The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1881-09-20
NELLIE'S STORY.

NELLIES STORY.
lis the bona tide New Yorker ever
tried, or sick, or sorry! Does he
ever stop"
81 l used to ask nv sister Alice,
day after day, as we took cur drive
10 the park, or sat 1T orr window in
the hotel, where, in truth, l ,:en. the
greater part of my time, idly watch
ing that busy. restless. ever-;ncrea,ing.
eyer-changing crowd. that sarges
through the great city like a mighty
wave, seeming to ingulf and hurry all
bef;,re il.
They tire me 50. these people.
Where do they come from, and where
can they al! be going? And don't You
suppose that, among them ali, III re
mast be few We should like to
know.
Very probably" replied Alice,
laughing, "but how are we to impress
those few with a wish to know us !?
Are we 20 send an advertisement to
the daily papers stating that Two
ladies, possessing many agreeable
qualities, hut very few acquaintances.
wnuli like to enlarge their circle, and
will receive applicants (who must
bring undoubted references Is tn
character and position) at such and
such time? No, Nelly, that would
hardly do. How shall we accomplish
it: am quite ready; to tell the
truth, this hermit life Of ours begins
to worry me just a little. l have
yielded to your wish to be III perfect
seclusion; but can see that the in
spiriting atmosphere of New York
has done YOU good, Nellie, dear, in
spite of yourself; and now, the sooner
We come out of our shell the better.
Let us look around the hotel, though
we should never have the courage to
make any advances to strangers, even
if attracted by their appearance, and.
on the whole, think the matter will
regulate itself. We have been 'alone
in a crowd long enough. now, and !
want to see my little Nellie in her
proper sphere once more"
And then we wandered off into a
discussion, or rather long, rambling
chat, about the kind Of people We
should really like to have.
The daylight died away, and we
looked out at the beautiful city "urder
the gaslight," and speculated afresh
on the probable destinies of the crowd
still tramping under our windows,
and with the evening papers and our
many beloved books We ended the
day.
Ours was a strange position. We
were both comparatively young. Alice
was now Is, and | two years younger.
Without being, by any means. regular
beauties, We were sufficiently good
looking to have been known in our
native town, away down among the
Hampshire hills, rs "the pretty Lang
don girls" We were thoroughly well
educated. Had more money than We
knew what to do with, and We're
absolutely alone in the world. Our
parents and only brother had died
some years before the time of which
l am writing, and Alice was widow.
Poor child! Her story is brief and
sad enough. The man she loved and
married ut Is, proved in every wav
unworthy. and for three miserable
years her young life was a burden to
herself and a cause of ceaseless sorrow
to me, who watched her loveingly, hut
who was powerless to help or comfort
in such a grief as this. At the end
Of three years she was released. A
fall from his horse. while riding home
in state of intoxication, caused the
almost the instant death of her
husband.
After this Alice was anxious to
leave the old house, where there were
so many sad associations; where We
had been happy children, and desolate
orphans, and where my darling Alice
had tasted bitterness worse than
But where should We
60? 1t was at the close Of our short
New England summer that we held
many consultations rs to where we
should pitch our tent. To ne, it was
a matter of utter Indifference, for ut
that time all places were alike to me.
We knew something Of Boston, and
my chief pleasure during the memoir
able winter ! spent there was the rec
election of that first day in the music |
hall. 1t lin more senses than one.
a marked day, for from it dated my |