The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1875-02-25

heart will ache by and by, for Mr.;
Marsh isn't the prince. The fairy
fingers wont touch, him any more
than they: will me. There, father ID
calling" and she pushed :bashful
Myra toward the study door. II
must run over and ask old Jane Hag-
gis what to do for chickens afflicted
with the gapes."
Hepsy put on her flappy sup-bon-
net, and slipped out of the back door.
The way to Mrs. Haggis's cottage lay
across lots, where white clovers were
dropped like pearls among the blad-
ed grass, and leaf shadows trembled
down into the hearts of golden butter
cups, and insects and happy,winged
creatures made a drowsy music. Hep
sy was not very miserable, in spite Of
the lean larder at home and her fad
ed calico dress, on which she inflicted
a skewy tear while getting through a
pair Of bars. It is hard to be miser-
able at twenty; and then she had
Myra's fortune to think about. The
old fairy fingers were busy at work
upon a picture in which the brook,
and the birds singing overhead, and
the rustling grain along the path she
trod played their part. According
to Hepsy, God made helpless people
to lie ips the lap Of luxury. Fine
ladies are always helpless, and little
Myra was as helplessas ababy. Hepsy
sighed as she thought Of Mr.. Marsh.
Somebody's heart would get hurt in
the business, she could foresee ), and
that it was a generous, large, warm
heart she did not doubt, from the
light that beamed out Of his grave,
kind eyes and the gentle considerate.
ness he had shown the old pastor.
By this time Hepsy had reached
Jane Haggis's little gray cottage,
that looked as if it had done some
thing it was ashamed of and meant to
settle back into the ground. The
crochetty old dame was sitting by
her primitive door, with hens patter-
ing in, and getting Showed" out again
peremptorily, braiding straw for sea-
side hats with her shiny, rheumatic
old fingers. Hepsy took off her sun
bonnet, and swung it by one string.
At that moment a scheme for money
making darted into her head. Old
Jane was maundering on about how
she enjoyed poor health, and telling
off her complaints like, the days of
the week.
"Jane," said Hepsy, forgetting all
about the chicken gapes, will you
teach me how to braid straw p
Jane signifed that she would and
all the way home through the clover
and leaf shadows, and the straight
sunbeams growing ruddy, Hepsy was
braiding a vast number of bathing
hats for the rich city people who came
to pretty white beach five miles
from the village during the heat of
August, and turning the front room
Of the parsonage into a trim little
shop, with Myra to catch custom by
her lovely face, and Hepsy to manage
the business with her shrewd, practi-
cal little head. Hepsy was glad be-
cause. she was a "Saturday's child,
and must work for her living"
"Mr. Marsh was sorry not to see
you" said Myra, as Hepsy opened
the door. "He had something. or
other to say about the Sunday
school"
"A poor excuse is better: than
none," thought Hepsy, hurrying
round to get the tea-kettle on. Myra
had forgotten all about tea, and there
was short-cake to make. Hepsy
sighed to hear her -four dredge scraps
on the bottom, of fthe barrel; but the
sigh was not so hopeless as. it might
have been.
| That night, as the girls were tax
ing out their hair-pins, up in thei1
little white-washed chamber, Hepsy
poured her great business scheme in
to Myra's ears. Myra approved O.
this, as she always approved Of Hep
| sy's plans, while the beautiful blond,
hair rippled and shimmered over be-
white neck; but, truth to tell, she wa
thinking of something that droll Har
ry Anson had said to her.
i The front room got turned into q,
: attractive little shop in due course Q
time, by Hepsy's skill and energy
and the straw-braiding progresset
1
{ more favorably than could have bee1
expected. Ore window was file.
with a few cheap ribbons, futterinl
against the green Of a Virginia creep
[er; and every bright afternoon Myr'
sat there, with a rose in her hair, ant
her dimpled hands folded on whit
apron, with coquettish pockets tha
never held anything. 1t was Myra'
mission to look pretty, and Heps.
recognized the mission without grum
bling.
The little, tasty shop and the beau
> tiful young shop-girl grew popula
with the bathers at the beach. I'll
blind pastor and his daughters cam
to be objects of interest beyond th
narrow circle of their village. Til
relation between the blind, helpleS
old man and his young successor wa
+ growing almost tender and confden
| tiaL. The old man had been hur
: and grieved a little at first, perhaps