The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1876-08-11
I hope they will not drop her fiat all at

hOPt WY hOe eaOP heA aa"s oh at
once"
Drop her9 This was the last thought
likely to occur to the kind young meu
they had no such intent. On the con-
trary, they congratulated themselves up
on the fact that Irene Wolf was not only
just the thing they wanted for their
made belle, but nice sort of q gill, and
q good dancer thrown in.
AS time rolled on, sisterly solicitude
for the ultimate fate of "Backwoods" be-
came extinct. Propitious circumstances
elevated "the poor thing" to 'that
Miss Wolf" Favorite partner of the
dance, abettor of games, receiver of the
prettiest bonbonnieres and the loveliest
flowers, the first t-thought-of-i
for the ride, drive, and walk, the queen
of the picnic, and the belle of the ball.
81 asked Sam Dent" said the beautiful
Miss Ferris, ''what was the charm of
that Miss Wolf. He said it was simply
the .je ne Sair 9uoi' which always at
tracts men, but that women invariably
fail to perceive"
81 always knew" pondered the de-
vout heart of Mamma Wolf, who, with
her beast-of-prey cognomen, reflected
upon the vexed question of "what's in
name" the most ian,6ent possible light
-T always knew that our Irene had
the disposition of an angel; but 1 never
realized before that my child was the
raving beauty find she is"
AS the season advanced, the triumphs
of the made belle lost none of their bril-
liancy. Her success began to reflect
credit upon her makers. Every day she
seemed more lovely, every day more
worthy of preference. For is there a
cosmetic like praise9 Is there a tonic
like smiles9
1t is worth while TO q woman to have
a credulous heart, if only for the beauti-
flying effect of fattery upon her grace
and complexion.
Irene Wolf, in her midsummer expe-
rience, thought that watering place life
was an episode of paradise. But the
serpent always crawls into Eden. And
in Irene's paradise the intruder had, as
in Raphaels picture, woman's face.
Miss Hammond thought it her duty to
confde to Mics Wolf a secret that had
been intrusted by Dick Wilhurst as
something which he considered "too
good to keep" Imagine the delicacy of
the self-imposed act; for the secret was
no other than the fact that the belle of
the season was the creature of joke,
the envied idol of the summer literally
nothing more than ga block of wood or
stone" at whose efficacy the priests of
its worship mocked.
Miss Hammond performed her self
imposed duty without trepidation. If
in the rivalry of the season she had al
lowed herself to feel bitterness, and if
malice lay in her motive, she was not re-
warded by the effect upon her victim of
her astounding revelation. In listening
to the humiliating tale, given in strict
confidence and without suppression ofany
stinging detail, Irene remained calm, of
fering no interruption or exclamation.
Her heart, indeed, beat violently, her
color went and came. When the whole
story was ended, she pondered a minute,
and said:
"Do you believe this, Miss Hammond9
1 hardly can. [ think these gentlemen
these friends of yours-are too we'll
bred to have placed girl, an unoffend-
ing stranger, in such an ignominious po-
sition. No! Do not trouble yourself
dDOuU tlllS SUOry. lecl SURF tucSc luch
have better hearts"
But, oh, the storm that swept over that
barred bit of palpitating mechanism, the
woman's heart, in the darkness of the
night. The pain, the tantalizing tor
ment, the bewildering doubt. Could it
be true2 Let the careful memory, the
calm Judgment, take up the facts. Alas,
the story was not without its corrobora-
ting proofs
The first night of anguish that sweeps
across the pillow of young girl robs it
forever of all the white roses of which
girls pillows are made. Thenceforth
the softest is but rufied linen in which
the head rests.
In the morning Irene awoke-for at
dawn she caught one miserable half
hours sleep-awoke for the first morn
ing of her life upon flat, stale, unproft-
able world.
What pleasure was there to made
belle in fixingh er blonde hair at the glass 2
The first thought of the child had been
this: "Oh, how l wish L could tell
mother - But she reasoned with her.
self, "No, it is better 1 should bear it
myself. And father, dear father, how he
would resent this cruelty how much he
loves his poor little girl He must
never, never, never know"
The evening after Mis- Hammond's du-
tiful act Irene was beautiful--really beau
tiful for the first and, perhaps, for the
last time in her life. She came down into
the drawing-room arrayed in an excellent
Paris dress; for her mother, whose ma
ternal instinct had been aroused to the
perception that Irene's costumes were
not the style of those worn by her com.
panions, had purchased for her darling,
at an immoderate cost, from one of those
| fashionable modistes who follow in the
wake of the summer-faring gay world
the very last importation of draperied
grace.
irene came down into the drawing
room attired like little princess but it
was not that which made every eye dis
cover she was beauty at last. It was
the hectic rose-leaf on her cheek, the
scarlet of her lips, the violet shadow
about her eyes, the mystical shadow
upon young eyelids that grief has at last
kissed it was the kindled excitement of
conflicting pain and pride, the quick
flame that made her gentle, fawn-colored
/ axoa ah;na otaa1 and cold GOLD and steel