Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1881-10-08

mother"
"Ah, you sly old gentleman" answered Gus
taking his arm as he did so. what mischief
| are you thinking of that you want to be quit of
me? 1 have just had very long talk with
mother and now am coming to have a long
talk with you.'
The old gentleman was inwardly delighted.
He was immensely proud of this tali. fine, hand
some, happy son, such fine scholar and such o
| nne gentleman, and yet so cOmpanionable.
HIS pride notwithstanding, the old man said:
En-, lad, th'ourt pleasant to me as harvest to
nay-suck" "a hedge-sparrow); ''but don't zee
go 1Or TO vex your mother. Her'H be like dry
brock (water-course) ''wiouten thee yet"
| "What a self-willed old boy it is" said Gus
smiling No. am coming with you. and with
NOBODY else, for have something very particu-
| lar to say to you
WELL lad, we'll 1t makes bright day to me
to have thee; but thee mustn't vex thee
| MOTHER
That's just what I'm afraid shall have to
dc" replied Gus gravely. land that is what
wanted to tell you. You know mother has al
ways intended me to be rector of Elmholt?"
| Eyes. Zartin.''
"Well never shall be. I am not going into
| the Church."
The old man stopped abruptly, and looked
with aWe-struck dismay in his sons face as he
calculated scissors There was whole world
| OF wonderment and horror in the exclamation.
mo, said the young man, 81 cannot do it. 1
nave never thought seriously about the matter
lI quite lately, out. as the Time came near Wnen
l should have to take orders, was obliged to
look it in the face, and am sure am not fitted
| Tor such position. could not take up that
| work as trade, or mere profession. / don't
feel called upon to censure those who do; but
such a course would be utterly hateful to me.
could never respect myself, nor could look
for respect from others. / shall be very sorry to
Vex mother. II it were matter of inclination
only, knowing how her heart is set on it,
think-but one never knows-I think should
have given way and said nothing about my feel
ings: but. as clergyman, should be a con-
scious humbug and hyprocrite, and l won't be
that Tor anybody. wouldn't try to be it even
for YOU"
"What you say is right good. lad," said the
old man with unwonted decision. cts Grub
bin Good to me to hear thee say it. But it'll
Vex your mother more n anything sin I've known
She Her'll be wild about it, Don't thee tell it
| right out, but break it to she bit by bit like
The conversation was earnest and prolonged.
but 1T travelled as is the won't of familiar talk
very much in circle, and did not 90 beyond
what has been indicated, though father and son
varied the form of expression from time to time.
Meanwhile Mrs. Penny had been engaged in a
most interesting tete-a-tete. An old schOOfelOw
| OF hers-nOw widow in comfortable circum-
stances, with married son and two unmarried
daughters had made a call at ElmhOlt Farm.
and Mrs. Penny, who had lately meditated much
ON her sons settlement in life, with charac-
teristic frankness and directness had proposed
| match between him and Mrs. BurrOwe's
daughter. The proposal met with gracious
reception for Gus was decidedly eligible
young man. The living of Elmholt was more
than comfortable, and Mrs. Penny, though not
| stingy, was frugal, and had always lived below
her income; SO that he would inherit from her
no mconslderable property. He was healthy,
goOd-loOking, almost handsome young fellow,
frank and modest, high-spirited and without a
particle OF vice. Any mother might be well
pleased to find such son-in-law and Mrs. Bur-
roWes, who could almost answer for her
daughter. saw no obstacle in the way of the
match, unless it lay in the young mans inclina-
tons. las to that" said Mrs. Penny, 1--WE are
quite safe. Augustus" (she never condescended
to the abbrevation) "has really seen no one,
and he has no foolish romantic notions. more
charming girl than Marion / know he could not
find, and I know we have only to bring the
young folks together. as you and will manage
it, to have everything settled happily-and
sOOn."
Mrs. Penny and Mrs. Burrowes went to work
with gusto, and when Farmer Penny and his son
returned from their walk they were still at it,
But there was an obstacle to the fulfllment of
the scheme even more serious than the anti-cer-
1cal determination of the young man; and of
this even Farmer Penny knew nothing
There had lately come to the farm as a sort of
upper servant. niece of the good farmer. a
bright-eyed, neat-handed. and really bewitching
young woman. If Mrs. Penny had made love
match with her steward, she might have sus-
pected mischief here. But hers had been merely
matter OF convenience of the most prosalc
kind; the possibility of Gus falling in love with
MS 1athers niece Alice had never flashed upon
her, even as remote contingency Nor, in
truth, had it upon the honest old farmer thoUeh
| living much in the kitchen regions he had seen
| them together far more often than the autocrat
| had done, and had listened to and laughed at
their bright wit-cOmbats which she had never
heard.
And the denouement was destined to come
upon them all very suddenly, for Gus. rightly
arguing that his mother would never give her
consent to such match, and that his father.
from whom certainly he anticipated neither op-
position nor dlsapprovai, would unqnestonably
be severely handled if he were made privy to
the scheme, kept his own counsel till he should
be able to say, "We are one till death do us part:
what use are reproaches?"
So just before Alice took her holiday to visit
her friends at ThOrnbury, Gus elected to spend
| week or two with an old college friend at Bris-
to and one morning quiet little wedding party
stepped into the quiet little fashioned church
OF st. John, the Baptist and Augustus Penny, of
Elmholt, and Alice Covington of Thornbury,
man and wife.
On his way to church, Gus had posted long
letter to his mother, explaining his invincble re-
pugnance to the career she had destined for him;
ms determination to be farmer, the rare quail
ties OF the wife he had chosen, and her eminent
ntness to adOrn that sphere of life: his warm
affection for his mother and fathers and the hone
which he and Alice INDUCED that it would be
tneir happiness to minister to the comfort of
both in their declining years. 1t was a good.
honest, sensible letter, but it made Mrs. Penny
furious.
She tore her hair, stamped, screamed. flung
herself on the floor. went into violent MYSTERIES
and then lay for half the day on the sofa, sob.
bling and moaning. Utterly unreasonable it
was, as everyone must see but not unnatural
The cherished purpose of five-and-twenty wears
had been. just as it seemed on the eve of accom-
plishment, irrevocably dashed into ruins. and
the poor lady's desolation of soul was complete.
Her boy, her hope, her one love, passionately
loved under that queer, eccentric, autocratic.
n1an exterior was dead to her. and the
the brightness of life. Presently, like David of
ola, she arose from the earth, and washed, and
amounted herself, and changed her apparel.
and caused bread to be set before her. and she
a1d eas; There was nothing now to weep for,
10 toll Tor, to joy for any longer
Wnen her husband approached her. somewhat
awe1stIuck, with homely words Of comfort, she
repeiied him with fierce scOrn, and imperativeIv
forbade all reference to the subject in the hn,sc
i n0ld; ol No stranger had interneddled with her
JOY; ner bitterness was all her own She went
about her household and farm affairs 90 49,, moa'