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

III rags anu patcnes, II Is your humble
servant. Idon't pretend not to like
beautiful clothes. I am not such q
deceitfal baggage as to pretend to a
meek and patient endurance Of power
ty. You knowI do fume dreadfully
sometimes but I shall always be
poor. I feel it in my bones: The
fairy fingers never will touch my old
faded calico and change it into silk
and satin" a.: .
II don't believe in your conjuring,"
said Myra, shaking her curls.
Zone can't always look on the
dark side" continued Hepsy, "and sit
owlishly staring into the murk, when
there Is not a star to be seen. Some
times I toss all my frets and worries
and ;botheration into corner, and
begin to see visions, and dream dreams
out Of my old story books. You are
always there, Myra. And the fairy
fingers change you into a beautiful
princess and this shabby old rag of
a carpet grows soft under your feet,
blooming all oyer with roses that one
can fairly smell. with the dew on
them. And the fairy brushes these
ricketty, lame chairs and tables, and
whisks them into rosewood and satin.
This dingy papered wall, with its
hideous blotches and spots, grows to
a high ceiling, hung with mirrors and
pictures; and there is father (bless
his heart y with his easy-chair in the
sunniest corner, looking bland and
happy. A fascinating young prince
stands by your side, Myra, and whis7
pers in your ear, You were born to
riches andgrandepr, sister mine. What
will you do when you come into your
fortune?"
"Well, if you are not the very odd
est girl I ever saw" and Myra look
ed up with a puzzled, childlike ex-
preston. "When I come into my
fortune, I will do like the little boy
in the story-swing on the gate, and
eat bread and molasses all day long.
But 1 want to know where you are,
Hepsy, when all these fine things
come to pass"
mot in the same place with you.
We were born under different planets.
Old Sally used to say 1 was a Satur-
days child, and;;a Saturdays child
must work for hfr living. I see N.Y.
self in a work-rob pm, with other girls
like me, earning my daily bread. 1t
is sober little picture; but still I
am calm, if not happy, as they say in
novels"
"Get along with your old fairy
fingers" cried Myra. 81 would turn
q de~f e--~+ the most insinuating,
handsome young prince in creation,
unless he: brought his bosom friend to
court my little sister,
eff I am ever courted," returned
Hepsy, oracularly, "it will be by a
poor man. But, if he is only noble
and true-hearted and I love him dear
ly 1 shall not care; for
''Tis love, love, love that makes the world 90
round.'"
"Look !! there is the prince, fo1
aught know, at this moment walk.
ing under the village trees with faith.
er and MIR. Marsh
Hepsy picked up her sewing-work
in the skirt Of her dress and ran tc
the window, as did Myra also.
II didn't know before that princes
wore Wide-Awake hats and carried
fishing-rods," said the latter, denure
ly.
"Who is he, child ?"
"Harry Anson,' returned Myra
with little droop Of her white eye
lids. Il met him the other evening
at. Mrs. Granger's tea-party, and h<
told me MI. Marsh was his college
chum. He has come down to hun
and fish for the season. There, the,
are all turning in toward our gate.
wonder what Mr. Anson is coming
here for?"
"Oh, Miss Innocence! Is he rict
prince? If he isn't a rich prince, h
cannot be the man of Destiny"
"How horribly mercenary yeu are
Hepsy. May not l be allowed to MARI,
for love, as we'll as your worshipfu
self?"
Il hope so; for nobody believes i,
love quite as do. But you are such
useless, dependent darling, I dom
know what would become of you
you were to marry a poor man. Poo
mems wives can dispense with beau
ty; but they must have faculty.
you are to beimmolated, dear, I dom
believe this Mr.. 'Anson would prove
grim executioner. Humph, he is dc
cent looking"
decent looking" repeated Myrs
with flirt Of her curls; "the girl
are all wild about him." ..
The old pastor had stopped wit
the two young men by his own gate
in the little footpath that went Zig
tagging and trickling along throug
the elm trees, with their banche
dripping gold in the afternoon sur
shine. The wind was playing wit
his white hair like a baby's waywar
fingers; and there was piteous,. pei
picked look in his face, like the loo
1--we see in the. faces of the blind.
"Mr., Marsh is coming in, too,
said Hepsy, as the gate clicked, afte
the conference in the path had Taste
some minutes. She was bestowin