Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1880-12-26
BESiEGlNG His HEART

GA clergyman hasn't any business to
be single man, " said Mrs. Brushby.
Certainly not" acquesced Miss
Foxe.
"But I dare say he's engaged" slyly
remarked the plump widow, with side
long glance of her green eyes, which
seemed to dilate and contract, like those
of a middle-aged cat, with the stealthy
intensity of her interest.
'No, he's NOT" said Miss Foxe. cat
least I heard him tell Col. Copley that
he was entirely fancy free
''Humph!'' said Mrs. Brushby. "Then
there's no reason why heshouldn't marry
and settle here at Exmar."
"Exmar, indeed!" said Miss Foxe, who
had accepted her own old maidenhooa
as foregone conclusion. 'There's no.
body here for him to marry--only fac
tory girls and Col. Copley's six daugh-
ters, the youngest of whom is three
and-twenty, to select FROM"
The green eyes scintillated sharply.
"Why shouldn't he marry either you
or me, Felicia Foxe?" asked Mrs.
Brushby.
'|Why, he amt thirty" said she.
Neither am I, said Mrs. Brushby.
"Now, Cornelia Brushby, there amt
no sort of use coming that game over
| me- said Miss Foze, fairly aroused at
last into antagonism. 'sYou were eight
| and twenty when you married Brushby,
and he's been dead and buried these ten
good years"
Mrs Brushbv 1a7ehA6
Felicia" said she, "you're worse
than an old fa1nlt record. Don't YOU
see there's peopleader than their years,
| and people younger2 I am one OF the
latter /: and I-don't sec why I can't mar
| ry Mr.. Selwyn If L once make up my
mind to do So
So Mrs. Br71shby took up the three
pounds of brown yarn that she had been
| buying at Felicia Foxes thread and nee
die store, and went home
Her niece, tall, pale girl, with vel
low hair, like braids Of dead gold, a
transparently- pale skin, and sad hazel
eyes was setting the table.
Chow slow you are, Clara, said Mrs.
Brushby, snappishly. 81 supposed, of
course, tea would be all ready by the
time came back
"I'm sorry for the delay, azant," said
Clara, timidly, GO but was detained at
the factory. There was extra work,
and"
"There, that'l do, interrupted Mrs.
| Brushby. ct don't see why you need
| be finging the factory IN my face all the
time. Oh, it's bad enough to have a
niece obliged to drudge for her living
| without hearing Of it forty times day"
The deep scarlet glow mounted into
Clara Cones transparent checks.
81 could not pay my board, aunt, !"
said she, " If did not earn the money
| within the four walls OF the factory. But
if the subject is disagreeable to you I
| will endeavor to avoid it as much as pos
sible for the future
1t was now six months since Clara
Gone had arrived, homeless orphan,
with all her worldly belongings packed
| IN shabby little leather travelling bag,
| at Mrs. Brushby's door when the even
ing stage rolled up the street
"Aunt," she said, trying to repress
the rising sob III her throat, "will you
give me a home? I am your sisters
orphan daughter %
Mrs. Brushby hadreceived her as cor
daily as fish might have done.
81 suppose you'll have to stay said
Mrs. Brushby, surlily. "But L didn't
die and leave a swarm Of orphans for
| my sister to take care OF. Oh, yes, you
can stay, and perhaps I can find you q
situation as dress-maker's apprentice or
shop girl, somewherel Because, OF
course, one cannot expect me to keep a
| great girl like you for nothing"
Upon which Clara bestirred herself ac-
lively and had been heartily thankful to
obtain place in the pin factory, in the
glen below the village, where half q
hundred other pale-faced operatives
| worked for a scanty livelihood, and Mrs.
Brushby charged her high price for
board, and got a servant maid s work out
of her before and after hours into the
| bargain.
81 should like to go to church, aunt, -
Clara had ventured to say one Sunday
| morning when the naples in the glen
were all blazing in the autumn colors,
and the crisp autumn sunshine turned
the village spires to gold.
"That's just like your selfshness,
Clara Cone T. said Mrs. Brushby, acidly.
"And let me stay at home for, of
course, one of US must remain at home,
to see that we are not robbed by tramps,
| and to cook the dinner
But couldn't I go in the evening,
aunt?"
Certainly not! !" said Mrs. Brushby,
with emphasis. 81 belong to the Re
becca Band, which always meet in the
chapel on Sunday evenings, and Deacon
Halstead calls for me in his box wagon.
| Ii you feel so pioasly Inclined" with a
covert sheer, "you can read your prayer
book at home.".
And SO Clara found herself gradually
degenerating into the merest household
drudge under her cunts iron rule. She