Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1874-07-03
she continued; would better advice save


Miss Marchant heartily "And fruit,
might /? Would he be vexed?"
81 am sure he would not. But sup
pose, some day, you look in on his
mother-a simple, lady-like person, who
is devoted to him. 1t is too far for Mrs
Hunt to walk and the poor soul sadly
needs sympathy. Now for the fernery."
But Clara could not think OF her ferns;
the patient, suffering face OF the con-
sumptive man haunted her.
She ordered a basket of the finest
strawberries to be gathered for him, and
went herself to the gardener to order a
beautiful bouquet for tomorrow.
-tsI- shalI mako point of calling on
Mrs. Lawrence" she said, as Mr.. Hunt
left.
There was no fear now that this poor
sufferer would need such sOlace as gay
flowers, ripe fruits and kind sympathy
could furnish him. Clara Marchant was
good friend when her interest was
really aroused in any one, and Mrs.
Lawrence and her sick son were eager
in praise of the mistress Of Barton
Towers
"Your roses have given such pleasure
at the Wood cottage" said Mr. Hunt one
day, 4" that must ask you for few more :;
white this time. Farmer Mays only
child, a little girl of five, has died sud-
denly of Group, and l want some flowers
to put around her."
"Let me make a wreath" said Clara,
eagerly " | know the way, and | could
take it to the farm this evening. [ re
member the pretty little girl who used to
stand at the gate. What a grief for her
parentSI
"They are heartbroken," said Mr.
Hunt; and yet little sympathy com
forts them"
So in the light of the evening Miss
Marchant went up to the farmhouse
laden with white blossoms, rosebud
wreath crowning her basket.
eco up, will you?" said the sobbing
farm girl And Clara went up the stairs
into the room where the child lay
The father and mother, plain country
people, looked up on her entrance and
tried to thank her.
"She was all we had, said the mother,
plaintively.
Clara stopped and kissed the pretty,
white face, and laid the rose-Wreath over
her fair hair.
"I am so sorry for you" was all she
could find to say, but it was quite
| enough; and then she sat down and
heard from poor Mrs May the sad, Oft
repeated tale of the sudden illness and it's
fatal ending.
| Miss MarchantS name was beloved at
the farm from that sad evening.
The time of roses was drawing to a
close when Mr.. Hunt and Miss Marchant
next met in her pretty garden.
"You must exhibit at Millfield flower
show next Saturday." said Mr.. Hunt,
pausing by a standard rose. "This bud
will be perfect then, judging by the open
flower near"
"That bud will be a gen." said Clara,
decidedly; "but it shall not go to that
dirty, smoky Millfield; [ have promised
it to young Lawrence; it is the new rose,
you know, and he was rose-fancier in
his day, poor fellowW
Cant you make it answer both pur-
poses?" said Mr. Hunt. "Send it to the
show, where it will certainly take the
| first prize, and then give it him."
"I must ask his leave" said Clara.
"But why should | patronize the Millfield
| show?"
Because it is your duty" said Mr.
| Hunt; "you are one of the great folks
round and you should encourage the
Millfeld folk in such wholesome recre-
alton as gardening"
care you going?" asked Clara.
Certainly l shall drive my wife
over"
"Then letme take some of your children
with me-"
"No, thank you; children worry you"
said Mr.. Hunt, laughing. II am too
proud to let mine be in your way"
"Nonsense w said Clara, blushing;
g good children don't worry me-"
"You shall have Mrs. Hunt and Laura,
then, the two wellbehaved ones," said
Mr. Hunt; land l will take my riotous
boys"
So Miss Marchant went to the Mill
field show and won the first rose prize,
and came home full of resolve to stir
up the Barton people to rival Millfield
next year. Her roses were certainly
drawing her nearer to her neighbors, and
daily involving visit to one or another.
Poor young Lawrence had the prize
rose in a glass in his bedroom for many
a day after the show; he liked it all the
better that it had been to smoky Mill
field, where his best days were passed;
The last rose of the year. a sickly-
looking bud, was gathered by Clara and
placed in his dead hand as he lay at last
free from suffering in the cottage room.
81 shall bless you all my life," said the
poor, weary mother. If ever any one
soothed dying mans path to the grave,
you did"
With little Mary May and Oliver Law
renee in the churchyard, Miss Marchant
felt she had an interest there. Mr. Hunt
was willing to assist her in her plan OF
making it the garden of the village, and
many a one came to her to ask her advice
how to make the last home of wife OF
child, parent or friend, more beautiful.
And not by her flowers only did Clara
!, Marchant win her way to the hearts OF
her poor neighbors; she had kind words
for ALL Barton was no longer dull, and
. she had made the discovery that there
was more than smoke in Millfeld.
From the mill-people she came to know
the millowners, and certain pleasant
Mr. Thornbury, of large possessions in
the place, was lucky enough to attract
the interest of Miss Marchant In the
,, ensuing summer hc often wore one of hel
rosebuds in his button-hole, and before
winter Miss Marchant became Mrs
Thornbury. She was to live at Barton
still, however; her father needed her and
her poor people could not spare her, even
if she could leave her roses.
}. How to Tell ushrooms.-Sprinkle
salt on the spongy part of the gill of the
!. mushrooms to he tried IF thev turn vel