The New Bloomfield, Pa. times. (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1877-188?, 1880-10-12
Helen's Story.

had wept and dreamed and smiled with
all the fond enthusiasm of born genius
and walking up to the " Langham Ho-
tel,' where Mics Caroline Vane was
staying.
Miss Vane was an authoress-thirty
years of age, with high complexion and
swapping black eyes.
"Ah ~ said Miss Vane graciously--
she was sitting at table with hand
some inkstand before her, pile of books
and papers gracefully scattered around,
and bouquet of flowers close by" you
are the teacher in the dear little rustic
school house in my last novel. I'll send
you copy when it's printed, If you
like"
oh, thank you," said Helen, color
ing and faltering. "But / have come to
ask very, very great favor of you Miss
Vane."
Helen's cheeks grew red as she hesi-
tatingly produced her roll of manu-
script.
"It is this" she faltered. "I-would
you-I know it must seem presumptu-
ous-but have written story, and"
"Oh - said Miss Vane. " Exactly.
And you wish me to read 1t 2''
To read It," said Helen Darrell, "and
If possible, to assist me to some probable
channel of publication"
"That's not 80 easy" said Miss Vane,
frigidly. However, since you have
brought it here, you may leave it.
will glance over it when L find time,
and if it seems suitable send it to some
periodical.
Helen Darrell waited and waited, but
no word came from the brilliant author
ess at the hotel. But at length, one
evening, she met her walking in the
quiet Hornsey lanes. with tall, hand
some gentleman sauntering at her side.
Miss Vane," said she breathlessly.
while the color went and came fitfully
in her cheeks. " Pray excuse me for
interrupting you but did you send that
story ?"
"Of course did," said Caroline im-
patiently. "Didn't 1 promise you 1
would ?''
"Yes know but-was it publish
2"
Respectfully declined,'' said Miss
Vane, struggling her shoulders. II told
you so."
Poor Helen shrank and paled as Miss
Vane turned away nor did she venture
to ask any further questions. She mere
ly turned away and glided into the leafy
umbrage like vanishing Dryad.
A pretty face that" said the gentle
man. "Who is she 2"
"Oh,a little country orotege of mine"
said Caroline with unblushing effront-
cry. Now come on, or we shall be too
late for the little cascade in the woods,
Mr.. Norton"
But Mr. Morton somehow seemed to
have lost all his interest in cascades and
woodland rambles. He declared him
self tired out, melted with heat, tor
mented by gnats. Caroline Vane could
not comprehend him at all.
T. X
Pardon me-but cannot l do some
thing to help assuage this grief ?"
Helen Darrell started up from the fall
en- tree, close to which she had been
crouching, her tear-stained cheeks the
color of scarlet, and her eyes shining
like those of startled deer, as she rec
ognized the gentleman that she had seen
on bour q oo with Mice Uapa
Helen was young and heart sick; Mr..
Morton was gentle and kindly, and
sympathetic, and in five minutes she
had impulsively confessed all her troub-
les.
81 knew it was silly story" she fall
tered, "but-'
Are you quite sure of that?" play
fully demanded Mr.. Morton. Perhaps
1 should be better judge of that than
you youself Do you know that 1 be-
long to the fraternity of editors ?"
"You, sir ?"
He drew magazine from his pocket
eff you do not believe me, Miss Dar-
rell, look at this.n
And he pointed to the name Edwin
Ellery Morton" on the corner.
Your friend, Miss Vane, writes for
us,' he said. "There is story of hers
in this months number-a story that
has created quite sensation in reading
circles. Look! !"
The color vanished from Helen's
cheeks as she read in printed characters
the name of the very story she herself
had dreamed out in wooded solitudes
and along the su nset Glen