The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1883-07-11

tiny cottage on the outskirts Of the
village, where, after a few months, he
died of broken heart. The money he
had received for his practice and the
Dingle, and an insurance on his life,
was all M had to leave his wife and
children, and invested in the most care
full way, it brought them in less than a
hundred yeal.
Poor Edith found it hard work to
make both ends of sue q narrow in
come meet, and after a few months
she found it absolutely necessary to do
something to earn more money. She
could not 60 away as a governess-
first, because her stepmother had cut
short her education at the most critical
time, and, beside, she could not leave
her little sisters. But her music she
had always kept up, and the village
church happening to be in need of an
organist, the vicar offered her the stu
alton, which she gratefully accepted;
and after a time she secured few
music pupils, and in that way helped
out their narrow income. But the
hardest work of all was teaching and
taking care of Blanche and Eva. They
were pretty, willful, spoiled children,
INDUCED by their mother. and unac'
customed to any sort of control or dis.
cipline. During the doctors lifetime
they had Nursery governess, and
Edith never imagined till she came to
have sole charge Of them how much
poor Miss Lee must have suffered at
their hands.
There was but one bright spot in
the rather wearing, monotonous life,
the daily walk with the children. For
their health's sake and her own she
made point OF taking them out every
fine day for ramble through the
woods and shady lanes. Ashmead was
in the center of a beautiful country :;
not railway in sight no smoke from
furnace or factory stainel the clear,
pure air nothing but rich corn-fe,ds,
fertile valleys, cool shady woods and
messy lanes, with a merry little brook
flashing like CLEAN of summer light
ming through the meadows. 1t was a
positive delight to saunter idly along
in the glorious sunshine and gather the
wild flowers that grew so luXuriantly
at their feet, and weave ropes and
chains and wreaths of blossoms. 1t
seemed like new life to get clear of the
house, with it's narrow confines and
sordid cares and of late there had
come new element of distress into
poor Enith's existence. For n whole
year DR.. Seymour Ashby. her father s
successor, had been constant visitor
at Byzantine cottage. 1t was amazing
how many excuses he found for calling
at first, and how soon he began to call
without an excuse, and one day he pro-
posed in due form to Mrs. Bertram for
Edith, and she gave him every en-
couragement to try his fortune for him
self.
"Of course you'll accept him.
Edith" she said, eagerly. at win be
such blessing to us all. DIR. Ashby
is young, rich, clever, handsome. What
more can you possibly want? And he
really loves you most devotedly."
"But l don't love him." Edith re
Piled.
"Then you ought, and I'm sure you
will in time; and beside, as I said be
fore, some one of us must make a sac
rifce for the children's sake. Dc
think it over before he talks to you
Edith"
"Yes, IL think it over" was the
somewhat weary reply, as Edith put
on her hat and took up her basket tt
Join the children, who were waiting
impatiently outside.
But it was not of DIR. Ashby, but Of
Jack Clifford, that she thought, as she
sauntered through the lields-Jack
who had left her six years before t.
make his fortune, and, despite hi:
promise, had never returned.