The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1882-08-18

to lis the larger cultivation and the purer
taste, which taught us how to use oppor-
tunities 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 outcoming of the stars and tell
ing girlsh 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 author
ess, or a painter, or IA bookkeeper,
Or"
Lizzies knowledge of the world was
rather limited. Katy broke in upon
her:
"There, that will do. 1 was not a
born genius, and hate arithmetic.
But you did not always have to work
for living. Katy" said May; "you're
lady, know"
Katy laughed queer, short laugh.
"Yes," she said, q" and that's why I
don't know how to get my living in any
way but this. So behold me healthy
and honest factory girl"
She rose, made little bow, and a
flourish with her small hands, and we all
laughed, although we had said nothing
funny.
"Miliy," said she, "please light the
lamp and get the magazine, whileI hunt
up my needle and thread. Ladies. l find
myself under the necessity of mending
my gloves this evening. Oh, poverty,
where is thy sting In shabby glove,
do believe, for nothing hurts me like
this, unless it be decaying boot"
Katy's gloves were a marvel to us.
She never wore any but of good quality,
and always of the same color-a brown
ish, neutral tint that harmonized with
almost any dress-but just now new
pair seemed to be the one thing needful,
from the appearance of the ones she
brought out.
She sat and patiently mended the little
rents, while read aloud, and when she
had finished the gloves looked almost
new. The next day was Saturday, and
we had lf-holiday. Katy and 1 went
to make some triling purchases, and on
our way home stopped at a big boarding
house to see one of the girls who was
i'll.
When we came out, Katy ran across
the street to get magazine from the
news shop, and came hurrying up to
overtake me before turned the corner.
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 the 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 mourned for it.
1t was my only pair. girls" said she,
tragically, land lisa loss that cannot
be replaced.
What people called "panic" had
occurred in finan cial circles in the spring
after Arthur Craig had lost his Katy,
and almost without warning he found
himself poor man. He left his affairs
in the hands of his creditors, having sat
isfied himself that they could gather
enough out of the wreck to save them
selves-and set his face to London.
He had been educated for physician,
though fortune made merchant of him.
Learning from friend that there was
an opening fer doctor in Fenwick, he
came thither and began to practice.
DIR. Sewell 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 clearinghouse, when, Just after turn
ing the corner near the news shop, he
saw brown glove lying on the pave
ment. He was about 10 pass it by, but
g mans instinct to pick UP anything OF
value that seems to have no owner made
him put it his pocket. He forgot all
about it the next minute.
But when he had made his call and
returned to his consulting-room, in
taking paper from his pocket the glove
fell QUO, and he picked it up and looked
at it with idle curiosity.
1t was old but well preserved. It had
been mended often, but so neatly as to
make him regard mending as one of the
fine arts. 1t had a strangely-familiar
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" (alas)l and
watched her put her small hands into
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 drawing
on her glove, her eyes filling as they
talked-quarreled, we should say, per-
haps-had gone with him as an abiding
memory of her, until he had come to
each shade of the picture-the color of
the dress, the ribbons at the throat and
the shaded plume in her hat.
He looked at the little glove long
time. He had thought it might belong
to one of the factory girls, as he found it
near the lodging house. But it did not
look like factory hands" glove. He
would ask Maggie Lloyd, at any rate.
SO he put it carefully in his pocket until
he should make his calls the next morn
ing.
He had suffered the glove to become
so associated with the memory of the
past that was sacred to him that he felt
his cheek burn and his hand tremble as
he drew it forth to show it to Maggie,
who was sitting in the comfort OF con-
~, ~, arr, chair hu IN tyin-