Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1875-04-07

looked !
She cast searching glance around
the library.
"lIorrid dirty!" she said, disdain-
fully. "When was the last time it
was cleaned ?"
"About year ago." said I rather
meekIy.
She gave vent to a pretty little
scream.
ga year ? Shocking Oh, l couldn't
sit down in Il room that hasn't been
cleaned for year. This must be put
to rights"
She said this in very determined
tone, and then set to work. She CON,
vertcd my linen coat into an apron
tied q cunning little handkerchief ov-
er that pretty head, and snatching up
the fly duster, busted away valiantly
raising q cloud of dust in which
sat gazing at the vision. What did
all this mean ? | consulted Moliere,
my standard authority, but Molierc
could give no explanation. Could she
be an angel, sent to cast ray OF light
over my dismal path Of life ?Perhaps ?
but did angels wear white Marsei|les,
and talk about satinteens and jou-
niers? Impossible 1t must all be a
dream
She suddenly pause& and came to
me through the cloud, and held out
her arms and said:
"Roll up my sleeves, please. l can
work better with them up"
! did roll the white sleeves up, and
then Immediately secuted the idea of
its being a dream. Could | dream of
such arms, with such Il beautiful dim
pie in each elbow
Certainly not They were real. l
did not think that q sculptor would
have been proud to have them for q
model, because | was morally certain
that any sculptor would have been dis
tracted At the sight, and have dropped
his chisel, despairing Of ever doing
them justice.
And then she busted, and while
she busted she sang. What voice
Don't mention Nilssou-I won't hear
it
And then she drew up chair, and
sat down beside me, having first re-
moved the handkerchief and the i'm
proyised apron. Then she shook her
curls and addressed me.
'My dear uncle, let us have a
talk"
Her uncle If my heart had sudden
ly changed to lump OF lead, it
couldn't have sunk any quicker than
il did then !
"You know she continued, "that
you wrote me a letter saying that you
considered it best for me to stay at the
farm until you wrote again. But,
then, | didn't want to say | felt so
lonely away out there, hardly seeing
a new face once in month";. for the
twelve years | have been therefor
you know you left me there when l
was six years old, Well, I thought |
would come up to the city, so I took
the fifty dollars and bought this suit.
Mrs Marsh picked it out for me. You
know she has been in the city, and so
| came and you're not angry, are
you? Because if you are, I'll go
right back, again-indeed | will p
My feelings during this brief speech
had been very painful. | gradually
awoke to the fact that it was all a
blunder-t that the visit of this angel
was not intended tor me, and | telt
very bitter over the discovery but
my own duty was plain,
"My dear child" said I humbly,
"will you have the kindness to inform
me what your name is ?'
She opened her eyes and then laugh
ed.
"Why," she said, "surely you cannot
have forgotten me Little Bess you
know"
Little Bess p repeated.
"Bessie Ludlow" she said gravely.
"Your niece"
"No," said | sadly; mot my niece.
| have no niece :! There has been some
error. My name is Floyd"
"Then,' said she, 'you are my uncle
Mr.. Richard Floyd. l saw the
name on the door, and SO | came in.
Now you remember me don't you 2"
"Sorry to disappoint you, Miss
Ludlow" said I, calmly, but am not
your uncle. You saw the name OF
sR. Flovd' on the door nv namn is