The Portland daily press., 1880-04-19
THE PRESS.
Miss Bertha's Valentine.
TTIarper'S BaZar.1

earth she would do if her eyes and health
should fail her, and pitied her in that easy
going way which subtracts nothing from the
pocket, but leaves a residue of self-satisfac-
ton in the conscience, while they paid as lit
tie for her services as they could help. But
Miss Bertha never grumbled; she put as
many stitches and as much eye-sight into the
fine sewing as if she had been paid ducat
for every stitch. 1t was her way never to
slight anything But sewing was not the
only occupation in which she excelled. If
any poor struggling mother with little chill
dren toddling about her fell ill, Miss Bertha
quilted her needle into her cushion and
stepped into the breach; when watchers
failed, Miss Bertha came to the front; and
when the smallpox visited the little seaport
of Great Harrington, it was she who went
about from house to house, giving draughts
and doses, comforting the dying and max
ing the last CHASTITY toilet for the dead.
''What does it matter to me?'' she said,
when someone expostulated at the risk,
'Theres nobody in the wide world to mind
whether live or die, and as for disfgure-
ment-law! left off caring for my good
looks, such as they were, twenty years ago.
as any of you about being marked and losing
my complexion, but it doesn't signify in the
least now. If l were ugly as a nightmare
folks would give me their sewing to do just
the same. suppose"
''Oh, but should hate to be so disfgured
that Sam wouldn't like to look at meP' said
Sue Blair, all pink and white, and eighteen,
with the world before her.
Il dare say; but there's no Sam 10 care
whether Pm fright or not" and Miss Ber-
tina drew in her breath with quick gasp, as
if the fact hurt her.
You don't know, Miss Bertha" laughed
giddy Sue; "your Sam may be on the road
to you"
"a precious long road.''
N"Why, Aunt Janet was old as the hills
before she married Uncle ARENAS, and Par
son Chapells second wife was no chicken.
Everybody has chances, they say.'
"Yes, l suppose everybody has chances !;
but some If them are mighty small-hardly
worth calculating" she returned.
Miss Bertha, to be sure, never accepted
anything but thanks for these services in the
sick room; indeed, few dreamed of offering
any remuneration. One might have sup
posed that the universe had provided her for
their benefit. along with seed-time and har
vest, the common air, and other common
blessings for which nobody was expected to
render any return other than to make use of
them. Her neighbors staid at home, sitting
with burned birthstone and camphorated
atmosphere, and yet caught the infection,
while she walked abroad in the thick of it,
Sinking nothing, and came out, like those
holy men from the fiery furnace, unscathed,
yet more or less reduced in finances. She
was cheerful body, and doubtless sent to
carry warmth and healing into the sick room.
But Miss Bertha had not always been old
and useful and thoughtful for others.
"You must have been pretty once" that
needless chatterer, Sue Blair, had said to
her one day.
What makes you think sop asked Miss
Bertha, lifting her faded eyes to the mirror.
1T is like tracing the existence of the ex-
tinct megatherium from footprint in the
rock"
But Sue spoke truly. Bertha had been
fair in her day; the hair that was white as
new-fallen snow had once been brown and
bonny; the eyes which to-day were sunken
and pale, had looked out like lucent beryls
from under dark lashes; time and toll and
trouble had robbed the satin skin of it's fine
texture, and scanned it with many a line:
little OF youth remained to her but heart
alive to generous impulses, and the color
that still burned in her cheeks in spite of
the frosts of her forty-odd winters. Yes.
Miss Bertha had had her heyday Miss John
son, the squire's daughter, who lived in the
finest house in Great Harrington, and wore
silks that could stand alone and sable cloaks
reaching to her heels, who ate off French
china every day, and had never known what
it was to suffer from hunger, cold or fatigue,
who had never had a sorrow or a lover
even she might have envied poor Miss Ber-
tina those halcyon days when Angus Aiken
loved her, when they walked together in the
moonlit gardens in their English home, and
sat beside the fountains, and listened to the
silvery monotone, like some sad and gentle
voice complaining. No doubt Miss johnson
would have bartered all her dry-goods and
imported finery for an experience as rich as
this of her elderly seamstress, about whom
no romance seemed to inger. To be sure
everybody in Great Harrington knew that
after the visitation of the smallpox Parson
Chapel had invited Miss Bertha to share his
temporal blessings, which consisted of
small salary and four mischievous bows with
torn jackets and dirty faces.
1.-The parsOn wanted housekeeper," the
neighbors agreed. "Of course man of his
age don't fall in love like boy-with an old
maid, too! Seems as though she must have
thought he'd ask again-with house all car
peted from garnet to cellar, and the gentry
IN his gates, 50 to speak! I wonder what
Miss Bertha expects-at her time of life, too
when offers OF marriage aren't as plenty as
Wrinkles
But Miss Bertha expected nothing. There
was that in her history which she would not
exchange for the kingdoms of the eai tn and
the glory thereof; the dust of twenty wears
had in nowise furnished the brightness of it.
She had her anniversaries which no one
reckoned but herself; delicious anniversa-
ries OF half guessed happiness; days full of
sunshine and the music of the spheres; dark
and cruel days, when the clouds that threat
ened showed no silver Innings. On such
morning, so many years ago, Angus and
she bad gone out to gather spring flowers,
aud the. wood had been full of spicy odors,
and the pale blood-root was waiting for
them, its petals all on tiptoe; at such anoth-
er date they listened to the nightingaie's
futing, while the stars stole out as if to
listen with them, and the new moon hung
golden bow low in the heavens, and she had
asked, ''Do you never wish by the new
swered; shut l shall tonight; l shall wish
that yon may love me forever and ever"
And then he had kissed her, and ':the night
ingale kept futing." There was that day in
June which should have been their wedding
day; and the time when he kissed her last
under the golden laburnum tree; and then
that dreadful morning when her father
came home, black as a thunder cloud. and
swore she should never marry the son of the
man who had ruined him, who had robbed
him OF the invention into the perfection of
which he had put all his money, his hopes
and his energies for years. Bertha had re-
fused to renounce her lover on accounted
her fathers wrong; there had followed
scene; then her father had seemed to soften,
and travelled to London with her to talk the
matter over with a lawyer. She had been
glad enough to go, for was not Angus some
where in the great throng of London at his
work? Would she not be sure to meet him?
But the day after they reached the big noisy
city her father had taken her out and on
board a ship, sightseeing; and suddenly,
while she looked and listened and wondered
and talked with the Captain-who was in
the secret-suddenly the shore, the masts,
the steeples began to recede, and they were
standing out to sea. bound for America.
Oh, what long and hateful voyage it was!
how she longed for the sight of Angus, to
say just one parting word, to tell him it was
no fault of hers, and she should love him
forever and ever! What terrible days they
were which carried her farther and farther
from England! The fine weather seemed
wasted without Angus. When storms bore
down upon them she only shivered az the |
thought of dying apart from him. But as
they drew near the New World, her father. |
weakened by a long and useless struggle
with fortune, and broken utterly by this |
"unkindest cut" gave mp the contest and |
Law down to die