St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1880-12-10
A Search for a Situation.

A Search for a Situation.
Martie WOOdbridge-her name was
Martha, but no one called her SOLVED
on the outskirts of a small village.
Her father was q farmer, but not g
prosperous one. Nature, with it's frosts
and drouths, was always getting the
upper hand of him, and the crops he
raised were sure to be those which
brought the lowest price in the mark ct
| The cankerwOrm stripped his apple
trees, and late frost blighted the corn
and oats. He had the misfortune to
| buy COW which introduced the cattle
disease into his farmyaId, and Creamer,
Spotty and Whiteface-the three cows
that always filed their pals the fullest
and made the most golden butter-sick-
ened and died.
This was question which Martie
puzzled over from day to day, coming
at last to the conclusion that she must
try her luck in the big world which she
had seen so little of outside her own
small village. She would go to London,
and if possible find there situation as
governess, in which she could at least
provide for her own support.
Her mother let fall few quiet tears
over the plan, and smiling patiently
through them said: "Ask your father"
Mr.. Woodbridge said no at first but
having laid awake all night over his
difficulty, he called Martie to him, kiss
ed her solemnly, gave a weary sigh,
and with it his consent.
So it came to pass that on a cool,
crisp, October morning, when the woods
were at their brightest autumn flush,
and the frost had stiffened the grass
into little silvery blades and spears,
and made the few pale flowers that lin
gered by the roadside hang their heads,
Martie put on her bravest smile, made
hopeful, comforting little speeches,
kissed them all goodbye at hOme-the
dear old home, so full of joys and trou-
bles-and started for London, to put
into that great, hurrying, driving, jos
Ting market the modest wares she had
to offer.
Martie was eager and full of hope !;
bpt alas how much eagerness and
hopefuluess go down to death every
day in the frantic rush and scramble
for the good things going. Martie, in
the great city, looking for work to do.
seemed like quiet little wren trying
To pick mp Il worm or crumb where
hawks and vultures were snatching for
plunder.
Martie was met the moment she
stepped from the train by an old friend
of the family, who had kindly promised
to receive her at her house, and do
what she could to assist her. The next
day, early in the morning, a modest,
unpretending little advertisement was
sent to one of the daily newspapers
What a stupendous affair it seemed to
Martie, and how her unsophisticated
heart beat at the thought of it I! Nothing
came of it that day, however; and
while she goes out with Mrs. Allen to
do little shopping and stare at few
of the city lions, let us take look at
the quarters she has fallen into.
Mrs. Allen kept small private lodg-
ing house, very select and very genteel.
Its inmates were the learned Professor
Bigwig and family, from whose pres
ence certain literary aroma was sup
posed to pervade the atmosphere; the
brilliant Colonel BOreas, hero-accord-
ing to his own account-of numberless
battles; a rising young lawyer, with
his pretty, blushing girl wife. all fresh
and lovely in her new bridal toilet; a
rich widow and her still richer daugh-
ter, who it was said was soon to become
the helpmate of the clerical member of
the household, the Rev. Paul Appollos,
and Mr.. Raymond, an artist, whose
pictures had won golden praises from
critics and connoisseurs, and golden
riches from purchasers.
Mr.. Raymond was Martie's left-hand
neighbor at the table. With the first
glance at his dark face, iron-gray hair
and mustache, deep-set gray eyes, she
felt inclined to be afraid of him. When
he smiled she liked him better, and
thought the gray eyes looked kind, and
she felt very shy and lonesome among
these strange faces, and was glad to
have him talk little to her, and take
care that she was provided with all she
wanted.
On the second morning after she ar
rived in the city, Martie's advertisement
appeared.
Mrs. Allen sent paper to her room
before she was out of bed, so that al
most as soon as her eyes were open she
had begun to hope, and to be afraid,
and to wonder if out of so many people
who she supposed would come to see
her, if any of them would think well
enough of her to want her services.
Martie was very pains-taking with
her toilet that morning. She wanted to
look her best. She spent twice the usu-
al time over her wavy, gold brown
hair; and when she put on her pretty
gray dress-the gray dress was for
morning, and the black silk for after
noon-and fastened the dainty, spOtless
collar and cuffs, she dallied fully five
minutes over her little stock of ribbons,
trying this one and that, and went
down at last to breakfast, looking to
MIR. RaymOnd's artist eyes, which took
her at Il glance like wild rose lust out
of thicket, with the dewy morning
brightness beaming in her bright eyes,
the pink of rose petals in her cheeks
and soft, warm, shimmering sunbeams
woven into ripple of her brown hair.
How his artist fingers lOnged for can
vass and cOlOrs, to give to his beloved
st. Agnes that beautiful hairi
But the wild rose might as well have
been blooming in her native thicket. In
vain Martie peeped from the front win
dows and held her breath when the
door bell rang. No one came to see the
gray dress that morning.
The black dress Jared better. 1t was
called upon and Martie went down to
the parlor with her heart in her mouth
to meet the grand lady whose carriage
and dashing horses she had watched as
they drew up in splendid style before
the house. But, alasl Martie was not
experienced, and Martie was too young
and, though madam did not say so, too
pretty, for there was a grown-up son in