The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1883-08-24
IN SPITE OF HERSELF.
BY HILDA.

me, Just say so, and L Will pack my
trunk yet tonight, and go to Aunt
Bafbars's." And the glow deepened
on Ethel Deans face; her brown eyes
grew almost black, with little smolder-
ing CLEANS of fire shining in their
depths. She had been given into Uncle
Morton's care at the early age of B
years, and, in all the eighteen years
that she had lived with him, he had
never beheld her in such passion.
The good old man was frightened,
both at the girls anger and at her
threat of leaving the old homestead.
well well Ethel, child, don't get so
angry. OF course you needn't marry
Randall Whitney unless you choose,
for there is no compulsion about the
matter, at all; L only mentioned that
he expected to pay lis visit this sum-
mer, and that should like to have you
treat him civilly. L am sorry if 1 said
any thing to hurt your feelings, Ethel"
said Mr.. Morton, walking nervously up
and down the broad piazza of the Nor
ton farmhouse.
81 am not angry with you, uncle, but
L have grown tired of hearing Randall
Whitney's name; and if he is coming
here this summer, you can hire Dorathy
Mason, and will go to Aunt Barbara's
while he is here. have been wanting
to visit her for some time, and this will
be good chance"
Uncle Morton paused in his walk.
and looked down at the young girl as
she sat on the steps pulling rose to
pieces. leaf by leaf, and very pretty
picture she made. The clambering
rose-bush, with its wealth of foliage
and its buds just bursting into bloom,
formed pleasing background for the
fresh, sweet face, with the frank brown
eyes and waving masses of lustrous
brown hair.
"Why, Ethel, how can L spare you
just now ?" cried her uncle, in real dis
tress, with the harvest just coming
on, the summers fruit to look after,
and the dairy to be taken care of! Not
now, Ethel, not now. / will write to
him not to come until fall; will that
do?"
Ethel laughed outright
"You dear old uncle 1t is q shame
that you cannot invite who you please
to your own house; but do so much
want to have the house without visitors
this summer"
"Well, grille. have it as you please.
1 will write to Randall this very even
ing not to come until fall Bless me
We can't have you going off to Aunt
Burbara's now. No, indeed" And
busting into the house, Uncle Morton
called tor lamp, and Immediately set
about writing letter to Randall Whit
ney. A glimpse of the old gentleman's
letter to the son of his old college
sriend will explain the situation of af-
fairs as well, or perhaps better than
anything we could say.
My DEAR RANDALL: 1 had anticipated
great deal OF pleasure from the visit you
promised 60 make us this summer Though
your father and were sucn warm friends,
Il have not seen you since you were quite q
small boy, and am very sorry, hut shall
have Go ask you to defer your visit until
fall My niece, Ethel Dean. who has also
been my housekeeper since the death of my
wife. refuses to have any Wis. tors at the
farm house this summer. You see, my dear
boy do not Leaf al out the bush, but tell
yoIl the H. lin Truth OF the mat or. This
fall, she Is goiI 6 away on visit then l
shall certainly look for you BY the way,
y
would come out here to work! l keep
about twenty cows and sell the milk at a
che Sc factory, some three miles distant
and need some one to drive back and forth
twice each day. II you know of steady,
truSty young man who would like such a
place, send him out, and lie sure to come
yourself about the lst OF September
Hoping you may not feel offended, l
remain your friend, JOHN MORTON.
"There, Ethel, do you think that is
plain enough?" and he tossed the letter
to Ethel, who came in from the moon
light, her dark hair damp with dew,
and curling about her forehead in tiny
rings.
"Ohl uncle! he will think L am
cross grained old maid, and that l rule
you and your house with rod of iron,"
cried the girl. "but what need care;
anything SO he don't come here, with
his proud city ways; yes, that is all
right, uncle. He will not be apt to
bother us soon, especially while / am
here" and with merry laugh she gave
her uncle goodnight kiss, and went
up to her own room.
John Morton and Richard Whitney
had been schoolmates and "chums' in
their early years, and warm friends
during the dawning dignity of man
hood. In time. they were both married,
and while "Dick," as he was Familiarity
called, went to a distant city, and
engaged in the mercantile business,
Jack took up the occupation of farmer.
The young men were often spoken of
as twins, though there was no tie of
blood between them.
"But if we are ever blessed with
children" they said eve will have the
families united by marriage" No
children ever came TO John Morton's
home, except Ethel, the daughter of his
only sister, who, in dying, left her
orphan child to his care. When Ethel
was IL years old, Mrs. Morton
died, and on the,shoulders of the young
girl fell the care Of her uncle's home.
Servants were employed as in her
Aunt's time to do the heavy work, but
Ethel, despite her tender years, had
personal supervision of the household
department, aud soon proved herself
20 he capital manager of affairs be-