The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-08-25
wANTED-A DAUGHTER.


| 1ADuer GTeenlTee III VOICE. lHdb uduS thO
windows rattle in their frames.
And 'eNever" echoed his meek little wife,
| but In so faint tone that it didn't disturb
in the least the fly that was sitting on one of
the pretty white puffs on her dear old head.
"And if you persist in being in love with
the young woman, you must cease to be an
inmate of my house." shouted Mr.. Greentree.
"And if you marry her, by heavens! I'll
scratch you"
Eyes, We'll be obliged to scratch YOU"
added the old lady as mildly as she had
spoken before looking at the same time as
though it would be utterly impossible for
her to scratch any one under any circum-
stances whatever Not that they meant
scratching in the common sense OF the word
scratching the young mans name from his
uncle's will was the punishment they threat
ened.
"And I'll never give you penny" thnn-
dered Uncle Philander.
''Oh, William, think of that.-not even a
penny" said Aunt Tamasn.
"And I'll adopt girl will by heavens"
the old man went on, growing more and
| more angry every minute. NO more I'M
grateful boys for me. And she'll marry to
please us, and her children shall be our
grandchildren"
MY dear boy, consider" entreated the
old lady. '.How dreadful, how very dread
full, for us to have strange grandchildren"
Uncle and aunt suppose | must call
you father and mother no longer" said the
young man, slowly and firmly-'I am truly
sorry to vex you, but l have plighted my
faith to Miss Fieldbrook, and | cannot and
will not break it. She is an actress, but as
Lou fyD1 j,
-sweeter and loveler than any girl it has
been my lot to meet And ii you would only
| allow me to bring her here
Bring her herep' repeated his uncle,
stamping about the room in his rage. Here,
where your MOTHER mean your aunt
Tamasin-has lived in quiet virgin-I mean
quiet, holy-I mean quietness and peace, sir,
for nearly half a century, How dare you
even think of such thing, sir? An actress
capering around these apartments. Good
| heavens'
"'Twouldn't be exactly right William,
you know" said Aunt Tamasin. 81 never
was caperer, and at my time of life don't
think 1 could get used to one. l don't in
deed"
ooh, you dear, funny old mother
auntie-" began viii, with smile, but en-
| countering his uncles wrathful eyes and
| frowning brow, he grew serious again, and
said: WELL if you positively refuse to re-
| ceive Eva, suppose we must part. l am
very, very thankful to you for all you have
done for me since l was left fatherless and
motherless boy; but give up the woman l
| love for a thoroughly unreasonable prejudice
| of yours | cannot and will not. And so
good-by. Uncle will you shake hands with
| me?"
mo, 1 won't" replied Mr.. Greentree,
brusquely.
Aunt will you let me kiss you?"
"Of course l will, my dear boy" said Mrs.
| nd xrnI1 n mil nd
come back to us directly. We start for
Greentree Cottage in few days, you know,
and l shall keep your room ready for you
there all summer"
No, don't, auntie, dear" kissing her not
once, but three or four times 'for shall not
change my mind, and perhaps being one OF
| the prettiest rooms in the house, my room
| may be chosen by your adopted daughter.
| And l hope from the bottom of my heart
] that she may spend as many happy hours
there as [ have. Good by. Good by, faith
uncle"
But Uncle Philander answered not by look
nor word, and as the hall door closed after
| his nephew, he exclaimed again: Gan act
ress! By heavens the boys gone mad, and
l wash my hands of him forever"
Don't say forever" begged Aunt Tama-
sin. "Forevers long tlme-a very long
| time, Philander And oh dear! how | shall
miss him! Such a good child as he has al
| ways been ever since he came to us fifteen
| years ago. Better in some things even than
| you, Philander; for you know you always
| say bad words when l lose my spectacles,
which he never did but looked for them
| time and again with the patience of an
angel" And taking off said spectacles, she
| proceeded to lose them once more by laying
| them on the back of the sofa, whence they
dropped to the floor behind it. where, with
| the dreadful "depravity of inanimate
| things" they remained snugly hidden, while
! she wept silently in her large lemon verbena
| scented silk handkerchief.
A few days after VIII Greentree babe
| them ''good-by" the old couple were in
stalled for the summer season in their
| comfortable country house, Greentree Cot
tage. And to Greentree Cottage came, be-
| fore they had been there week, this note
| from one of their oldest and most intimate
friends:
NEW YORK. June 20, 1882.
My Dear Tamasin and Phander-You told
me, you Will remember, just you were leav-
ing the city. that you would like to receive into
your home this summer some young girl-the
more friendless the better for your purpose
with view should she prove lOvable and en-
| pertaining to adopting her Strange it may
| appear you had not been gone more than two
| hours when met young girl who l think will
| suit you to II charm, She Is pretty, of cheerful
| disposition, tolerably well educated, and natur-
| ally very clever; Is an orphan and (her grand
| mother and only relative, with whom she lived,
| having died three weeks ago. homeless. 1 have
spoken to her about your WISH and she is per-
/ fectly willng-nay, anxious-to come to you.
| Aud I sure her companionship will add to
| your happiness, end help you 10 forget the dis
/ obedience OF your self-willed nephew. Anyhow
| receive her as a summer guest for my sake, for
| loved and lost her mother; thar is, she married
the other chap. Faithfully yours.
JAMES TowNLY.
Mr.. Grcontrees face frightened as he read
this note. There, my dear" he said hand
ing it to his wife, 'Townly-he always was
the best and most reliable cid ehum a fellow
ever had-has already found our daughter
For this girl will certainly please us, being
heartily approved by him, Pretty, clever,
and cheerful"
"Yes so he says" said his wife; "but he
/ raadr,t haua nallnd William hal