Knoxville journal. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1874-1986, 1874-06-11

the two might feel unembarrassed.
i wanted to know If your Hncle's de-
cisiOn is the same as yours"
1t is" she said, in a low voice, and
with face averted.
Sand you object to me because / am a
good or-nothing?"
81 think my uncie's idea OF what man
should be in the world is correct one."
"And you do not love me?"
II cannot..marry YOU"
"Then you do love me~
81 might have loved you had 1T been
different with us; but do not dare to
say more"
"And if were to make myself worthy
of you?" he asked.
She did not answer, but her silence
was more expressive than words would
have been.
MARY" he said, 81 ask and make no
promises. only know that love you,
and hope to win you yet"
He arose, and they said "good-by."
Would he prove himselfa man? was what
her heart questioned. Would she wait
for him? was the question in his mind.
"And now what?" asked the doctor,
when he was alone with Mary.
1--WE shall see," was her answer.
Fred Seward went to his room at the
hotel and asked himself the same ques-
ton the doctor had spoken, "And now
whatf"
He had been told that his life was of
no use to any one, and that he amounted
to no more than straw carried on
breeze. Was it so? He began to think
out the question. Was his life worth a
farthing to any living person up to this
time? No, it was not. What had he to
show for these twenty-five years? A lit
tie smattering of knowledge; nothing
else. Was any one better because he had
lived? No. He could not recall an in
stance where he had ever been of help to
any one Surprising he should lose his
fortune to-day, what could he do? Moth
ing.
He did not spare himself in his cross
examination, nor did he hesitate about
calling things by their right names. No
wonder Dr. Burgess had declined him
for husband for his neiee. But what
should he do? All! that was difficult
question to answer. A lawyer? No, he
had no taste for the law. The church?
No, no; he was unworthy so high call
ing. A doctor? Why not? Yes, why
not doctor?
There was quite sensation among the
loungers in Swampscott when it was
found that Fred Seward had left them for
that season And the sensation was still
farther increased when they heard he was
studying medicine with DR.. Sweet, of
Boston. If DR.. Burgess heard the story
he never mentioned the matter to his
niece, nor was Fred's name ever spoken
between them.
Three years rolled round without
change to Mary Ellison, except that she
grew more beautiful with each new year.
Her uncle had moved to Boston, and she
| was among the most admired of the bellies
| of society. Yet admiration and f1attery
seemed to have no power over her, and
| she was as often to be met with at the
| bedside Of the sick and in the houses OF
the poor as in the brighter halls OF luxury
and extravaganza
And there was enough that one could
| do, If she was but willing. Thousands Of
poor people had seen their little all swal-
| lowed up in the great flames, and needed
all the encouragement and help they could
obtain But Mary Ellison was rare
missionary. She was among the poor and
the helpless because her heart was tender
with pity for them, and not that she might
hear men sound her praises.
Anything l can do for you to-day,
uncle?" she asked, as she started on one
of her morning rounds.
Nothing, my dear; but don't be gone
long"
81 wish l knew what was best to do"
you might have heard him saying when
! She had gone. "Had better tell her, or
| let things take their own course? The
fellow is in earnest, and is as proud as
Lucifer What shall do?" And again
ne drew letter from his pocket as if all
his trouble was in that 1t was the first
communication he had ever had from
Fred Seward. Here it is:
Dr. BuRGEss-Dear Sir: When l left Swamp
scott, three years ago, 1t was with the determine
| ton of making myself Of some practical use IN
the world, and OF removing the charges that
| felt you so justly made against me. was anx-
| ious 10 do this not only for myself, after had
| been made to see how frivolous my life was, but
also that might gain the respect OF your niece,
and with the intention Of again asking her to be-
come my wife. have been studying In the office
have enjoyed my life much more than had ever
| thought 1t possible. Ny purpose In now writing
to you is to cay that when last saw Miss Ellison
| that time circumstances have arisen which compel
| me to say to you that cannot renew those pro-
posas, nor can aspire to Miss Elison's hand or
| course you will do with this as you may think
best, but should be glad il you could keep the
matter in your own bar, hands, o., .o.no.,
FRED X. SEWARD.
The doctor studied and worried over
the matter the rest of the day, and
then had not decided upon what he
ought TO do. But things ofte n happen IN
this world that are not planned out be-
forehand by us. While he was worrying
over the letter Mary was carrying happi-
| ness into score of homes and spread
ing her own sunshine among hearts that
had little else than clouds.
Among her people was a widow who
had but one child, boy old enough to
earn few pennies selling papers. She
stopped at her door, and was met by the
mother in tears Her boy had been run
over by the street-cars, and his life was
in great danger. Had they doctor ?
"Oh, yes, ma'am; the lame doctor"
Mary had frequently, of late, heard OF
the lame doctor, but had never seen him.
"When was he here?" she asked.
He is here now, ma'am.'
| At first she thought she would not go
| in until after the doctor had gone, but she
wanted to ask him what could be done /;
so she followed the woman into the
| room.