Connecticut western news., 1883-05-23
VOL. XII.

but added, promptly, that she quite agreed with her sister in all these mat ters.
 ''It's such pity you didn't stay here, where you were well of, Jerome" said she, in the pitying, patronizing manner which your genuine man most abhors. ''Dear pa. you know, always disapproved the situation of agent to the White Cas- tie Place, at eight hundred a year, and cottage found, if you'd only been here on the spot. Pa used to know the old agent, and could have recommended you p
 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 I remember it.''
 Jerome Clay went away feeling rather depressed.
 It is not the lot of every man to be bLI1C0 ESJoCt0u LII OnO OFOh1h $.
 "They think I am 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 8 wild hoydon of schoolgirl when Jerome Clay went South. She was silent, pale woman of thirty now, who did the ''tailoress" work of the neighborhood, and had hard work to get along.
 But her dark-brown eyes lighted ur when MT. Clay spoke of his far-off home, and her cheek glowed scarlet when MT. Sewen chuckled out:
 ssSo the Three Old Maids wouldn't have nothing to say to you? Ha, ha, hap
 tDo 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 different song, you'd see." Aurilla looked pityingly at Jerome Clay. She, too, had found life failure, 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 omitted to invite him to be their guest at the old place.
 She was not pretty-never had been but she had a sweet, oval face, with dark-fringed eyes, and Q mild, wistful expression which Jerome Clay liked. And one day she spoke out what was in her heart.
 "Mr. Clay" she said, 'I can't help thinking of those poor, little, motherless children of yours. If you will bring them here, TU take care of them I al- | ways liked children, and it shall cost you nothing. Father will let me have the big north bedroom for nursery, and their board won't signify. They can go to the public school, and I'll make then clothes, if you'll buy the material
 ''Aurilla, you are genuine woman ? said MT. Clay, earnestly. "None of my cousins have spoken to me like this.'
 "Perhaps-perhaps they didn't thinl of it !" faltered Aurilla.
 Possibly" drily remarked Mir. Clay "But, Aurilla,' gently detaining he hand, "is it of my children only tha you think? Have you no tender, pity ing feeling-the sweet sensation that i akin to love, you know-for mae Au rilla, will you become my wife 9
 And Aurilla did not refuse!
 "Now that you have promised to marr, me, said Jerome Clay, "I will tell yo1 all my plans, Aurilla. I have bought house here"
 "Here, Jerome ?'
 "Yes, here. Will you come with m to look at it ?"
 "Iwill go wherever you wish, Jerome,
 said the bride-elect, in sort of innocen
 bewilderment.
 MT. Clay put her into little carriag at the door, and drove her up the mour
 tain-side, through the huge, stone gate , way at White Castle, to the velvet lawn in front of the colonnaded portico, whe1 : statutes of Ceres and Proserpine stoo I in dazzling marble on either side, and a q antique sun-dial marked the golden foo l steps of the God of Day. e ''It's beautiful place p said Aurill; l, looking admiringly around. "But wh
 are we stopping here, Jerome?" n Because, Aurilla,' he answere n quietly, cit is our home." l. "You mean to tell me, dear," cried u e delighted widow, ''that you've bee g fortunate enough to receive the agency r, I thought MT. Wright-' d "Mr. Wright is the agent still, sa g Clay. "What I mean, is that [ ha'
 bought White Castle and it's ground r, This fine old house is to be your hon 8 henceforward, Aurilla.' le "But, Jerome, I thought you were 7e poor man ?"
 "Did I ever tell you so y he laughingly retorted. "Did I ev s. tell any one so? If the good people
 Elm Mountain choose to believe me l, pauper, is it fair to hold me responsil I for their rash conclusions \ of Aurillal In money, I am rich-ri ot beyond my widest aspirations. E to when first I came to Elm Mountain
 believed myself bankrupt, indeed,
 the sweet coin of love and human Xiii to ness. Sweetheart, it is not so with
 now. 1t was your hand that unlock IS, the gate of happiness to me; it shall