The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1876-01-22


with little shudder. :" am a true Berke
lin, and | cannot stoop to mental duties"
Uncle Barnabas gave such a prolonged
sniff as to suggest the idea Of very bad
cold in his head, indeed.
Sorry" said he. " Heaven helps those
who help themselves, and you can't expect
me to be any more liberal minded thai
Heaven. Sister Rachel to my mother
what do you say?'
My mother drew her pretty little figure
up tritie more erect than usual.
81 think my daughter Eleanor is quite
right" said she. ''The Berkelins have
always been ladies'
l had sat quite silent, still with my chin
in my hands, during all this family discus,
sion; but now rose up and came creeping
to Uncle Barnabas' side.
"Well, little Susy,'' said the old gentle
man, laying lis hand kindly OF my wrist,
''what is it -
''If you please, Uncle Barnabas," said l,
with rapidly throbbing heart, 81 would
Bravo" cried Uncle Barnabas.
"My Gear child" exclaimed my mother
.SWSunnah' uttered Eleanor, in accents
by no means laudatory.
1es,' said l, twenty five dollars a
month is great deal OF money. and | was
never afraid Of work. think l will go to
the old lady. Uncle Barnabas. I'm sure l
could send home at least twenty dollars a
month to mother and Eleanor, and then the
two weeks, Spring and Fail, would be so
nice. Please, Uncle Barnabas, I'll go back
with you when you go. What is the old
lady's name -
Her name?" said Uncle Barnabas-
Didn't tell you? It's Prudence-Mrs.
Prudence"
"What a nice name, = said I, 81 know I
shall like her.
"Wcl, l think you will, said Uncle
Barnabas, locking kindly at me. "And l
think she will like you. Is it bargain for
the clock train to morrow morning."
eyes, answered, stoutly, taking care
hoI W iooh III INC NittCiiOH VI my IlotiitI
and Eleanor.
You're the most sensible Of the lot,
said Uncle Barnabas, approvngIy
But after he had gone to bed in the best
chamber where the rufiIed pillow cases
were, and the chintz cushioned easy chair.
the full strength Of the family tongue broke
on my devoted head.
g can't help it" quoth |, holding val
iantly to my coors. -" We can't starve.
Some OF us must do something. And You
can live very nicely, mother, darling, on
twenty dollars month"
"That is true sighed my mother, from
behind her black bordered pocket handker-
chief But l never thought to see
daughter OF mine going out toto ser
vice."
s. And Uncle Barnabas isn't going to DO
anything for Us, after all, = cried out Flea
nor, Indignantly. "Stngy old fellow;
should think he might At least adopt one
of US. He's as rich as Crmsus, and never
a chick nor child
LIZ may '!o d. Ht IihtS dDOiJ illGl, /
answered independently, l prefer to earn
my own money.
So the next morning set out for the
unknown bourn Of New York life
Uncle Barnabas, - said |, as the train
reached the city, "how shall l find where
Mrs. Prudence lives?''
ooh, I'll go there with YOU" said he.
Are you well acquainted with her -
ventured to ask.
son, very well indeedr' replied Uncle
Barnahas, nodding his head approving1y.
We took Il carriage at the depot and
drove through SO many streets that my
head spun around and around like a teeto-
tnm, before we stopped at a pretty, brown
stone mansiou-it looked like palace, to
my unaccustomed eyes-and Uncle Barna-
bas helped me out. 'sHere is where Mrs
Prudence lives" said he, with a chucllle.
a neat little maid, with a frilled white
apron and rose colorcd ribbons in her hair,
opened the door with courtesy, and was
conducted into an elegant apartment all
gliding, cxotics and blue satin damask.
when plump old lady, dressed in black
silk, with the lovliest Valcnciennes lace at
her throat and wrists, came smilingly for
ward, like sixty-year old sunbeam.
$50 you've come back, Barnabas, have
you said she. And brought one of the
dear gills with You. Come and kiss me,
my dear"
Eyes, Susy. kiss your aunt" said Uncle
Barnabas, lingering his hat one way and
his gloves another, as he sat complacently
down on the sofa.
"My aunt >" | echoed
"Why, of course" said the plump old
lady "Don't You know I'm your Aunt
Prudence"
But thought gaspod I, in bewilder-
mcnt. "that | was coming to IA situation"
"Wel. SO you are, retorted Uncle Bar
nabas. "The situation of adopted daugh
ter in my family. Twenty five dollars
month pocket money-the care of Aunt
PruGence's cat and canary! And to make
yourself generally usefuln'
"Oh. uncle" cried /, q" Eleanor would
have been so glad to come if she had
known it?''
Fiddlestrings and little fi,hes.' illogi-
cally responded my Uncle Barnabas.-
live no patience with a girl that's too
fine to work. Eleanor had the situation
offered her, and she chose TO decline. You
decided to come, and hele you stay. Ring
the bell, Prue, aud order tea for I'm as
hungry as n hunter, and ! dare say little
Susy here would relish a cup Of tea"'
And this was the way | dlifted into my
luxurious home. Eleanor in the country
cottage cnvies me bitterly, for she has all
the tastes which wealth and l metropolitan
home can crafty. But Uncle Barnabas
will not hear of my exchanging with her.
''No, MANI says he. The girl,l've got
is the girl | mean to keep. Miss Eleanor
is too fine a lady to suit me-
But he lets me send them liberal presents
every month, and so am happy.