News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1884-02-14
HIS OWN.
BY E. REXFoRD.

mourntul music, IN accord with the
desolate November day, and went to the
window, though why she did so she
coGld not tell.
She made a picture that an artist
would have delighted to paint, as she
stood there in the dull, gray light of
the waning day, holding back the scarlet
curtain with her hand. Her high-bred,
cultured face showed like a clear-cut
cameo against the scarlet of the drapery.
There was beauty in every line of it !;
not so much the mere beauty of color
and curve as it was the beauty of intel
lect and soul, which found its strongest
expression in her pure eyes.
A young man walked down the street
opposite the window where she stood. A
soft flush came into her face when she
saw him, and her brown eyes lighted
as the surface of a brook breaks into sun
shiny ripples when it is stirred.
81 wonder if it was to see him that /
came to the Window" she said softly as
she watched him. 81 wonder if there is
any truth In the theory of a mental tele-
graph. Perhaps he was thinking of me,
and his thought was transmitted to me
over the invisible wires which connect
our souls, and that drew me to the
window. Who knows? If l were to
cali him, wonder if he would receive
and understand my message? John
John Trevorr'
She whispered the name. and strange
TO say, the man looked that way sudden
ly and saw her standing at the window.
A quick, swift light came into his face at
sight of her, and he bowed, with a rare
smile on nis lips.
She W atched him out of sight, as wo-
men a1e apt to watch the men they love.
When she turned away from the window
her face had a thoughtful look in it.
sshe was thinking of John Trevor, and
wondering if their path would run on to-
gether, or diverge.
She sat down by the fire, and thought
it ali over. She had known John Trevor
six months. He had come to fill the
place of the FernIey rector, while that
gentleman was away on his summer
holiday. There was something so win
ing, so earnest and magnetic in the
young minister that he had had no diff
Guilty in making himself friends in the
rather aristocratic old place, and Alice
Graeme. with the true Gracme hospi-
tality, had invited him to make himself |
sat home" with herself and aunt. when |
r., E.T& ,1.aTfr, b l.
had come there often, and she had found
in him a man who understood her, and /
Who was fitted by culture and intellect
to meet her On her own ground. Be-
cause she wrote poems now and then,
and was considered "iterary," people |
had come to be somewhat afraid of her. |
But John Trevor was not. And because |
he was so frank, so thoroughly honest |
with her, she liked him from the first; |
there was novelty in having a man dis |
agree with her, and talk to her about |
matters and things as if she were man,
and capable of understanding them. He
met her as his equal, and for that reason,
if for no other, from the outset of their
acquaintance, she had given him place
In her friendship that no other man had
ever held. He was young, talented and
enthusiastic. He threw his whole heart |
into the work he had to do for the Mas
ter, and people who heard him preach |
said he would be famous some day. |
There was fire in his sermons. There |
was genius there, and the world would |
ha r1l
back to Fernley, he brought to Trevor a
letter asking him to accept the incum-
beney of a living a few miles distant. |
His friend congratulated him on the |
prospect before him. Here was chance
of making himself popular, and the |
stipend was good. But John Trevor was |
not ready to say yes to the offer. There
was plenty of work in Fernley. There |
was a church in the poorer part of the |
town, whose finances were III a feeble |
condition, but he felt that the souls |
there were worth as much as they would |
have been if their owners had been |
worth more of the worlds goods. They |
needed some one to labor among them. |
There was chance of doing great good |
there. Was it not his duty to stay with |
them? A line kept haunting him: "Do
the duty that nearest lies )" but in that
village there was waiting for him an op-
portunity to make his mark in the
world. 1t would be stepping-stone to
higher things, and he yearned so much
to reach the heights above him.
And so, thinking it over, and trying /
to decide what to do, John Trevor wait
ed and worked Every Sunday he |
preached in the poor little church, whose
occupants were in the habit of thinking |
more of the sermon than of their fine |
clothes. And as the weeks went by, and |
it came nearer to the time when he must |
decide what he was to do, he felt more
and more that here was his mission for
the present. Was it not Gods work
that he had undertaken? Then what
right had he to think of himself.
People who had listened to him in the
pulpit of the aristocratic church, and
prophesied success for him, wondered
at him for hesitating to accept the good
offer. They thought it foolish in him
to squander his eloquence on a congrega-
ton so poor. They could not see that
he was trying to satisfy himself whether
he was acting for God or for himself.
Alice Graeme thought of all this as she
sat there by the fire, and she hoped he
would accept the offer, but she hated to
lose him. When she thought of his go
ing away she almost wished he would
decide that duty told him to stay where
he was. He had told her of the struggle
in his heart, and asked her to advise
him; but, quick to appreciate the situa
ton, she declined to have anything to
do with his decision. Her interest in
him might prompt her to give advice
that would keep him from doing what
he ought.
That evening John Trevor came in to
spend an hour or twoi in that delightfully."-
informal way which was a custom of his.
Alice met him. with that rare smile she
kept for her best friends. He held her
hand in his for moment in a way that