The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1880-12-04
1fnot paid in advance, $l.2j

I
tleman in manner and speech, despite th
exceedingly PLAN clothes he wore.
And Germaine, under the grave, yet half
amused gravity Of his handsome, seriou
eyes, began to think she had display ed
very silly temper. Then she suddenly re
laxed into smile that was like warm sun
shine, making her beautiful eyes flash, anC
the dimples coquet in cheek and chin.
"oh, well--I was so awfully frightened
l du-perfectly- hate dogs'-eyeing uneasi
ly the magnificent creature standing by hi
masters side-"and, besides, | was in sucl
deep thought, and it came go suddenly, anC
yes, am pretty well ashamed of myself
and-I beg your pardon"
The charming naiUete of her manner anr
the graciously sweet honesty OF her words
were simply the essence of relreshment t.
Leonard Bumield, to whom ever since he
could remember, women had been so ex
ceedingly exasperating, uncompromisingly
sweet, and gracious, and fawning, and-yea
eager to please.
"It's bargain. You will forgive me and
am only too happy to pardon you. And
may have the pleasure of knowing your
name ?"
A tinge nf warm color swept over her
face. Then she laughed at him frankly,
looking at him seriously.
"1 would rather not, please. 1t can make
no difference. You-are stranger To me
and l am-quite sure mamma would
rather-not."
lie lifted his cap almost reverently. "You
and your mother are right. Forgive me.
Come, my dog /"
And he smiled, and went on, and Ger
maine, with heart curiously stirred, con-
tinued her solitary walk, but with thoughts
and emotions that for the first time in her
life were new and strangely sweet to her.
While Leonard Burnfeld walked thought
fully on, his face full of radiance that he
never thought could have been called there
by the sight of u woman or her voice.
"The fairest face l ever saw, and the
sweetest, noblest, purest soul looks out ofthe
tender eyes Can it be possible have come
home to fud my fate in the first little coun.
try girl happen to cross And that, too,
when Merryyale has got that magnificent
daughter Of his all cut and dried for the po-
situn Of mistress Of Stonebank |" He laugh
ed, and whistled to the dog, "Come Lion !
It's mile walk back t0 StUnebank, and we
are hungry, aren't we?"
Only eating or drinking, walking or sleep
ing, lie could not get the face OF Gerinaine
De Courcy out of his mind, nor cv VIII, N
the next day, as he sat at the open window
of the Merryvale drawing-pom, hearing
Constance play on her grand piano for his
especial deectation.
as s9ge bdmH9g9Eas dmH9g9Espl please he sail abruptly
80 '.',s'''''--s,-- . s'Tl
And Miss Merrivale looked out, and ele.
waited her nose at an angle unmentionabe.
"oh, that She is the most disagreeable,
impudent little mink to he found for miles
around Do you know, Mr.. Burnfeld, she
had the insolence to refuse To sew for me be-
cause she could not fix her own price? And
they are as poor as church mice, too"
Mr.. Burnfeld looked politely interested
"Indeed? Who is the fumily?"
"The De Courcy's, and the impertinent
little thing plumes herself on her outlandsh
name-Germsine. Horrid, isn't it?"
avery odd, indeed" he said, courteously,
but the name sounded like silver bell to
him-Germaine De Courcy, GermaIne De
Courcy, the old Norman name fitted her as
the odor of lily Of the valley suited its tiny
velvety white bell.
And two hours afterward a mounted
groom delivered at the cottage door an in
vitation to Miss Germaine de Cnurcy tn at
tend the reception at Stonebank. At which
Germaine's eyes fairly danced.
"Isn't il just too delicious for anything,
mamma do wonder how they came to
think Of us-we don't know them-nor
they us. But let's go, mamma. I'll fix up
the black silk, and you can wear your little
bit Of real lace for a cap, and I'll do up my
white dress oh, mamma, I'm just dying to
have good dance once more"
Aud in the pleasant excitement of ?repar
alton, Germaine almost forgot the handsome
stranger and his keen respectful eyes. I'm
til, on the Thursday evening, looking like a
fairy in her white dress, and natural flowers
in her hair and at her fair throat, with her
gentle, delicate mother clinging so proudly
and so afIectionately to her, somebody in-
troduced her to-Mr. Leonard Burnfeld 4,
the heir of stonebank, and the gentleman
she had met on his own premises, whom
she had spoken TO 50 cavalierly, to whom
she would not give her name.
Her face suddenly paled as he came ger
ly to greet her, smiling as he pronounced
her name, and greeting her mother as If she
had been a duchess.
"You sec was not to be thwarted, Miss
de Courcy," he said.
And then he escorted her mother to
quiet, retired place, aud introduced her to
his mother, dear, gentle old lady in silver
pufFs and silver-gray satin.
Tnen he returned to open the ball with
fair Germaine.
One little month afterwards Constance
Merriyale flung a set of wedding cards spite
fully on the floor.
"The audacious little wretch Oh, | could
strangle her. To think, Of all creatures,
Germaine de Courcy should catch Leonard
Burnfeld I"
sand and the Sand-LOts.
Having been one nfIhe few journals in