Weekly Chillicothe crisis. (Chillicothe, Livingston Co., Mo.) 1878-19??, 1881-08-11

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ways had a fresh book or periodical on
her table; and better than this, she
brought to us the larger cultivation and
the purer taste, which taught us how
to use opportunities within our reach.
"What made you take to our style of
life, Katy?" asked Lizzie one evening,
as we all sat in the east window watch
ing the stars and telling girlish dreams.
"Destiny, my child" answered Katy,
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 bookkeep-
er, Or"
Li2zie's knowledge of this world was
rather limited; Katy broke in upon her.
"There, that will do. | was not
born a genius, and l hate arithmetic" )"
"Butyou did not always have to work
for a living. Katy?' said May. "You
are lady, l know"
Katy laughed a queer, short laugh.
"Yes,' she said, "and that's why l
don't know how to get my living in
any way but this. So behold me n
healthy and honest factory girl"
She rose, made Il little bow, and Il
flourish with her small hands, and we
all laughed, although wehad said moth
ing funny.
"NIilly," said she, 'please light the
lamp and get the magazine, while |
hunt up my thimble and thread La
dies, find myself under the necessity
of mending my gloves this evening.
Oh, poverty. where is thy sting? In a
shabby glvoe, do believe, for nothing
hurts me like that, unless it be de-
caying boot"
Katy's gloves were a marvel to us.
She never wore any but of good quail
ty, and always of the same color-a
brOwnsh, neutral tint, that harmOnized
with almost any dress-but just now a
new pair would seem to be the one
thing needful, from the appearance of
the ones she brought out.
The next day was Saturday, and we
had a half-holiday. Katy and | went
TO make some triiling purchases, and
on our way home stopped at big
boarding house to see one Of the girls
who was i'll.
When we came out Katy ran across
the street to get a magazine from the
news shop, and came hurrying up to
Overtake me before turned the cor
ner 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 glove. 1t was
too late then to go and look for it. We
went and searched the next morning,
but could not find it.
Katy moumcd for ii.
at was my only pair, girls she
said, tragically, "and it is Il loss that
cannot be replaced"
What people call a 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 a poor man. He left
his affairs in the hands of creditors
having satisfied himself that they could
gather enough from the wreck to save
themselves-and set his face to Lon.
don
lie had been educated for physi.
clan, though fortune made merchant
of him. Learning from friend that
there was an opening for doctor in
Fenwick, lie came thither and began to
practice.
DR.. Sewel had gone off on a visit,
leaving his patients in charge of the
new doctor; so it came about that on that
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
a 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
Inn put it in his pocket. lie 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 a strangely ia,
miliar 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 at 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" (alasD and
watched her put her small hanns into
Il 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 hat
come to know each shade Of the picture
the color of the dress, the ribbons al
the throat, and the shaded plume il
her hat.
He looked at the little glove a long
time. He had thought it might belong
to one of the factory girls, as he fount
it near the lodging-house. But 1t die
not look like a "factory hands" glove
He would ask Maggie Lloyd at an!
rate; so he put it carefully in his pock
ct until he should make his calls tn,
next morning.
lie had suffered the glove to becom'
so associated with the memory of 6
past that was sacred to him, that HI
felt his cheek burn and his hand trem
BILE, as he drew it forth to show it tt
Maggie, who was sitting, in the com
fort of convalescence, in an armchair
by the window, watching the handsom,
young doctor write the prescription fo
her benefit.
"By the way, Miss Maggie, do yol
know whose glove this is?"
Maggie knew at once. 1t was Mis-
Gardeners glove.
'Miss Gardiner
The name made his heart beat again
SIS she one Of the factory hands ?
Il n i