Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1883-09-29

uppermost in the squire's mind-the storyof the
lost daughter Mary, one of the victims Of New
England's scourge. who had faded away three
years before, since when"Miss Harlow had sorter
pined" It was pathetic little story told In the
laconic New England way. but the brown knotty
hands worked unsteadily on the reins and the
sources eyes had PARKWAY look, as though to-
ward the country which held his Mary.
,o presently tty they drove up to comfortable
and wide porch, over which grew q white lilac.
Molly found her mistress q little woman with
| faded gentle eyes, and soft. slow voice She
looked at the girl kindly, and held out her hand.
her where to find things, she added to her hus-
band 'tell John to carry her trunk to the east
chamber" This apparently was something un-
usual, for the squire opened his mouth as
though to say something, but being man of
few words. shut it again, and went out
Molly, following her trunk, found herself in q
small room, with bright rag carpet on the
floor. white curtains looped away at the win
dow. homemade linen towels with knotted
fringe on the little table. an old fashioned chest
of drawers, and low four-posted bed with
valance and patchwork counterpart. The room
was neat. but had an unused look, and Molly
wondered If the tribe Of girls of which
the squire had made mection had marched
through it; but, too tired to think long, she
unpacked her small wardrobe, said her
prayers. and knew nothing more till morning,
when trilling Of birds and ray Of sunshine on
her face woke her to her first day of service a
domestic" While making her simple toilette
she gave many quick chances at the pillows of
apple blossoms under her window, and some
thing born Of the light and fragrance and music
was reflected in her face as she took her way to
the kitchen. The wood and kindlings were near
at hand the fire started off briskly with cheer
full air OF encouragement, and then Molly con-
sidered her bl-of-fare. There was salt mack
erel. eggs. stale bread. the inevitable salt pork
doughnuts and pie and a pan of cream whose
yellow wrinked surface bore testimony to the
squire's Jersey.
THAT mackerel won't be fried" said Molly,
for the course of frying at Widow Jackman 8 had
been severe. The fingers that had measured lace
and ribbon so deftly made short work of getting
breakfast, and the squire coming in from his
strawberry bed with a pan full of ''WilsOns,"
found 1t about ready
But somehow his table had an unfamiliar look
The cloth was on straight. the knives and forks
were laid with mathematical precision, an I'M
wOnted air Of trimness prevailed his familiar
crOCkery, and-there was no pie ON the table.
But there was mackerel baked in cream. and
mashed potatoes and nicely Drowned toast,
and the dOughnuts.
''Miss Harlow don't feel able to come out to
the table this morning, and guess I'll take her
a bite before eat"
And so saying the squire took plate, and
commenced piling things on it in a prOmiscuous
way.
''Oh," said Molly, '.let me do it. have had a
long experience with sick people, They must
be tempted, you know"
She looked up at him with her bright smile
and the squire gave in at once. and watched
with wonder while tray was brought. clean
napkin spread over it, piece Of the mackerel
laid on plate, with the cream ladled dain-
tily over it (Molly had seen too much of
plates where the meat seemed to have been
launched on them by an avalanche of gravy:)
then came little plate of the potato, slice Of
brown toast, little plate of butter, a cupof
coffee, knife, fork, SPOON aetc. Then she
whisked into the pantry. and out again with a
saucer Of strawberries, and added them to the
contents OF the tray.
''Wait minute" she said. as the squire lifted
his burden. and in a twinklins she was out of
the door and back again with a spray of white
lilac, which, in tall glass, was given the place
OF honor in the middle of the tray.
''shO!' said the squire. with his slow smile,
"thatll just suit my wife. She's famous for
having things fXy"
Mrs. Harlow had missed the accustomed smell
OF frying. and wondered in feeble way if Molly
couldn't find the pork.
why. Bethuel" she said, as her husband set
the tray down beside her. chow pretty! really
believe am hungry"
And the squire went back to his own break
fast so happy that he entirely forgot the absence
of the pie.
Well, this was the beginning. and though life
afterward was not all cream and strawberries
anu white lilacs, and though bread would some
times burn and pastry fatty refuse to be flaky
and though unused muscles sometimes
ached with the new work. yet the girl kept
up brave heart. The squire and his wife
were uniformly kind, and the latter. who had
suffered as much from lack of cheerfuf society
as from any physical cause, gradually
grew stronger. and would sit through the
long summer fOrenOOns in the great airy kitchen,
placidly knitting pairing apples, and though
she sometimes looked wstfully after Molly as
she trlpped from pantry to cellar, and lOnged
rlio Oh,
the same way, her heart took great comfort in
this bright, cheerful stranger. And the squire,
hearing the fresh young voice singing about the
house, would give great sigh for the lost voice,
but somehow the old house seemed less lonely
to him. and after awhile his first question would
be. where's Moly3" The plain country So
ciety readily took her in and considered her
high authority in the matter OF 'iooping" OF
overskirts and ''dOing up" Of hair. and at last
no merry-making was complete without Molly
Perry.
Those of you who have followed this story in
expectation Of some absent son or nephew or
younger brother of the family appearing and
taking Molly for wife may as well stop here,
for nothing whatever of the kind happened, for
the squire and his wife had no sons and their
nephews and brothers were all married long be-
fore MOlly's day. 1t is true that some of the
smart young farmers of the region round about
tied their horses occasionally at the squire's
gate, and it is equally true that Molly said No
to some Of them, though they one and all swear
by her.
This story is not written to induce all clerks
and shOp-girls to rush into hOuse-wOrk for not
one in twenty would be capable of doing as
Molly did, and not one in hundred would find
such home: it is written simply to show what
one girl did.
AN ANECDOTE OF AARON BURR.
The RecOlIectiOns Of n Lady who Felt
the Charm Of His Piercing Eyes.
From the st. Louis Republican.
In New York city, a few weeks since. died
Miss TheodOsa Burr Davis. in her seventy-sev-
enth year, only sister Of Col. George T. NJ. Davis
we'll known to some of the older residents of st.
Louis as formerly prominent member of the
Illinois bar. aide-de-camp to Gen. James Shields
In the Mexican war. and in 1S49 81 editor of a
newspaper in this city. Miss Davis was q lady
OF brilliant and highly cultivated intellect, fine
Conversational powers and remarkable energy
Though tried by disappointment and sorrow as
few have been, she retained her viyacity and
wit almost to the last, while by life which was
in most respects one long self-sacrlfice, she won
and kept the esteem and affection of a large cir
Gle Of relatives and friends. Her virtues, how
ever. were so entirely domestic and nrivato that