St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1881-07-15

life, Katy ?" asked Lizzie, one evening,
as we all sat in the east window,
watching the out-cOming of the stars
and telling girlish dreams.
Destiny, my child y answered Ka-
ty, STOPPING to replace the little boot
she had thrown off to rest her foot.
''But you might have been an au-
thoress, or a painter, or IA book
keeper, Or"
Lizzie's knowledge of this world
was rather limited. Katy broke in
upon her:
'There, that will do. | was not
born IA genius and hate arithmetic"
''But you did not always have to
work for living, Katy ~ said May.
"You are a lady, l know"
Katy laughed a queer, short laugh.
YES" she said, "and that's why
don't know how to get my living in
any way but this. So behold me II
healthy and honest factory girl"
She rose, made little bow, and Il
| flourish with her small hands, and we
all laughed, although she had said
| nothing funny.
"Milly," said she, please light the
lamp, and get the magazines, while
hunt up my thimble and thread. La
dies, find myself under the necessity
of mcnding my gloves this evening.
| Q, poverty where is thy sting In
| il shabby glove | do believe, for moth
ing hurts me like that, unless it he
| decaying boot"
katy's gloves were il marvel to us.
She never wore any but of good quail
ty, and always the same colOr-a
brOwnish, neutral tint that harmOnized
with almost any dress-but just now
new pair would seem to be the one
thing needful, from the appearance of
the ones she brought out.
She sat and patiently mended the
little rents, while | read aloud and
when she had finished, the gloves
looked almost new.
The next day was Saturday, and we
had Il half holiday. Katy and | went
to make some tritiing purchases, and
on our way home stopped ut the big
boarding house, to see one of the girls
who was ill. When we came out, Katy
ran across the street to get il magazine
from the news shop, and came hurry
ing up To overtake me before | turned
the corner. She had the magazine
open, and one of her hands was un-
gloved ; but it was not until we reach
ed home that she found she had lost Il
glove. 1t was too late then to go and
look for it. We went and searched the
next morning, but could not find it.
at was my only pair, girls" said
she, tragically ''and it is loss that
cannot be repaired
CHAPTER III.
What people call ''panic" had oc-
cured in financial circles in the spring
after Arthur Craig had lost his Katy,
and almost without a days warning he
found himself poor man. He left his
affairs in the hands of creditors rs-hav-
ing satisfied himself that they could
gather enough from the wreck to save
thcmselVes-and set his face to Lon
don.
He had been educated for phySi-
elan, though fortune made Il merchant
of him. Learning from friend that
there was an opening for Il doctor i'll
Fcnwick, he came tlither and began
to practice.
Doctor Sewell had gone off on Wis
it, leaving his patients i'll charge of the
new doctor; and so it came about that
on Saturday evening, he was on his
way to visit Maggie Lloyd, the sick
girl at the lodging house, when, just
after turning the corner near the news
shop, he saw brown glove lying on
the pavement. He was about to pass
it by; but a mans instinct to pick up
anything of value that seems to have
no owner, made him put it in his pocll-
at H.,f .,ll nl la
minute.
But when he had made his call and
returned to his consulting room, in
taking 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 mendcd often, but so neatly
as to make him regard mending as one
of the fine arts. 1t had a strangely fa-
miliar look to him. Little and brown,
and shapely, it lay on his knee, bear
ing the very form of the hand that had
worn it.
And as he gazed at it there came to
him the memory of an hour many
months past, when he had sat by Ka-
ty's side on the green sofa in the din
ing room of ''thcir house." (alas y and
watched her put her small hands into
IA pair of brown gloves so much like
this one.
Ever since that ncvcr-to- o-be-forgOt-
ten day, the vision of his lost love sit
ting there in the fading light, slowly
drawing on her glove, her sweet eyes
filling as they talked-quarreled we
should say, perhaps gone with
him as IN abiding memory of her, until
he had come to know each shade of
the picture-the color of the dress, the
ribbon ut the throat, and the shaded
plume on 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 pock-
ct until he should make his calls the
next day.
He had suffered the glove to become
so associated with the memory of
past that was sacred to him that he
felt his check burn and his hand trem-
BILE as he drew it forth to show it to
Maggie, who was sitting in the comfort
of convalcscence, i'll an armchair by
the window. watching the handsome
young doctor write the prescription for
her benefit.
''By the way, Miss Maggie, do you
know whose glove this is
Maggie knew it at once. 1t was Miss
GARDENERS glove.
The name made his heart beat again.
'Is she one of the factory hands ?"
a