Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1874-10-29

worked Tor living.
Sidney Coster's lip curled in contempt
on such a character. Harrison continued: /:
why don't you go ahead, old fellow.
and marry some rich girl? You are a
good-lookiug fellow aud might very easily
do it,
"What an honorable thing that would
be. wouldn't it? l would rather starve
than thus degrade myself and deceive a
woman."
"As you please. Good-day." And one
friend" was gone
Coster looked after him a moment, and
in spite of his brave words he felt bitter
against the fate that had made him poor
man. 1t was pleasant life, this that he
had been leading, and it was hard to give
it up.
The next thing to do was to search for
employment. He possessed nothing in
the world except his clothes and small
amount OF jewelry-relics of his former
butterfly existence-and a heart full OF
courage. He did not know how to work.
had never attempted even the slightest de-
tails of business. but he set resolutely
about the task before him.
He walked the city for days and days,
but all in vain. No one wanted him.
There were plenty Of situations, but when
the qualifications were asked he was fore
ed to tell the miserable truth and confess
that he knew just-nothing. How bitterly
he regretted now. In his hour of need, that
he had not spent the hours which he had
wasted in acquiring his accomplishments.
in learning something that would help
him in his strait. Regrets were useless,
and he went steadily forward upon the
hard path of duty.
Al last he lost all hopes of finding en-
| ployment in the city, and turned his face
toward the spreading fields, and shady
groves and contented peaceful homes of
Gods own land, the codntry. He did not
know what he should do there; he had not
a friend in the wide world, he thought,
who cared whether he lived or died. Where
his uncle-the unhappy cause of his mis-
fortune-had gone he did not know. He
/ only knew he was alone, tired, aud heart
sick, and discouraged, turning with
longing heart from the hot and dusty city
streets to the fresh, green meadows of the
I country.
He went. For two days he tramped
slowly along, sick in mind and in body.
| lie had tried again and again to find en-
| ployment a he came along, but still the
/ same helplessness OF ignorance was his
| banc and barrier. lie was sick, very sick,
and knew not where he might lay his
weary head. At last he fell, aud knew no
more.
| After the long blank and darkness he
/ had dreamy sense OF pleasant shaded
room OF open vine covered windows. fill
/ ed with fresh pure flowers; OF kind.
| hearty, rugged face that came and looked
I at him, and then spoke cheerily to anoth-
er Kind and motherly face that hovered
| over him oitener. aud smoothed his pill
lows. and brushed back his clustering
hair. matted with his restless fever toss
| inss; of another face-an angel he dream
ed 1t was-younger, and 50 fresh and
sweet that the very sight of 1t seemed to
put him lar on his road TO health again.
This face did not come as often as the
others. 1t would steal softly in for a mo-
ment with the other faces; and even then
il he happened to be awake, it would dart
out again in frightened manner, and as
the days passed on he grew impatient to
get well and find where it had gone.
At last the pleasant morning came that
he was well enough to walk out and sit on
the pleasant porch; and then unasked By
them. for they were too kind to intrude up
on his secrets, he told them all his story,
aud they listened and gave him their warm
est sympathy; and one face-the timid.
fresh young one-was bathed in tears be-
| hind the leafy screen, where it had crept
unseen.
He found his haven at last. Warmer
Royston-the good, worthy soul, that he
was-ofiered him refuge and place where
he could earn his own living; and lie
went TO work. His whole heart was bent
upon learning. and he progressed rapidly
with his duties of the farm. He made just
AS rapid headway into the affections of the
iamily. OF the family in truth; but of the
shy heart in particular. he could not feel
as sure. That very shyness that added
such charm to her sweet young beauty,
interposed an almost insurmountable bar
rier to her confidence. He could not tell
how she regarded him; she was shy and
reserved, scarcely ever speaking to him.
aud never remained alone with him for
moment.
The months rolled on and he had re.
manned there year. In that year of nde-
pendence and healthy labor he had grown
strong and rugged and handsomer than
ever. He had improved in mind also, for
although his accomplishments were
thrown aside, he had gained a store of
practical knowledge that was invaluable
to him; and more he was desperately in
love. The young, shy face had captured
him completely.
One pleasant summer evening he stroll
ed down by the river, and Unexpectedly
came upon Hattie Royston sitting silently
beside the old tree that grew upon the wa
ter's edge. She started to her feet and
would have run away, but he gently de-
tanned her with his arm.
"Why do you always avoid me, Hattie?
he asked, trying to look into her averted
face.
She made him no reply, and only turn
ed farther away from him.
'Do you then dislike me SO much, Hat
tieY he asked reproachfully.
The look she flashed upon him was a
direct denial OF the charge. and yet she
would not speak.
81 love you so dearly and SO tenderly
that my whole life must be sad one if
you do not love me in return. You do