Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1884-06-03
Still he knew that Aunt Betsey's spare

SolouOu dill uOI lnONCM6utS, duG CQIU ILLS
operation resulted in a hard knot at the
certainly would not harmonize with these
capeless head-dresses.
Just as his brow was overcast with the
thought, the pale girl came near Uncle
Abel, her cheek blushing as she did so in
defiance of the other girls, holding in her
hand a plain Leghorn bonnet, trimmed
with violet ribbons.
She wore mourning dress, and the plain
brouch at her throat held lock of gray
hair. 81 think this might suit YOU, Sir, -
she said eff your wife don't dress her
hair in these fashions, these bonnets would
not do at all. This is rich and plain, and
| covers the back of the head and neck
"Wa'al now, tell me, for have got SO
bothered with these things that l don't
know one from the t'other. l want to gea
| a, bonnet for Betsey, and mean to- Now
just tell me if you would like your mother
to wear one like this. Oh, beg your par
don, ma'am. l didn't see," and he touch
ed the sleeve of her black dress, 'I-I am
sorryv'
The young lady brushed off a tear quick
| ly, as she said, 81 have no mother now;
but you'll trust me, sir, think this will
suit.''
She stood, hitherto, just out Of the range
of John Dare's vision, and had not seen
him at all. Something in the sound of her
voice attracted him, perhaps, and when
| Uncle Abel called:
"Here, John Darer' he stepped hastily
enough toward them. The girl thrust the
bonnet into Uncle Abel's hands, and would
have been out of sight if her dress had not
caught one of the branching stands and
held her fast.
s'Amy!" and John Dare, with hot
flush on his face, caught her hand and so
detained her.
"Anfy Egbert, have I found you at
last ?"
The girls face grew white and red by
turns, and the words she spoke came SO
slow and broken that only John could catch
their meaning.
Uncle Abel pushed his 'spectacles up on
his forehead, still holding the hat in bis
hand, looked-Open mouthed from one to
| the other.
81 guess you must have known this young
woman afore, didn't you ?' he said; but
John was too busy with eager questions,
and Amy was trembling and flushing as
she tried to speak calmly, and so his ques-
ton was unanswered. Pretty Josie was
OifieiAhS lOA csGOCHGlOa UtGWStu d u0N GUS
toner and the strange scene beside her,
and between anger and modification she
looked in no need Of help from rouge, as
she tossed her head and muttered various
uncourteous remarks in regard that Amy
Egbert, and her beau.
"Uncle Abel held the hat while longer
quite patiently, but at last despaired of the
interview being ended, so he coughed and
then said:
'1'll take the bunnit. Twenty dollars is
good deal. Betsy's worth it, amt she
Johnp'
John need not have started so, or said
every" which wasn't suitable ans wer
at all; but Uncle Abel laughed little to
himself and said. softly, 'Oh, boys will be
boysP' and he was obliged to tell Miss
Egbert the direction over twice, too, and
felt quite uneasy lest it should not arrive
at his hotel in time.
Outside the door John turned to leave
his uncle and looked as shy as girl, as he
said: '1t's all right, Uncle Abel you've
found new bonnet, and I've found a-a-
an old friend"
Uncle Abel held his hand fast, and look
ed moment, without speaking, in Johns
face in wistful way; then said, looking in
the young mans eyes, "she's motherless
girl, JOnn.
"Uncle Abelp' and John turned angrily
away, or would have done so if the detain-
ing hand had not held him with grasp
which sixty years had not weakened.
s'Look; here my boy, meant no ofense.
None of my blood turn Villains" he added
proudly ''but you see she's young and pur-
ty and forlorn, and maybe, if you see too
much of her, she might get to thinl1ln'
,nro IF Won thor, mould ho rrood f,r how
and if you amt in earnest l guess 'twould
break her heart. Shake hands with your
uncle, my boy, I mean no harm; but l
promised Liza, when she was on her dying
bed that | would allus try to give you good
advice, and the last words almost that she
spoke, says she, 'Abel, watch over my
boy.'.''
''My dear, kind uncle, thank you, indeed,
do, for all your kindness, but I could not
bear to think that you should misjudge
me. knew Amy, long ago, when her
parents were both living, and she had all
that wealth could give. 1 loved her then
ina quiet way, but was too poor to tell
her SO. Then came reverses, and death,
and in her poverty and pride the girl hid
herself from me resolutely until now. She
tired to earn her bread by her accomplish
ments, but failed, and gladly took this
means to do so Now if can win her for
my wife I shall bring Mrs. John Dare
to see you some fine day this summer; may
I, Uncle Aoel ?''
So they parted, and the passers-by little
dreamed of all that had been said.
"Wa'al, wa'al, if things don't turn out
queer ?' soliloquized Uncle Abel, home
ward bound. with handbook placed ON the
seat before him. ''To think how near
came to gettin' one of them gypsies for
Betsey. Why she would have laughed a
week about it. And then to think that
painted picture of a girl was making game
of me all the while. And then the other
one with her gentle way, taking the trou-
BILE to tell stupid fellow like me what was
the right thing to buy. I guess she would
make our John good wife; and after Bet
sey and me has passed away, there'll be
nice bit of property coming to John and
that'll help him on"
How pleased Aunt Betsey was, to be
sure, when the old man gave her the new
bonnet How fair and young she looked in
the fresh ribbons and coft blonde around
her face! And how she laughed at the
idea of wearing one of them dish covers on
her headr'
Just when the country was in its June
glory. John Dare brought his bride to the
| farmhouse where he had spent 50 many
childish hours, and he led her to all the old
familiar spots, from the weir in the brook
to the grave by the orchard. But as long
as a straw and ribbon may endure to keep
them both in mind how John Dare found
his wife, they tell the story of the time
when Uncle Abel bought Betsey's bonnet.
Gooseberries.-A English gardener says
the gooseberry prefers loose holding soil,
which readily imbibes, but does not retain,
much moisture. The plant is propagated