The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1881-08-12


IA we ali sat in the east window watch
ing the out-coming of the stars anu tell
ing girlish dreams.
"Destiny, my child" answered Katy,
shopping to replace the little boot she
mad thrown Oft to rest her foot.
But you might have been an author
ess, or a painter, or "a bookkeeper,
Or"
Lizzie's knowledge of this world was
rather limited Katy broke in upon her.
"There, that will do. Twas not born
q genius, and hate arithmetic.
But you did not always have towork
for a living. Katy?" said May. "You
are n lady, know"
Katy laughed queer, short laugh.
"Yes," she said, "aLd that's why
don't know how to get nay living IN any
way but this. SO behold me healthy
and honest factory girl"
She rose, made little bow, and
flourish with her small hands, and we all
laughed, although she had said nothing
funny.
chilly" said she, "please light the
lamp and get the magazine, while hunt
up my thimble and thread. Ladies, I
find myself under the necessity of IN nd
ing my gloves this evening Oh, pow
erty where is thy sting? In shabby
glove, do believe, for nothing hurts me
like that unless it be decaying boot.
Katys gloves were n marvel to us.
She never wore any but of good quail
ity, and always the same color--a
brownish neutral tint, that harmonized
IL Int
new pair would seem to be one thing
needful, from the appearance OF the ones
she brought out.
She sat and patiently mended the lit
tie rents, while read aloud; and when
she had finished the gloves looked al
most new.
The next day was Saturday, and we
had half holiday. Katy and went to
make some trifing purchases, and on
our way home stopped at the big board
ing-house TO see one of the gnls who
was ILL.,
When we came out Kate ran across
the street to get a magazine from the
news-shop, and came hurrying up TO
overtake me before L turned the coraer.
She had the magazine open, and one OF
her hands was ungloved but it was not
until we reached home that she found
she had lost gloves. 1t was too late
then to go and look for it. We went and
searched the next morning, but could
not find it.
Katy mourned for it.
at was my only pair, girls" said
she, tragically "and is loss that can
not be repaired"
What people call "panic" had oc-
Cured in financial circles in the spring
after Arthur Craig had lost his Katy,
and almost without days warning he
found himself poor man. He left his
affairs in the hands of his creditors
having satisfied himself that they could
gather enough from the wreck to save
themselves-and set his face to London.
He had been educated for physician,
though fortune made merchant OF
him. Learning from friend that there
was an opening for q doctor Ill Fenwick,
he came thither and began to practice.
DR.. Sewell had gone off on visit,
leaving his patients in charge OF the new
doctor and so it came about that on
that Saturday evening he was on his way
to visit Maggie Lloyd, the sick girl at
the clearinghouse, when just after turn
lug the corner near the news shop, he
saw brown glove lying on the pave
ment. He was about to pass it by but
a mans instinct to pick up anything of
value that seems 10 have no owner, made
him put 1t in his pocket. He forgot all
about it the next minute.
But when he had made his call and
returned to his consulting room, in TAX
ing paper from his pocket the glove
fell out. and he picked it up and looked
at it with idle curiosity.
1t was old, but well-preserved. 1t
had been mended often, but so neatly
as to make him regard mending as one
of the fine arts. 1t had strangely
familiar look to him. Little, and brown,
and shapely, it lay on his knee, bearing
the very form of the hand that had
worn it.
And as he gazed Mt it there came to
him the memory of an hour. many
months past, when he had sat by Katy's
side on the green sofa in the dining
room of "their house" (alas y and
watched her put her small hands ito
pair of brown gloves so much like this
one.
Ever since that never-to-be-forgotten
day, the vision of his lost love, sitting
there in the fading light, slowly draw
ing on her glove, her sweet eyes filling
as they talked-quarreled, we should
say, perhaps-had gone with him as an
abiding memory of her, until he had
come to know each shade of the picture
the color of the dress, the ribbon at
the throat, and the shaded plume in her
hat.
He looked at the little glove long
time. He had thought it might belong
to one of the factory girls, as he found
it near the lodging-house. But it did
not look like "factory hands" glove.
He would ask Maggie Lloyd, at any
rate so he put it carefully in his pocket
until he should made his calls the next
morning.
He had suffered the glove to become
80 associated with the memory of past
that was sacred to him, that he felt his
cheek burn and his hand tremble, as he
drew it forth to show it to Maggie, who
was sitting, in the comfort of GONZALES
| caroa i. on arm chair nv the window