Weekly Chillicothe crisis. (Chillicothe, Livingston Co., Mo.) 1878-19??, 1881-04-07
A CLERGY MANS LOVE.
Story for Cruel Hearted Aunts with
Orphaned Nieces.

Orphaned Nieces.
"a clergyman hasn't any business to
be a single man." said Mrs. Brushby.
"Why, certainly not" acquiesced Miss
Foxe.
"But 1 dare say he is engaged" slyly
remarked the plump widow, with a
sidelong glance of her green eyes, that
seemed to dilate and contract, like
those of a middle-aged cat, with the
stealthy intensity of her interest.
"No, he's not" 0aid Miss Foxe. "At
least / heard him tell Colonel Copley
that he was entirely fancy free"
"Humph!' said Mrs. Brushby. "Then
there's no reason why he should not
marry and settle here at Exmar."
"Exmar, indeedw said Miss FOxe
who had accepted her own old maiden
hood as a foregOne conclusion, "There's
nobody here for him to marry, only
factory girls, and Colonel Copley's half
dozen daughters, the youngest of whom
is Internationally, to select FROM"
The green eyes scintillated sharply.
"Why shouldn't he marry you or me,
Felicia Foxe?" asked Mrs. Brushby,
suddenly.
Miss Foxe gave a sort of gasp, as if
she had attempted to swallow some
morsel too large for her.
"Why, he amt thirty" she said.
"Neither am l." said Mrs. Brushby.
"Now, Cornela Brushby, there amt
no sort of use coming that game over
me-" said Miss Foxe, fairly aroused at
last into antagonism. "You were eight
and twenty when you married Brush
by, and he's been dead and buried for
these ten good years."
Mrs. Brushby laughed.
"Felicia," said she, 'you are worse
than an old family record. Don't you
see, there's people older than their years
and people who are younger! Pm one
of the latter; and l don't sec why
can't marry Mr.. Selwyn if l once make
up my mind to do So"
So Mrs. Brushby took up the three
pounds of brown yarn that she had
bought at Felicia Foxes thread and
needle store, and went home.
Her niece, tall, pale girl with yel-
low hair, like braids of dead gold, a
transparently pale skin and sad, hazel
eyes, was setting the table.
"How slow you are, Clara~ said
Mrs. Brushby, snappishly; al supposed
of course tea would be all ready by the
time I came back"
81 am sorry for the delay, aunt" re-
piled Clara, timidly, "but l was detain.
ed at the factory. There was extra
work, and
"There, that will do,' interrupted
Mrs. Brushby. 81 do not see why you
need to be finging the factory in my
face all the time. Oh, it's bad enough
to have a niece obliged to drudge fol
her living without hearing of it forty
times day."
The deep scarlet glow mounted int
Clara Cones transparent cheeks.
"I could not pay my board, aunt
she said, "if / did not earn the money
inside the four walls of the factory
But if the subject is disagreeable t
you, will endeavor to avoid it as muct
as possible for the future"
1t is now six months since Clars
Cone had arrived, homeless orphan
with all of her earthly belonging.
packed in a shabby little leather travel
ing bag, at Mrs. Brushby's door, whel
the old stage rolled up the street.
"Aunt," she said, trying to repres
the sob in her throat, twill you give m,
a homer l am your sisters orphan
daughter"
Mrs. Brushby had received her a
cordially as fish might have done.
81 suppose you will have to stay
said Mrs, Brushby, surlily. "But di,
not die and leavea swarm of orphan
for my sister to take care of. Oh, yes
you can stay, and perhaps l can fin,
you situation as dress-maker's ap
prentice or shop girl, somewhere. BE
cause, of course, you cannot expect m
to keep great girl like you for moth
ing"
Upon which Clara bestirred hersel
actively, and had been heartily thank
full to obtain place in the pin factory
in the glen below the village, where
half hundred other pale faced opera
tives worked for scanty livelihood
and Mrs. Brushby charged her a higl
price for board, and got servan
maids work out of her before and afte
hours into the bargain.
81 should like to go to church, aunt,
Clara had ventured to say one Sunda
morning, when the naples in the gle
were all blazing in the autumn colors
and the crisp autumn sunshine turne
the village spires 10 gold
"That's just like your selhshnes.
Clara Conep said Mrs, Brushby, acidl,
"And let me stay athome, for of ,ours
one of us must remain at home to Sc
that we're not robbed by tramps and
cook the dinner
"But could / not go in the evening
lut?'