, 1882-07-07
JUNE ANDREWS.
BY ALIcE |. McALlLLY.

listlessly | counted the measured
strokes they numbered thirty.
| was wondering over the departed
ones, when the friend whom l was
visiting came into the room.
Her eyes were sufltlsed with tears,
and her face wore an expression OF
strangely mingled grief and satisfac'
ton.
"Was it some friend Of yours,
Cora?' / asked
She answered in the affirmative,
and then unable, to control her emo
ton longer, yielded to her tears.
/ did not ask her, for l knew quite
well that she would tell me all in her
own time, nor was l disappointed.
1t was twilight, and the stars were
coming out one by one, when at last
my friend became calm.
And then, with her voice subdued
and tender, she told me the beautiful
but sad story of her departed friends
life; and l tell it to you in her own
words:
you know, dear, it is just ten
years ago, this month, since we came
to Watson and it was Just such an
evening as this that | first saw June
Andrews. She was out on the lawn
in front of her fathers residence,
sitting in a low rocking-chair, lean
ing carelessly to one side, and rest
ing one shoulder against the back of
it; a fluffy white shawl was draped
gracefully across her shoulders, her
splendid purplish-black hair waved
back from low white forehead, and
coiled into a large knot low on her
neck; her hands were clasped on her
lap, her head bent silently forward,
and her large dark eyes were fixed
with look of wrapt attention upon
the face of a handsome young man
who was lying on the grass at her
feet, reading aloud Longfellow's
'Evangelinen
was only passing by with an
acquaintance, but at the sight of the
beautiful picture they presented, l
paused involuntarily, and gazed at
them.
Neither reader nor listener noticed
me, but to my dying day 1 shall re-
member how June looked that even
ing
My companion touched my arm,
and we passed on.
"Who is that lady?" asked eager
ly.
"June Andrews" she replied with
a voice tender, almost pitying, 1
thought.
"Why do you use that tone in
speaking of such glorious creatures"
I demanded.
She glanced backward at the uncon-
scious pair on the lawn, and then in
scarcely audible tones murmered:
"June is hump-backedp
shall never. forget the thrill of re-
sentiment that passed over me at that
moment, and caused me to say sharp
ly:
"You are joking, Miss Ames."
"No, indeed; | wish to Heaven |
were," she replied.
In the course of a few weeks l be-
came acquainted with June, and we
have been fast friends ever since.
At the time of my first acquaint-
ance with June, her father-a rheu-
matte old soldier-was postmaster in
Watson, but he died soon after, and
June secured the position and has
acted in the capacity of postmistress
ever since, and she has fulfilled her
duties faithfully.
She was well-educated, intelligent.
and we'll read, and could talk huently
upon almost any subject.
Every man, woman and child in
Watson knew and loved her, because
OF her unselfsh, lovable nature, her
unerring judgment of right and
wrong, and her widespread influence
over her many friends.
She was allowed with her quiet
wisdom to settle many disputes and
misunderstanding pleasantly, and
has thus become lovingly termed
'The Peacemaker of Watson"
WHeh L IIIsJ hueW leI SIG was ne
throthed to Harry Brooks, one of
the handsomest, noblest men l ever
knew.
He had received an education at
one of the best colleges in the land,
but was acting as superintendent in
a large flour mill, and was boarding
with June's mother, and it was by be-
ing in intercourse with her, that he
first learned to admire aud respect
June for her quiet intelligence and
womanly unselfshness, and then to
love her for her own sweet sake.
Soon after my friendship with June
began, Harry Brooks became heir to
quite q fortune ard he accordingly
wished her to become his wife at
once.
And then, and not until then. did
she seem to realize the sense of her
bethrothal her face, which had hereto
fore been radiant with happiness, be-
gan To wear a trouhled anyious looI,