Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1883-05-08
was wet, tired and most unsentimentally

Indt because you maven gut iaf
enough in Epictetus, said her sister,
serenely.
Net,ie glanced around at the hanging
shelf Of carefully selected volumes, an
cient and modern. gathered for these two
in years past, by studious fathers low
ing hand and judicious brain.
eve can't eat Greek philosophy. If
we had the original manuscripts, we
might make papyrus soup. I'll tell you
what it is, Flo," she continued, decided
ly, as she put her feet up to warm,
something must happen pretty soon.
My pay wont amount to much this
month, and the next installment to Mr..
Stone falls due on the seventeenth, you
know. Besides, the coal is nearly all
gone"
"Oh, dear Those payments to Mr..
Stone! What do you suppose ever came
Of that money, Nettie !"
eve have asked ourselves that ques-
tion for the last two years, Flo, and we
don't come any nearer to the solution Of
the riddle-whatever we accomplish to-
ward the solution of the debt."
lis it debt, wonder" said Flo
ga legal debt, mean, know it is
moral one, and shall not give up trying
to pay i, as long as can fill brush Or
mop kitchen floor, if it comes to that.
Our literary ventures don't amount to
anything. should rather write stories
and paint pictures than make brushes, |
am sure, and you would rather give dra-
matte readings than be tied down to a
factory bell-but we are evidently not
headed for the temple of fame, and may
as well give up"
Fame" rejoined Ne,tie, "who cares
for the empty bubble It's the money
we want. | wish we had back all we
have spent in postage stamps on the mis-
erable scribblings"
81 suppose it's true as some editors
tell US, in their polite little notes. that
writers seldom accomplish anything of
real literary merit till they are at least
thirty. We don't belong to the fortunate
group of phenomenal geniuses," and Flo
twi,ched away her finished brush from
the wise. with quick, practiced move
ment, and began to spread the table for
their simple supper, in the back part Of
the store. In cold weather they lived in
this room as much as possible, so as to
save fuel.
Ne,,ie toasted her feet luxuriously, and
looked rather admiringly at her pretty
hands lying idly in her lap. Her work
at the factory was by no means det-
rimental to their shapeliness.
"If Mr.. Stone had only been at home
the night father brought the money for
him from Ashfeld, it would have been
all right. Or if father had not had
the stroke before morning" Her lips
quivered and her eyes filled at the men,
ory.
"Nettie," said Flo, solemnly, as she
cut the rye loaf, "we are sure that Mr..
Sackett is an honest man, and he never
would have been said that he sent the
money by father if it hadn't been true"
Why do you emphasize Mr.. Sackett
so strongly Don, you suppose Mr..
Stone is honest too ;"
II don't know anything about it,"
said Flo. People can't always help their
suspicious. Perhaps he was at home that
night"
Nettie laughed incredulously.
Nonsense! Don't you suppose peo-
pie would have found him out before this
if he was a rascal. don't think myself
he's very amiable. Father very likely put
the money in such safe place till morn
ing, that nobody will ever find it, unless
the old homestead should be pulled down
or struck by lightning, and then it will
probably be discovered in some mysteri-
Gus Granny of the floors or walls. Sc
crets come to light in strange ways, some
times"
81 know one thing" said Flo. reso-
lutely, "you and are going to pay back
that money, Nettie Tor the remainder,
seeing that Mr.. Stone took the very house
from over heads), if we have to live on
dry bread and oatmeal for the next TWEEN.
ty years"
(Ah, how easy is prospective heroism
at sixteenD
"We shall be almost old women at
that time, and cross and ugly, as like as
not" said Nettie, taking discontented
bite at her BUTTERFLIES bread. Despite
her buoyant demeanor on the street, she
was more subject to ups and downs than
Flo.