mrs. Remington,
complacently. 81 think that was
splendid idea of ours, Abel sending
for Lot Chauncey's orphan to adopt
I'll teach Charles and his stuck-uI
wife that we are in earnest about
what we wrote, and Marion Chaun-
cey will have no city airs or grace.
I'm dreadful anxious to see her
Lot was likely looking fellow, and
my cousin twice removed, and folks
did say his wife was regular built
beauty. guess likely she'll come
by the stage tonight"
81 guess likely there she is now,
said Abel, who, sitting by the oper
window, caught glimpse of {
slender figure coming up the path
and carrying well packed carpet
bag, and Mrs. Remington ran for
ward to kiss and welcome the new
conner.
Marian Chauncey was exceeding
ly pretty-Mrs. Remington soor
discovered that-a bright, winsom'
little creature, with gold-browi
hair that would curl in spite of tn
restraining net, loving hazel eye:
and tremulous red lips.
"Oh, Abel !" quoth the soft-heart
ed old lady, at the end of two days
"why didn't Charles wait until ht
had seen Marian Chauncey? ISM
she sweet-don't it seem like {
CLEAN of sunshine in the old house
when she is tripping around p
"She is very pretty" said Mr.
Remington.
"And then" pursued the old lady,
"she's so handy. She knows just
where everything is kept, and she
does up my caps exquisitely, Oh,
Abel, if Providence had only seen
fit to send us daughter-in-law like
dear little Marian Chauncey."
Mrs. Remington's speech was cut
prematurely short by the entrance
of the subject of it, with her apron
full of eggs and her hands full of
wild flowers.
"Mrs. Remington" she began,
and then checked herself with alb
ruptness. "Oh, l cannot bear to
call you by that long, formal name
may / say mother ?"
"Of course you may, my darl-
ing," said the enthusiastic old lady,
"and l only wish you were my real
daughter"
Marian laid down her flowers and
her store of pearly white
eggs in basket on the table, and
then came up to Mrs. Remington,
kneeling down, and Nesting her
bright head in the old lady's check
ed apron.
"Mother," she murmured softly,
"you do not know how sweet the
word sounds. And you will always
love me and cherish me, and let me
be a real daughter to your
"I should be hard-hearted old
if / didn't, pet" said the
I'D lady, with her spectaclcs dimm-
ID with tears.
In short, Marian Chauncey be-
,ame the light of the old farm
,ouse the bright guardian angel
# its low-ceiled rooms and wide,
liry halls. She read the paper to
Farmer Remington; she COM
bounded cake, jelly and syllabus
o the astonishment and delight of |
he old lady; she kept the two old
hina vases on the mantle brimming
yer with a red rain of roses; she
new by instinct when to darken
he room for the old mans nap on