The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1883-06-06

ANNICE.
al can d, Il and / viii ~

straight, round, healthy figure and a singu-
larly combined face-dark skin, dark eyes,
and golden lashes and hair
The tnwny, glitteripg hair, pushed behind
TIE ears and knotted simply, was something
wonderful
But Annice Luther did not know it, else,
think, she might have been pretty we'll
tempted, long before, to have sold it.
They were so poor-the Luthers of Stone
aeld! She was the eldest of the children
The next-a boy-had died in time of great
priyation and hardship. and after him were
swarm of ravenous little ones--Nell and
Kitty, Dick and Jenny, and little Dill
1t is strange that poor people always have
the most children; but their father loved
Them, and toiled for them until he, too, sue.
,umbed to hard winters, much exposure and
spare food, at Stonefield
His grandfather had lived off the place
at least, he had not died until seventy, be-
ing of unusually tough fibre, and less sensi-
live to depression than Richard Luther-aud
the hitter had existed under the delusion
that he could; but Annice, for one. knew
thoh hio thoho WINS hiOW btAFNdllOD.
She would gladly have gone away, but it
would never do for Anniee to leave her wild
owed mother and the little ones.
Yet that morning, standing by the small
PANIED window of the old farm house, in her
thin, gingham dress striking, unconscious
figure, she resolved what she would do
"Mother !"
YES, DEAR" responded the pale little
woman sewing by the scant fire on the open
hearth, with child asleep across her knees.
lis there any flour in the house ?"
"No"
ANY iueal2 ?"
"Not much"
Nor potatoes, nor meat, nor wood, nor
flannel, nor anything to make us comforta-
bic this winter. Mother, dear We can't go
on SO. We shall suffer, be sick. and the
children, perhaps, will die!"
"Oh, Annice, don'ti"
" You know it is true, mother. 1t is No
vember, and the children running barefoot
Benny caught his death that way; and it's
the reason why Jenny has the Group"
The mother was silent; only o tear fell
down on little Dilps silky faxen hair.
" know l help at home, mother; but I
could help more away. You never have
been willing to have mo 60 into the city !;
but Mrs. henderson wants n girl now. Il
is only over the hill, and am going. Lis
ten, motherl" hurriedly. she gives four
dollars week to person capable of doing
the Homework at the Mallows Think what
that would 40 for U.S.
"And yon think You can serve Mrs.. Hen.
derson at the Alallows Z" ineredulonsly
can try, mother
"That great house and farm? And abe
is particular to hair"
Il can try, mother"
No other help; but a score of farm.
hands to be fed, cows to milk, butter to
make. Such baking and securing, and
weshing and ironingl You can never do it.
Annice."
But even as she expostulated, her mother
relaxed her opposition She did think what
the money would do for the little ones for
herself she had long ceased TO care She
lived only in them
and Annice straightway prepared to put her
plan into execution.
Never WAS such house rs Mrs. Hender-
sons. From the garnet, bristling with
punches of drying herbs, sage and saffron,
swept marjoram and summer savory, to the
cellar, packed with fruit, vegetables, meat
In brine and cider in barrels, all was abun-
dance and thrift
The Mallows, as the fertile farm Of the
widow was called, was n world in itself.
For twenty years she had managed all-been
at the beginning and end of everything
prosperity had attended her every footstep.
She exulted in this, and as she had been
unsparing of herself. she was unsparing OF
| othors
a maid-of -all-work at the Mallows must
work very hard, under the ever-vigilant eye
of most exacting mistress. What she her.
self could do, and had done, Mrs. Hender-
son demanded of others. If others faltered
or failed, they were promptly thrust aside,
and she put her own hand to the pillow. She
brewed the best beer and made the best
bread in the neighborhood her butter and
cheese always drew prize at the fair; and
she managed tho best farm, and had raised
the handsomest son in the country
.srad Henderson was cutie es smart and
very much less aggressive than his mother.
His eyes were blue and kindly, while hers
were black and piercing and now that he
was over one-and-twenty, she had deter
mined that be should marry the only daugh.
ter of their rich neighbor, Marcia Kent
Annice saw her when she first went to the
Mallows-a handsome hoydenish girl, just
from boarding-school. Marcia hated school,
and had come home to run about her fathers
farm like colt. But Annice gave little
thought to others-sh was wholly occupied
with her tasks.
So absorbed was she in them, so deter
mined to accomplish all, that even Mrs.
Hendersons sharp scrunity failed to detect
flaw, and she sometimes said. "You do very
we'll"
This scanty mead of praise was all that
frightened the long winter days for Annice.
Up at four in the morning, going back and
forth in the great kitchen until nine at
trance, 80 utterly tired was she.
e You've help after your own heart now
haven't you, mother?
Gerald Henderson said that, one evening,
~ he lighted his bedroom candle.
HIS eyes had been attracted by the gilt
tering, golden braids, as Annice had bent
TO the light, "setting" great batch Of
bread.
The girl had gone out of the great kitchen
now, and they could hear her down cellar,
getting the potatoes for breakfast.
:" She did very well at first A new broom
sweeps Clean" remarked Mrs. Henderson,
serutinzing the ironing of the great piles Of
unbleached sheets, which had been recently
prepared under her swift needle.
! "And now2"
Now she doesn't do near 10 well. There
are wrinkles in this new cloth and the girl
| seemed half asleep YESTERDAY when mirino