St. Landry democrat., 1882-02-18
VAL'S VALENTINE.

Miss Valentia Wharnclife was the
name on her new card plate, and she
could not help thinking it looked quite
like the name in novel, whether she
looked like heroine there or not. She
was pretty enough for heroine, though,
if that were alas pretty little piece
of flesh and blood as ever trod the streets
of Boston. And if you challenge me on
that, shall have to ask you if great
startled brown eyes under that tangle of
golden hair, only whose edge was to be
seen beneath the black fox turban hat;
if a straight little nose; exquisitely cut
lips, whose dimpled smile showed teeth
like a row of pearls; a velvet skin, all
snow and blush; pink, soft chin, half
hidden again in the black fox wrap that
hid the round slender shape-if there
was anything but beauty in all that
dazzling combination. For that is pretty
Val Wharnclife as she paused on the
steps of her fathers mansion, and
glanced up and down the street for the
carriage, while absently opening hel
wallet.
She had just come home to her IA
ther, after q ten years. sojourn at her
schools and finishing seminaries, having
seen him only in few of her vacations,
and only just enough to foster an i'm
mense awe and admiration, and an in
tense desire to stand well in his eyes.
He had lost his wife ten years ago, and
had lived abroad most of the time since
then. He was so silent and so grave
that she dared address him none Of her
familiarities, feeling sif he were sitting
in Judgment ON her, and seeing where
she fell short of her dead mothers per-
fections; and yet he was SO gracious, so
handsome, SO learned, so grand in her
eyes, that she simply adored him.
She had on her mothers beautiful
furs now, given long since by rich old
uncle who never gave anything else.
She did not exactly know whether her
father was rich or not; that is, for the
life they led He had made her his
housekeeper, and told her there was ne
.cessity of exercising care in the place;
and she had not quite understood
whether for the sake of economy or for
the sake of making her q good house
keeper; and she was thinking whether
the purchase she was about to make
were quite warranted; and opening her
wallet, had taken out the card and the
hundred-dollar bill just given her for
the party outfit, to put them away more
neatly, when gust Of the sharp Febru-,
ary wind came ruffiing round the corn
err, and snatched it from her fingers,
and whirled it away into the air, and
out of sight, all in an instant. She gave
an Involuntary cry, and darted after it,
but to no purpose--here, there, every
where, it had sailed far over the house
tops, and there an end. She burst into
tears as the horses came prancing to the
door, sent them away, and went back
into the house. -8S q
WHAT under the heavens was she to
do? Tell her fatherp Not for the
world. He would probably never trust
her with another cent. He would nat
orally bring back that horrid old Mrs.
Pynshyn, and put her over her head
agair, for housekeeper. He would new
er look at her without thinking Of her
Indifference to his wishes, of her care
lessness when he had so particularly en-
Joined care upon her. He would say
She was lust child again-she, seven
teen years old-and had bettT put OF
balls and parties and debut till she
was old enough to take care OF the mon
.ev oiyen her to buy gown with. And
ANYWAY she dared not tell him. And
onee ND in her own room, she tore OH
her things, threw herself down, and
cried till eyes and face were swollen
nast recognition, and blazing head
ache took the place of the days expect
ed pleasure.