St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1883-07-27


lips were quivering little, and hel
eyes had a dim, hopeless look, which
moved me sOrely.
Cara, you are not WE'LL | cried
Dear child, you must come with me
1ou shall do exactly as yOu please
YOu shall have n room with north
light and be alone when you like, and
no one shall ask you question. We
will make excursions into the country,
and you shall sketch while | read,
and
"But Cara stopped me with a motion
of her hand. NO, no. she said, Il can
not come. Do not make it harder for
me to refuse by urging me. | must
stay here-there is NO other place for
me-
''Her tone was so decided that | felt
it would be useless to urge her further,
and sadly and reluctantly | left her.
That night came the news of the Sc
we're illness of your mother, my only
sister, accompanied with an entreaty
that | would 90 to her. OF course
went by the first train next morning,
leaving only Il note for Cara, to explain
my sudden departure.
at was the first of August when |
had left the city, but September had
mothers health was sufficiently re-
established to enable me to leave her.
1" Il saw your friend Cara Hastings
to-day,' said one of the family, as we
gathered around the table for the first
meal after my return. Il am afraid the
poor girl is in a bad way. She was al
ways fragile, but now she is shadowy.
She has settled cough and hectic
color. She looked very pretty, but |
should be sorry to see any dear friend
of mine looking pretty in just the same
way .
81 need not say that the next morn
ing found me on my way to Cara's stu
dio. 1t was all true. | knew it as
soon as | looked in her face. She threw
herself into my arms with a little cry
of delight, which changed into Il spasm
of coughing, and | felt the slight form
pant and quiver in my arms.
" Cara dear child, what have you
been doing to yourself, cried in dis
may.
Cara smiled her own bright, cheer
full smile.
- Il have had very hard summer,
she said, but | shall soon be strong
again. Now that it is all over can
tell You about it, but at one time |
really thought that | should never live
to do So
at was not Il romantic story, for
there was no love i'll it, and no tragedy,
save as | plainly foresaw, looking in
my poor Cara's face.
81 suppose | was rather eXtrava-
CANT in the SPRING said Cara, for |
needed good many things, and knew
that the money for Maud Ms lessons
would keep me all summer. Maud
and her mother left town rather sud
denly i'll June, and | did not know
where they had gone. sent my bill
to the house, however, not doubling
that it would be paid ut once. | wait
ed Il month, and in the meantime my
funds ran very low, and | found that
the stricteSt economy was necessary.
Do what | would, however, the money
melted away like water, and at last,
in despair, | resolved to write to DR..
y. 1t was hard thing to do, but |
did it, merely telling him that had
sent III my bill to Mrs. y. at such Il
date, and having heard nothing from
her, feared that it had not been for
warded. 1t seemed to me that life
and death hung upon the answer, yet |
did not really doubt that he would
send the money at once. His answer
came one day while you were with me.
Il remember said, briefly.
There was no money enclosed, as
| had expected continued Cara. 'He
merely informed me that the bills for
Maud's lessons and schooling were al
ways settled by Mrs. "; that the bill
had been duly forwarded to her, and
that, no doubt, she would settle it
promptly upon her return in Septem-
Der. And | had just sixty cents in the
world y
"'My poor Caran cried, what did
you do ?
30? What was there to do ?
said Cara. Fortunately, my rent was
paid for three months in advance, SC
that was sure of shelter, ut least
For the rest, | lived for month upon
that sixty cents. OF course | could
not afford to buy fuel, so bread and
water constituted my entire diet. Two
rolls Il day are not very satisfactory
but it was all | could afford. Tive
cents day will not set Il luxurious ta-
! BILE. Hungry | think | was not Sc
much hungry as weak. The worst o.
all was that could not paint. | haC
not the strength to stand before tn,
easel, and my hand shook so | coulC
not manage the brushes, and, some
times, it really seemed that my mine
wandered. Dear, you must not fee
so badly about it. 1t is all over now.
"For | was crying silently at th'
thought of all that she had suffered
through that horrible summer, an'
still more at the thought that it wa
not all over, that, alas it had just be
gun.
"Oh, Cara! why would you not com'
to me when | begged you 2 | sObbeC
at last.
"'Dear, l could not said Cara, gent
ly. 4 should have felt like a beggar
could not tell you of my straits, an,
could not 20 and live upon you
knowing that was actually paupel
| should have felt ashamed even be
fore your servants. If you will ask m
for a visit now that | have none
enough to make me independent,
= will come but at that time | cOul
mott tried, but, indeed, could not
"Ask her of course | asked hel
knowing well that it was the last thin
| should ever do for her. That month
starvation had done its work, and tn
weakened system fell an easy victir
to the hereditary foe, which might els
+ have been baffied. When Cara LEI
r our house, it was with hands meekl
! folded upon her breast, with the sight
: less eyes veiled by their long, dar
: lashes, and the smile of the triumphan
redeemed upon her pallid lips"
!. Aunt Grace's lips were quiverin
: and her eyes dim with tears as she fiji
. isha1 har story Rose had drnnna6 hf