The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1881-07-28

who '.bobbed up serenelyn just then, 50 he
Harvard Crimson.
THIS HUMDRUM LIFE.
II am SO tired of this humdrum life. .
said pretty Ellen Wentworth. Every dav
the same dull round! I wish something
would happen; don't care what, if it would
bring little excitement"
My child" said her mother, in tone of
mild reproof. How can you talk SOP"
How can II" repled the daughter.
Because think it's very hard on me. hay-
ing to slave in this way at Homework, and
never, or rarely, get any new dresses, while
Helen Somers, who's no better than I am,
and not SO good looking, has dresses from
New York, and doseu't have to work her
fingers off. What have done to have so
different life? It's all because her father
happens to be rich. don't see why was
born, if have to 60 drudging in this way
day in and day out" e.
Il am really shocked, Ellen, to hear YOU
talk SO, said her mother, now Speaking
severely. IT We no doubt, if we knew eyery-
thing, we'd find out that Helen Somers has
her troubles as well as the rest of us.
Probably, just like you, she enyies some
one richer than herself. Perhaps she is
dlscontented because she can't live in Par
is. Everything, my dear, in life is rela-
tive. Content comes from q rightly discip-
lined mind, and has very little, indeed, to
DO with the mere accidents of fortune"
oh, but it's different Helen Somers
don't have to sprinkle and fold clothes, and
mend stocks, and make shirts for her father.
don't believe there was anybody ever had
to drudge as do. i"
Her mother sighed, and was silent for a
moment. Then she resumed: ~
Ellen, don't you think your father, whose
shirts, it seems, you rebel against, has to
drudge also? He is not aclerk from choice.
l assure you-and at his time of life! But
ne was ruined, years ago, by friend-lost
all he had; and has never since been able
to save enough money to go into business
on his own account again. Yet he tolls On
without complaining, and at work that is
particularly distastfnl to him How often
he comes homo at night, utterly Jagged out!
ne has been drudging, too, in this WY,
Tor twenty years. Many time, to my mowl-
edge, he has sacrificed his own comfort in
order that you might have new dress.
Believe me. my dear, there are worse
troubles than wanting new dresses, or
Dc
The tears sprung to Ellen's eyes. She
was not really bad daughter. She sincere
~ loved her father. But she was young,
and her somewhat uneventful existence
often fretted her, as it did to-day.
W hat she would have made we cannot
say, for at that instant there was loud,
hurried knock at the door. There was
something in the knock that made mother
and daughter look at each other with white
faces; and then both started simultaneous
ly for the front entrance.
They shrank back at the scared face that
met them. It was that of son of Mr..
Wentworth's employer, young gentleman
they knew, but slightly. His very presence
there foreboded disaster, and he looked as
II he had some terrible message to deliver.
ne began to speak stammeringly, but be-
1ore ne mad uttered more than word or
Two, the hushed, monotonous tread of men,
as II bearing heavy burden, slowly and
carefully, smote on the ear. With shrek
the wife and mother would have rushed
past him, but he caught her BY the arm and
said hurriedly:
1t is not as bad as you think. Mr..
Wentworth is only hurt. He fell down the
hatchWay. He is not even insensible. Let
us hope for the best"
But Mrs. Wentworth was not to be kent
back. She broke from his grasp, rushed
down the steps, and, in another moment.
was by her husbands side. Ellen made an
effort to follow her, but suddenly eyery-
thing seemed to swim about her. Instinc
lively she stretched out her hands. Tho
next moment she would have fallen to the
ground, if young Mr.. Ewing had not caught
her just in time.
The weeks that followed were anxious
ones. For many days Mr.. Wentworth's
death was daily expected The physicians
feared some inward hurt, and besitated to
mold out even the slightest hope. But for
tunately their representations proved in
correct Mr.. Wentworth's leg was broken:
but that was all; and after week the dan.
ger was past.
But what week it has been for Ellen! |
There was not an hour in which she did not
reproach herself for what she now called |
her wicked words" Half the NIGHT She |
lay weeping Often she was on her knees.
IN the privacy of her chamber, praying, with
sobs and broken articulation, for her
fathers life. Spare him to us, oh. Cod"
she cried, spare him; let him not die for
my fault. It was like the vail of . broken
heart. Her heart would have broken if her
father had died.
She realized not the truth Of what her
1o.uoA Aau SaAu, LuaL Ilore were worse evils l
u life than having to drudge" She wrunp
her hands as she thought Of it. ooh! Z |
would drudge forever, she cried, and be
thankful If only father would get we'll"
When the physicians said, at last. that
here was no serious internal injury, and
hat Mr.. Wentworth, with good nursing
would recover, she flew to her room and on
1er knees, poured out her thanks again and
gain. -.
We might finish our story here. The
moral is told. But sometimes, out of the
teepest sorrow, there blooms, as if to teach
profound lesson, unexpected happiness.
: was SO IN this case. Young Mr.. Ewing
aw much of Ellen during her fathers ill.,
ess. He called daily to inquire after Mr..
Ventworth's condition, aud as Mrs. Went
'orth herself rarely left the sick chamber.
was Ellen that generally came down to
I'M: Subdued and softened by distress.
ne mad never appeared to better advantage; {
'aeed, she had never been as worthy as !