The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1883-05-10

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were even dead. All these things sad
dened him, and the happy boyhood of
three short yearR ago seemed to be cen.
turtles away.
II really do feel awfully DID," he said
70 his cousin Amy, as they sat together
In the dusk, ''Quito patriarchal. must
have known Adam and Noah had been
. personal friend Of Abraham, only I've
forgotten all about them. Everything
here is SO altered, both place and people
seemed changed completely. As re-
member myself three years ago was
rather favorite here, and now NOBODY
seems to remember or take an interest
In me: 1 suppose it is stupid, though
naturai, to expect things as you left
"And do you find me changed? asked
-, "More than anybody or anything
mot disagreeable, hope"
mot disagreeable at all. Quite the
contrary. You were girl when I left
you, and now you are woman, and .
pretty woman, too, Amy"
"Ah," said the girl, with half LAUGH
and half sigh. "you are not changed I
81 am afraid I am, though" answered
John. '"The three years that have made
Q woman of you have made man of me.
One ii. man at three-and-twenty, I
SUPPOSED"
o! suppose 80, -" said Amy, with anoth-
or sigh. "Ah, the dear old days. We
shall never see them again, Jack"
I'VE may see happier, Amy, though
they will be spent apart"
He could not see the panied look up-
on his companion's face as she looked
toward him through the glittering dusk.
and. in his detra:tion, did not notice her
quickened breathing.
"Why should they be spent apart?"
she asked presently. "Could not your
work I've done as well here as in Lon
DOM"
"Quite as we'll. Perhaps better"
'"Then whv not stay? Oh, Jack, don't
refuse. The house and the farm are nv
own now JUNGLE has gone. You know
how WELCOME you are. have more
than can ever want. Mr.. Samson saws
the last years income was over six hum
dred. What can do with all that? Stay
here, Jack, and let us revive old times"
mo, Amy. Don't think me proud or
ungrateful. But must not be a PEN
sioner even on your bounty, and that is
what it would be-"
"Jack," said the girl in a panied tone.
"That is what it would be, Amy; there
is no other word for it. No 1 must 90
back to London and work. I can see
my way to bread and cheese now, and
shall get something better, hope, in q
little time."
The girl rose from her seat and paced
the room.
"Jack," she broke out passionatelv. 81
cannot bear it. When I think of Won
toiling and shaving for bare life in Lon
don while live in comfort here. and
every crust I eat and every thread
wear bought by money that should have
been yours, I feel as il should 90 mad
with shame and anger. 1t is shameful.
What right had your father tn begpar
you to make me rich? can't live here,
and won't. I'll 60 away and work a.
you do"
"You are far too sensible, Amy, I am
sure, to do anything 80 ridiculous. And
whatever may have been my fathers
feelings regarding me, believe he did
the best thing possible in leaving the
farm to you. Nothing but poverty would
ever make me work. am some use in
the world Is it is, and shall be more
some day."
The girl returned to her seat, and was
silent for some little time. Then she
asked:
"Tell me your plans and your life in
London"
"There is not much to toll. Ny plans
are simply to 60 on working till I can
get comfortable living for myself. My
life is happy enough. I have, at least,
10n~ nd k10c <1,n< I>1v H.
works is happier than the man who
shall succeed in it."
"What do you mean by succeed?'
Il think I shall make little name fol
myself and be we'll thought of by my
workers In time, and that shall be able
to lead my own life in my own way"
"Your ambition is more modest than
it used to be, Jack"
EYES," answered Jack with, q sad
smile, "a good deal more modest.
don't know anything better that could
happen to man who suffered under toe
high notion of his own abilities than ia
be thrown on his own resources in Lon.
don press world. One can't turn q cor
ner without coming across a dozen clev-
orer fellows than one'sself. A man who
starts with such ambitions a. had
when started, and who keeps them
after such three years. experience as
have had, is pretty likely, should say,
to be worthy of his own opinion"
Have you many friends in London?''
II believe I have as many friends,
Amy. as any man who ever lived: real
friends, I mean. shall never be able
TO repay the kindness have received
from some of them. They are splendid
49, -
moral, and all of them might be more
industrious; but they could not be more
generous, more helpful, more happy In
their friends success. I believe firmly
Amy, that if you want friendship and ali
the virtues it breeds, you must come t1
Bohemia for them. don't want to dis.
parage respectability. but it does seem
TO me that, directly a man begins to pay
income tax, he loses his sympathies."
II have heard that theory before, ,
said Amy. "But you may find friend
ship outside of Bohemia, Jack. I DOM
that my sympathies have degenerated q
all, although I pav income tax, or q
least Mr.. Sampson pays it for me-"
"You will never be anything but wha
you have always been, Amy-the dear
est girl in the world"
Simple and chivalrous soul as he wa
he could not have conceived more
cruel torment than the tone of voice
and form Of words wherein he spoke
Gratitude and tender regard and playful
attention were all expressed there, and
yet the tears welled up in the girll
heart as she listened, and, but they
we're held resolutely back, would have
dimmed the eyes that regarded theil
idol through the fast gathering gloom
She was silent, fearing to trust hel
voice: and Jack, too, held his peace fol
q little time.
"You were always my confident in
the old time, Amy" he said, presently
"A man must have somebody to tell hfl
secrets to at least. I must and should
like to tell you little story"
She waited. more than ever afraid K
speak, ana he wenton taking her silenct
for consent.
'.You have heard of Mrs: Farnaby, tn.
authorizes? A friend of hers took me t
one OF her evening receptions and in
trQducad me- and sha WAS kind anonnI