The weekly Shasta courier., 1873-07-05

ETC.; in short, everything except love. That
could have never have befallen him, or L
should have heard of it. True, John had
been away from US for at least five years,
and during a large portion OF that time we
had scarcely heard from him. Still. had he
been, through any love affair, we certainly
should have known it and then again, j Ohm
wasn't the Kind of man to fall in love any
way. He had been always extremely re-
served in society, invariably preferring
compromising of his own sex, much to my
discontinue who had made at least half
dozen splendid matches for him.
In the midst of my reverie the coachman
appeared, saying This is the house, mad
am" and found that L had rolled into q
quiet, clean street, and had stopped before
plain two story frame house, bearing the
number | was in search of. A wholesome
motherly-looking woman opened the door,
and in answer to my call for Mrs. Andrews,
| directed me upstairs to the second story"
and there found her. | wish | could give
even slight idea of the figure that greeted
my eye as entered the room. She was
about medium height, with a slender, grace
ul-wondrously graceful-fgure. | thought
then, and | say now, that she was tho most
beautiful woman | ever beheld. Such ex
ceeding symmetry of face and form is hard
ly met with more than once in a lifetime.
| 1t is no use to attempt description. Her
eyes was dark blue, yelled by long, sweep
! ing lashes, adding to the look of patience and
sadness expressed in every feature. She
looked about twenty, though found after
ward that she was something older than
| this. --.- .'.--- -
Mrs. Andrews?" said l, interrogatively.
as she opened the door to my knock.
Mrs. Andrews" she answered with a
smile-a smile so sweet and rare that |
could have caught her in my arms and kiss
ed her without further parey.
THE dressmaker? Iasked again, color
ing to the roots of my hair without the least
reason in the world.
Mrs. Andrews, the dressmaker," she re-
piled with dignity, the smile fading from
her face Can do anything for your
In FIVE minutes had explained my bust
ness, and waited to see what she would say.
a have engagements for all this week"
she said, IN low sweet tones glancing at her
memorandum book. "And then, again,
Mrs. Sinclair, never go out. My work is
all brought to me here, and when it is fin
ished, my customers here she turned her
head, and looked out of the window for
second" my customers this time more
decidedly" send for it,
you do not mean to say that you never
go out of doors ?" inquired. with shud
der Some way the idea of this lovely wom-
an, forever shut up with her work in this
lonely street. was more than | could bear
"Oh no." she answered, smiling again,
very much to my delight; only mean |
never go out to work"
Have you any especial reason for this?"
was my next query. "Do you not find it
equally remunerative?
oh, it is not that" she replied, quickly;
"but have little baby girl, not quite two
years old, whom find it impossible to leave"
But that will make no difference to me"
interrupted warmly. g think | should
quite enjoy having your little one with us.
She will be company for my baby; and my
dear little woman, l really believe the change
would be good for you both. / think [ can
safely promise not to overwork you"
Delicate, sweet, lady-like as she was kind
words were evident strangers to her ears !;
for, after moments silence, she said, with
choking sob she vanly endeavored to hide:
You are very good to me; we will come
next Monday morning.
That was all-every word. I never SO
longed for power to express my sympathy
and desire to be of service as at that mo-
ment, but all | could do was to press her
hand warmly, and promise to send the car
rage for her. How valueless words are at
such timesl
John was home before me. Great lazy
fellow he had nothing to do but look out
little for the property he had amassed.
II had made heaps of money, invested it
wisely. and the result was not only physical
inactivity. but a morbid mental condition
which seemed to me, as in my love watch
ed him more closely than any one else, de-
veloping in marked and disagreeable
avoidance of all society. He rode alone.
walked alone, sat in his room and read, and
studied and smoked alone. He let me in,
however, at all times, and seemed de-
sirous of making me happy. My husband
at this time was abroad, so l suppose he
felt some obligations concerning me.
As usual / found him on the library
lounge, reading.
"Oh, John !" said |, Il have lots to tell
you. Guess where l have been. and what
| have found. Oh, such an adventure as |
have had"
Adventure he repeated, with laugh.
Adventure? why bless your heart, little
sister, women are always having adventures.
| Don't ask me to bother my brain about such
a commonplace subject"
But guess where | have been"
Shopping, of course. What did you
buy me, kate?"
Il haven't been shopping at ALL" 1 an
swered. Can't you remember what we
We're talking about this morning."
"Oh. yes" said he, / remember. You
said you couldn't put itoff another day and
now | suppose you have been cut and fitted
in truly Partisan manner, and will Guido
and overwhelm every lady of your acquaint-
ance."
That's as much as you know" I inter-
rupted, wrathfully. II have found dress
maker, John, just the sweetest, cunningest
Il II tell you all about it" And while |
stopped a second to take breath he broke in,
almost harshly,
The dressmaker you spoke of before you
went out Is her name"
Andrews-Nlrs Andrews" I suggest
ed, in my enthusiasm quite forgetful Of his
/ horror of the name.
And is she coming here he continued.
ayes, next Monday" ~
"Well, now, Kate said he, while his
eyes looked straight into mine, y never
want to be compelled to-meet, man. woman
or child by that name. Soyou will please
bear in mind that while that woman is an
inmate of this house shalt take nv meals