Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1883-06-07
VOL. LVII.
cally inclined. TO her, love in a cot
tage possessed no charms.

couldn't assume any responsibility OF
this arduous nature. Besides, I'm not
fond of children. I'm greatly obliged
to you, I'm sure, but I'd rather not"
Jerome Clay bit his lip.
"Of course" he said, "it is for you
to decide. But if Bessie"
The poetess shrugged her shoulders,
and laughed light, shrill-sounding
cachinnation.
Cousin Jerome" said she, Its just
as well to be frank about these matters.
l wouldn't marry poor man--not if
loved him like Romeo and Juliet. It's
bad enough to scrape along as we do
here, with only half what one requires
TO live on decently. But to plunge
into poverty, with two or three children
belonging to another woman-no, !
thank your
For time, as may easily be perceived,
had eliminated great deal of the
poetical element from Bessie Neely's
soul.
The quondam Undine did not wait
for the question, as far as she was con-
cerned, but added, promptly, that she
quite agreed with her sisters in all
these matters.
Its such pity you didn't stay here
where you were well off, Jerome" said
she, in the pitying, patronizing manner
which your genuine man most abhors.
Dear pa, you know, always disap-
proved of your going South. And you
might have got the situation of agent
to the White Castle place, at eight
hundred year, and cottage found, if
you'd only been here on the spot Pa
used to know the old agent, and could
have recommended your'
Jerome smiled.
white CaStle?" said he. That's
the big house on the hill, where we
children used to peep at the roses and
white grapes through the glass sides of
the great greenhouse. A grand place,
as remember it."
And the position of agent is most
responsible and highly considered
broke in Bessie.
Jcroma Clay wont awo:, fcolins
rather depressed.
1t is not the lot of every man to be
thrice rejected in one evening.
They think l am a failure in life"
said he, half smiling, half signing.
''Well, perhaps they are not wrong.
Peoples ideas differ
Aurilla Haven, the old farmers
daughter, had been wild hoyden of
school girl when Jerome Clay went
South. She was silent, pale woman
of three-and-thirty now, who did the
"tailoress" work of the neighborhood,
and had hard work to get along.
But her dark-brown eyes lighted up
when Mr.. Clay spoke oil his far-off
home, and her cheek glowed scarlet
when Mr.. Sewell chuckled out:
$50 the three old maids wouldn't
have nothing TO say to you? Ha, ha,
har
"Do you blame them?" said Jerome.
"Well, no." confessed the old man.
"Gals naturally want to better them
selves nowadays. If you'd come back
with your pockets full of gold, they'd
sing a different song you'd see.'
Aurilla looked pityingly at Jerome
Clay. She, too, had found life a fail
ure, and in her quiet way did all that
she could to comfort the tall, quiet
man who had hired the spare chamber
in her fathers house for few weeks,
since his cousins had altogether omit
ted to invite him to be their guest at
the old place.
She was not pretty-never had been
but she had sweet, oval face, with
dark-fringed eyes, and a mild, wistful
expression which Jerome Clay liked.
And one day she spoke out what
was in her heart.
"Mr. Clay" she said, II can't help
thinking of those poor, little, mother
less children of yours. If you will
bring them here, I'll take care of them
I always liked children, and it shall
cost you nothing. Father will let me
have the big north bedroom for a
nursery, and their board won't signify.
They can 60 to the public school, and
I'll make their clothes, if you'll buy
the material"
"Aurilla, you are genuine woman"
said Mr.. Clay, earnestly. "None of my
cousins have spoken to me like this"
"Perhaps perhaps they didn't think
of itl' faltered Aurilla.
Possibly" drily remarked Mr..
Clay. "But, Aurilla," gently detain-
ing her hand, "is it of my children
only that you think? Have you no
tender, pitying feeling-the sweet SEN
sation that is akin to love, you know