American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1880-06-05

Do me this courtesy,
Thou silent rose:
Nobody knows
How the rain comes down
In the town.
james H. Morse, IN Hdrper's for juno.
A SLICE OF BREAD AND BUTTER.
.'Dorothy-Dorothy WALDORF scream
ed Miss Lorinda Cross {" cross by
name and cross by nature" the chill
dren-yes, and many of the grown-ups
of the neighborhood declared her)
as she pounced upon the huge loaf OF
bread which SD had taken from the
oven and put into ,::.e big stone crock
only half an hour ago, just before she
turned her straight-up midtown back
on the kitchen, to stalk to the garnet
after "that idle hussy, Molly'-the
maid-of. all-work -" who had been
twice as long as she ought to have been
making the beds there"
/ said the huge loaf. / should have
said half the huge loaf, for only that
proportion of the newly-baked bread
remained.
dorothy Wal-do-o-o!" again
screamed Miss Cross, in an ascending
scale, with an ominous tremolo on the
last note.
"Yes, aunt" replied a sweet, fresh
young voice; and a pretty young girl
came in from the garden with basket
of cherry-red currants in her hand.
A tiny thing she was, with round,
dimpled. rosy face, innocent chld-iike
blue-gray eyes, and fair hair, some
short tresses of which had escaped from
the braid into which they had been
bound, and were making delightful
use of their freedom by curling in the
most charming manner about the low
frank brow and little pink-tipped ears.
About "sweet SIXTEEN" stranger
would have pronounced her; but Dolly,
as her youthful companions, much to
the disgust of her aunt Lorinda, called
her, was older than that by year and
a half.
An orphan at the age of twelve, she
had been left to the care of the only
relative she knew, her mothers elder
sister-a woman hard in speech and
manners, and anything but soft in
heart. This maiden lady soured irrev-
ocably on her twenty-fourth birthday,
which should have also been her we'd
ding day; but at the very moment she
was fastening the orange blossoms in
betrothed had eloped with the girl
friend she had chosen for her BRIDE
maid. Lorinda tore the bridal wreath
into fragments, and scattered it to the
winds; never mentioned the false pair
from that hour, banished forever all the
womanly grace and tenderness she had
ever possessed (truth to tell, she had
never possessed much), and became the
hardest worker of her sex that ever
worked upon a farm. In a mans boots.
coat and hat, early and late, hot
or cold, wet or dry, with set
mouth, lowering brow and silent
lips, she toiled side by side with her
sturdy old father, until the day he was
struck down by the pitiless sun, and
died few hours Afforded just in
time to be saved the pang of hearing
that his youngest and favorite daugh-
ter was lying at the point of death,
widowed and friendless, in PARKWAY
city. Lorinda buried her father-if
she wept for him, none saw her-pro-
NOTED q man who had been long in his
employment to the position she used
herself to occupy, and started for her
sisters bedside. When she returned
to Fernville again, she brought dear
little, fair-haired, soft-eyed Dorothy
with her, and some of her neighbors
fancied that since that time she had
been q shade less stern; but if she had
been. it was so slight shade that it
was almost impossible to perceive it.
True, she did less out-of-door work,
and devoted part of the time thus saved
to teaching her niece to sew, and cook,
and churn, and other like accomplish
ments; but never were the lessons &C
companied by an approving smile OF
kindly word, much less a loving kiss.
Even to the gentle, winning child, Lo-
rinda Cross remained cold, stern
woman. But Dorothy, God bless her!
was so sunny in disposition that the
stern ways and dark face of her aunt
could not cloud her young life. And
though shut out from that inflexible
woman's heart, she found the doors OF
all other hearts wide open to her. The
dogs, the cats, the hens, the chic kens,
the horses, the cows, the calves, the
very geese, regarded her with adora-
ton The farm laborers blessed her
pretty face whenever she came among
them; and as for Molly-poor, hard
worked Mollv!-she would have kissed
the ground the little feet trod upon.
What wonder, then, that Dan How
ell, the young surveyor, who lived hall
n mile away, in the old stone cottage,
and whom she had known from the
very first day of her arrival in Fern
vile (when he, then a tall, bright-faced
boy of fifteen, passing her aunt's gate,
and seeing the sad-looking little girl
in her black dress, standing by it, ST.
lently offered her the prettiest white
rabbit she had ever seen-a rabbit he
had been coaxipg Abner Brown for a
month past to sell him, and which now
he parted with without another
thought, at sight of those lovely tear.
full eyes and that sweet wistful face)
what wonder, / say, that he ''thought
of heE by day. and dreamed of her by
nightP''
But to go back. Dorothy came smil-
ing into the kitchen, her lips and cheeks
as red as the currants she carried; but
the smile faded away when she met her
aunt's irate gaze.
IBID you cut this loaf and leave il
here in this hot room to dry to a chip?''
demanded Miss Cross; and then she
added, emphatically, without waiting
for an answer: "But of course you did
No one else would have dared to do it
And how dared you, knowing that
never allow bread to be cut in my
house until it is at least a day oldP'
II am very sorry, aunt" began
Dolly; "but he looked so hungryP"
Her screamed her aunt, regard
ing her with look of horror. "Yor
gave it away then! And to he
back some night, rob the house, anC
murder us ALL"
"Please, aunt" entreated the young
Il I<. 10 GrTf .