The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1877-11-08

ShOOoS- hAONl Jul ll1i
business calls you to Europe; the house
is let have an excellent tenant in
view-and with many expressions of re-
gret, we bid farewell to our tiresome
uncle.
"Now, Charles, send me no more
grumbling letters. My programme must
be carried out, and carried with much
discretion, for besides the gift expect
on my twenty-first birthday l shall
receive, as you know, large sum of
money when Uncle Maurice dies, being
his only legal heir.
"Of coure some wretched institutions
for wretched people will come in for
share, but | have every reason to hope |
the greater portion of his wealth will be
mine.
You hint that he may marry again.
No fear of it. He adds extreme con-
stancy to his other humdrum virtues,
and has scarcely looked at another wo-
man, SO friends tell me, since his wife |
died, fifteen years ago.
Indeed he himself told me one even
ing in an unwonted fit of confidence |
| that " his heart was buried in Cecelia's |
grave" or words to that effect. And |
knowing that said heart is safely slowed |
| away under a tombstone, it is rare
satisfaction to me to watch the young I
maids, old maids and widows setting |
their caps at him whenever they can get |
a chance, which is very seldom, and to
see him walking with sublime indiffer-
ence among them, totally unconscious OF
their hopes and fears.
Gone of the old maids, they say, is
really in love with him and has been all
her life, since her childhood's days,
| L l. laI
school together.
"In return for her early affections she
had the honor of being bridesmaid to
later devotion will meet with no return
at all.
"The is Quakeress-Ruth Wilson by
name-one of those timid, low-voiced,
dark-haired, self-sacrifcing women, with
eyes like a COW, that women of the world
cannot tolerate.
81 must say she has never shown in
the slightest way the feeling ascribed to
her in my presence.
"True, she came here when Uncle
Maurice was so sick last summer, and
nursed him through the delirious part of
his fever (and / was very glad to have
her do it, as l was terribly afraid of
infection), but that goes for nothing as
she is fond of playing the part of sister
of charity, and is oftener found at the
bedside of some very ill or dying per-
son than in her own ridiculously snug
cottage.
However, I was careful to have her
90 before Uncle became conscious, and
have taken care ever since that he never
would find out she was here. Not that
/ think there is any more danger in
that quarter than any other for Uncle
, Maurice when they meet which is only
on the children's tea ard cake days,
seems scarcely aware of her presence.
r But, as | said before, in cases like
5 this, one can hardly be too careful.
2 Uncle believes firmly that to the unceas-
ing care and untiring watchfulness of
S his devoted neice he owes his life. May
he continue in that belief!
: And now goodbye. Destroy this
$ letter as soon as read and rely implicitly
t on the judgement and constancy of
: "Your own LUCILLE"
S The gentleman had Just finished read
5 ing these lines when down came the rain
d in torrents, but he deliberately folded
d the paper and placed it in his pocket,
s buttoned his coat across his breast,
y crushed his soft, broad-brimmed hat
s over his eyes and turned about in a
different direction from that which led
e to his home.
n Through the rain, along the muddy
y road, under the wet trees he plodded
), until the tiniest of tiny white cottages
v loomed in sight. A pretty little cottage
r in pleasant tree-shaded lane running
off from the highway until steep green
y hill said: Thou shalt 90 no farther
/ In front, small neat garden where tai
d sunfowers and hollyhocks guarded the
e pathway; Virginia creepers and honey
l. suckles climbed the front porch and
is ran wildly over the gabled roof and Just
N before the door row of many-colored
N four-o' clocks were opening their leaves
y and finging a delicate fragrance upor
g, the air.
l. The shower, which had been growing
IS lighter and lighter, ceased entirely as he
lr entered the garden gate-the birds il
the old pear tree near by began chirpine
N gaily to welcome the returning sun
It and glorious rainbow spanned the
Ii heaven.
l. To the porch of the tiny cottage came
small, slender woman, in gown o1
d silver-gray stuff, with spotless white
e handkerchief abouther neck and crossed
upon her bosom, md a half-knitteo
u stocking1n one thin, white hand.
i With the other hand she pushed bach
: the pretty rings of brown hair that avoulc
# break loose from the dainty white car
e she wore, and looked out with beautiful
e brown eyes at the glowing bow of peace
set in the bright blue skies.
r And then becoming suddenly con
d scious of the dripping figure approach
u ing, she exclaimed, Maurice! And
L how wet thee is, and have no dry gar
0 ments to offer thee"
d Maurice smiled sweet, grave smile
a didn't expect you would have, Ruth, .
: he said, as he ascended the steps anG
t stood beside her: "but shall stay only
e moment, and then walk briskly home
d and L don't think there'Il be any great
h harm DONE"
"Thee'll 90 in and see mother
y surely?
l. "Not to-day, Ruth. 1 came to SCI
e you alone-1hav aquestion to ask you'
n She looked wonderingly at him
Is Ruth," clasping the hand that heid
e the knitting, and thereby unraveline
" ever SO many stitches, is it true thai
o you love meY'
II The sweet eyes dropped and hot
flush rose to the fair face.
h Forgive me if l have asked thee too
y hastily" he added, falling into her own
, mode of speech, "but if thee dost,
e want thee for my wife,
e 81 have loved thee all my life," was
d the clear, low reply.
t Miss Lucille Weston's marriage to he1
IS correspondent, Charles Dessler, took
place much sooner than she had expected
e 1t would, at the residence Through the
3 lntercesslon of her new aunt, sweet
n Mistress Ruth Weston) of her Uncle
e Maurice.
e And as soon as the wedding ceremony
e was concluded the young couple started
e for the home of the bridegroom mother
P in Germany.
d And it was there, while in the midst
r of the festivities consequent on the