Washington standard. [volume] (Olympia, Wash. Territory) 1860-1921, 1876-01-15

white figure up triAe more erect than
usual.
"I think my daughter Eleanor is
quite right" said she: "The Berke-
Inns have always been ladies'. a|
I had sat quite silent, still with my
chin in my hands, during the family
discussion; but now I rose up and came
creeping to Uncle Barnabas' side.
"Well, little Susy," said the old
gentleman, laying his hand kindly on
my waist, what is it p
EFF you please, Uncle Barnabas,"
said I, with as rapidly throbbing heart,
{" would like to take the situation"
"BravoH cried Uncle Barnabas.
"My dear childp' exclaimed my
mother.
iSusannah" uttered Eleanor, in ac-
cents by no means laudatory.
Eyes said I. TWENTY-FIVE dollars
o month is a great deal of money, and I
never was afraid of work. / think I
will go to the old lady, uncle Barnabas.
I'm sure I could. send home twenty
dollars month, at least, to mother and
Eleanor, and then the two weeks, spring
and fall, 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 I tell you? It's Prudence
Mrs. Prudence?" ...... ....
"What q nice name? said I. "I
know l shall like her."
"Well, I think you WILL" said Uncle
Balnabas, looking kindly at me. "And
I think she will like you. Is it o bar
gain for the nine clock train to. morrow
morning?
eyes, ~ answered stoutly, taking
care not to look in the direction of my
mother or Eleanor. ...t
"You're the most sensible of the
lot," said Uncle Barnabas, approvingly
But after he had gone to bed in the
best chamber, where the rufiled pillow
cases were, and the chintz- cushioned
easy chair, the full strength Of the fami-
ly tongue broke on my devoted head.
Il can't help it," quoth I, holding
valiantly to my colors. eve can't
starye. Some of us must do some
thing. And you can live very nicely,
mother, darling, on twenty dollars a
month" .a..5 81 s..
'.That is true" sighed my mother
from behind her black-bordered pocket
handkerchief. "But I never thought
to see daughter of mine going out to
service T. ...
"And Uncle Barnabas isn't going to
do anything for us after all!'' cried out
Eleanor, Indignantly. "Stingy old fell
low! I sould Thick he might at least
adopt one of us! He's as rich as Crn-
sus, and never chick or child"
HE may do as he likes about that"
I answered Independently 81 prefer
to earn my own money" - .s.
IL So. the next morning set out for the
unknown bourne of New York life.
Uncle Barnabas,'' said I, as the
train reached the city, chow shall 1
know where Mrs. Prudence lives?'
"Oh I'll go there with you," said he.
Are you well acquainted with her ?"
I ventured to ask. - If'''
"0h, very we'll indeed!' replied I'm
Gle Barnabas, nodding his head approx
ingly, r r ~
We took q carriage at the depot and
drove through SO many streets that my
head spun around and around like
teetotum, before we stopped at pretty
brown stone mansion--it looked like
palace to my unaccustomed eyes-and
Uncle Barnabas helped me out.
:" Here is where Mrs. Prudence lives,"
he said, with chuckle. at a8.o G
. A neat little maid. with frilled white
apron, and rose -colored ribbons in her
hair, opened the door with courtesy,
and was conducted to an elegant
apartment, all gliding, exotics, and
blue-satin damask, when plump old
lady, dressed in black silk, with the
loveliest Valenciennes lace at her throat
and wrists, came smilingly forward,
like sixty-year-old sunbeam.
t' So you've come back, Barnabas,
have your" said she. And brought
one Of the dear girls with you! Come
and kiss me my dear"
%" Yes, Susy, kiss your aunt" said
Uncle Barnabas, fingins his hat one
way and his gloves another, as he sat
complacently down on the sofa.
Ny aunt ?" I echoed
Why, of course" said the plump
old lady. "Don't you know ? I am
your Aunt Prudence. aG =
f' But ] thought, "lgasped I, in bewil-
derment, " that was coming to sit
uation!"
"Well, SO you are," retorted Uncle
Bainabas. "The situation of adopted
daughter in my family Twenty-Five
dollars month pocket money-the care
| of Aunt Prudence's cat and canary!
| And to make yourself generally useful"
"Oh, Unclel" cried ], Eleanor
would have been SO glad to come il
she had known it" "$ gt vge
| s' Fiddlestrings and little fshes!' il
logically responded my Uncle Barna-
bas. I" I've no patience with girl
that's too fine to work. Eleanor had
| the situation offered her. and she chose