Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1882-11-24
NO. Az.

ue bo Luuei OF else that we arc lmpOSters, or
! Or"
Impossible" said, more vehemently
perhaps than the occasion required
Il don't know how to begin l mean
Perhaps you don't know the peculiar way papa
keeps his accounts 2"
l was startled at this question. Remember
ing the yellow lozenge in the box, l felt that
could say knew one of Mr.. Dillon's peculiar
ways of paying fees, at any rate but not for
the world would tell this blushing, shy, be-
witohing girl before me the truth.
Il don't presume" began.
"Oh, no. am sure you DON'T was going
to tell you about it. Papa always makes his
confidential man, Baker, put the same change
every morning into his pockets, and in the
evening, when Baker turns out the pockets
he just puts down in book what is missing
and makes up the number of coins the next
morning. He does just the same thing every
morning"
was getting rather puzzled myself now,
and could think of nothing more original to
say than:
Indeed ="
Eyes, it is quite true, or else, YOU see. I
shouldn't have known about it," Here the
vision blushed still more. Baker puts in a
sovereign, half sovereign a crown piece
be finds these rather difficult to get some
times-half a crown, shilling, sixpence, a
fourpenny piece, threepenny piece, a penny,
a halfpenny and farthing"
Rather complicated way of keeping ones
accounts, isn't it that is, complicated for
Baker" | said, feeling it perfectly impossible
to repress smile, though Miss Dillon's sweet
earnest mouth kept so grave.
No, 1t is quite simple when one under
stands, because Baker knows exactly what a
sovereign, half.sovereign, and all the rest,
| comes to- forget what it is. But oh Dr.
Merrifeld, Baker knew we had been yester-
day TO consult a new physician, and yet in
the evening there was only threepenny bit
and tarthing missing SO 1 knew-I mean
Baker knew, and he told me-that papa must
have given you something by mistake. 1t
| wasn't the farthing-I can account for that
and-but was it the threepenny piece, orr"
Pray, dear Miss Dillon, don't distress your
self about such little matter, " l said hastily.
Any time will"
"Yes-but papa thinks he paid you, because
he said he never gave a fee with so much
pleasure; and l almost think he must have
have given you"
Miss Dillon quite gasped, and hastened to
NIL IN the pause, feeling quite troubled at her
evident distress.
| Your father gave me a very good ginger
| lozenge Miss Dillon. 1t was one of those
little mistakes that will occur now and then.
Pray don't make yourself the least uneasy
| about it,"
'How very kind you are" she said. 81
felt sure it must be that and then 1 thought
you would think usimposters and knew you
would be too much of gentleman to mention
It, AL so-do you think 1 was wrong ?-I
came of with Mrs. Brown this morning, feel
| ing that must explain the mistake though
it was SO dreadful. But 1 don't mind, now
that you look SO kind about it. And then,
| would you do me q great favor, DIR. Merri-
Held! Would you mind lot appearing to
know anything about it, or that came-or-
or-anything? Because papa doesn't know
I'm out-he isn't down yet-and lie would be
30 distressed that he might not come again,
aud should be so sorry, as you suit him ex
actly."
Pray don't call it favor" 1 said as grave
ly as could. 81 think you will believe me
when say that, without even knowing your
wishes on the subject, 1 should never have
mentioned he-the-lozenge
Il don't know how to thank you Now l
must 60 Aud then Miss Dillon put that
small gloved hand into her muff and drew it
out again, holding it out to me once more
and this time felt little square bit of paper
in my hand. Somehow our eyes met and in
| spite of the gravity of the occasion we both
laughed, feeling, l am sure, that we should
never again feel afraid of each other.
please DR.. Merrifeld, don't laugh at me-"
Miss Dillon said. 'Is this the right way to
| give fee because 1 must tell you this is the
first time in my life ever had to give one
suppose some day shall be i'll and want a
| doctor, but never have wanted to 20 to one
before And it wasn't for myself this time,
was 1t ? yon will bear me witness-I mean l
hope you won't ever mention it, Good-by.
| Now, Brown, l am ready"
Aud, just as ray of sunshine comes into
| Ona'g glirn 1apaag
place for time, and then suddenly disap-
| pears so Lucia Dillon had come and gone,
| and the noisy four-wheeler carried away my
vision OF fair hair, leaving me with a golden
| sovereign and new shilling wrapped in tiny
half sheet of paper, on the top of which was
stamped the address of their London house.
folded that piece of paper and put it away
in pocketbook with other treasures-such
as my dear mothers first letter to me at school,
and flower that a little girl of seven had
dropped when |, an urchin of nine, was des-
| perately in love with her. 1t contained moth
| ing unworthy to lie next to the paper which
| Lucia Dillon had touched
Later in the day l received a note from Mr.
| Dillon, begging me, if not too much engaged
to come and see him, as he felt quite unwell
Aud if | would do him the great favor of din
ing and spending the evening with him he
| would be very grateful, as he saw so few peo-
| pltt oll hoSOuub VI MS WEctCubu COQSllLuLlOl.
l went, and passed a very happy evening"
which was only the first of many spent in the
| same way that first season. Bot Mr. Dillon
was as good as his word, and from the day of
his first visit my practice slowly but surely in
creased. l had at last got a chance and l
seized it. l worked with double energy be-
cause now had another object besides the
one of making the girls at home proud of me:
| wanted a small fair, blue.eye Lucia to be
| t,rnuH nf ms 10 ha Oil -, 10, . I,. E..
all that was best and noblest in my life. But
she was rich mans only daughter, and l
only struggling physician.
1t was not till WAS free from debt and,
though still far from rich, had good and in
| creasing practice. that at last made up my
mind to ask Lucia to be my wife. And l
should not have had the courage to do it then,
only good for-nothing young aristocrat was
| perpetually coming to the house, and knew
that if Lucia so young and innocent, should
become his wife, her life would be miserable
This, and some small amount of jealousy,
perhaps, made me speak out one day. shall |
| never forget Lucia's face when l had said
| some strong, earnest, passionate words. She
| placed her hand in mind, aud looked up with
her beautiful, truthful eyes, as she half sobbed;
"Oh, do you really mean it? Because,
somehow, thnk l have-loved you ever
! since"
| Ever since you gave me my hrst Zee, my
darling" | said, finishing the sentence for
her, as drew the beautiful head down on my
shoulder, and-well, never mind the rest,
"But, Lucia continued presently, 81 loved
| you the first moment saw YOU so you see
loved you long before you cared for me-"
But Lucia, who is just little mRtter-of-
fact shook her head decidedly and said that
was all nonsense.
There was still the question as to what Mr..
Dillon would say about it, but here the course
of our true love ran smoothly enough. Mr..
Dillon, who still enjoyed his wretched consti-
tuition, was delighted at Lucia's choice, and
said all kinds OF complimentary things about
my rising fame and general good qualities.
Aud so we were married, and the five girls
from home were bridemaids though they soon
afterwards married from our house under Lu-