The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1884-11-20

| HIucH any Speoldl OSiiSdtiou W pIeiSt
US, but rather as if she felt responsible
to herself for the trueSt and best things
she is capable of. like the character in
that story 'NobleSsc Oblige,' that you
read to me yesterday.
That NAV come OF her Huguenot
blood. You know her ancestry suffered
for conscience sake. and these inherited
| tendencies sometimes grow stronger.
instead of weakening, by transmission. -
Well" answered his wife, Il sdon't
know much about hereditary and such
things. but it is a great satisfaction to
have Marguerite around. the satisfaction
one feels in the possession of genuine
article, and the best of its kind, like
owning china that is real Meissena, or
wearing real diamonds, or handmade
lace. l can't explain it, but l feel il
very strongly indeed. And think of the
benefit to Robbie to be constantly asSo-
ciated with such person" she went
on; ''why, only the other day L over
heard her reproving him for torturing a
fly: 1t is low and base to be cruel to
anything weaker than we are, Master
Robbie; your father is a gentleman.
and the son of a gentleman must not
do things that are low and base
"And what did the prince reply?''
asked his father
Mrs. Blandin smiled.
HE said: Papa may be a gentle
man, Marguerite, but mamma is not,
so | shall do what l like"
Mr.. Blanding laughed heartily.
Trust his small highness for an ar.
gument. We shall have to make a
lawyer of him, Louise. But is it not
strange that we have never discovered
Marguerite's brother? Wood-carvers
are not so plenty in Chicago, or in
America, either, for that matter, that
one of his skill should remain undis-
covered after all the efforts we have
made to find him"
Perhaps he never came to Chicago at
all, John. Do, pray, 90 out and take
Robbie away from those flower beds; he
seems bent on destroying them"
When Robbie was brought back to
the breakfast room, riding triumphantly
on his fathers shoulder, Marguerite fol
lowed, her white apron filled with fra
grant blossoms Robbie's mischieyou:
hands had picked.
Really" said Mrs. Blanding. ''whai
can we do with these flowers? The
vases are already filled. Here. Mar
guerite, take them up to the hospital in
the next block. No, Robbie. you can
not go'-the child was clinging to Mar
guerite's apron-.therc might be danger
of Infection"
NONSENSE said Mr.. Blanding. &c
to the accident ward. Marguerite ]
suppose a broken leg is scarcely cOnta.
gious. only wish the houses where
people live were half as well disinfected
and as thoroughly ventilated. Let Rob
bic 90, we may want to make surgeon
of him vet"
Robbie, who. in his fond fathers i'm
agination, had already been invested
with bishops robe, sat on the judicial
bench, and filled a professor chair in a
medical college. trotted along with Mar
guerite. and, when the hospital was
reached gaZed delighted down the lone
hall in the convalcscents' ward, with its
rows of clean white beds on each side.
He walked down the room between the
matrOn and his nurse. who carried the
freshly-cut fragrant flowers. The mat
ron paused before a bed, whose Occu-
pant lay with his face to the wall.
asleep. Here" she said, sis n poor
fellow who was hurt the day he reached
the city. He has been here for months
and amuses himself when the pain is
not too bad by carving on bits of wood
that the surgeons bring him. Lay a
few flowers on his pillow and pass on"
But RObbie's keen eyes had spied a
little carved box half under the pillow.
and, with his usual holiness, seized
hold of it. As he did so the clearest.
sweetest melody was heard. prelude
like the first faint twitter of forest birds
at dawn, and Marguerite. her face IT.
radiated. listened a moment, then fell
on her knees beside the bed and elapsed
the unconscious sleeper in her arms.
Il see the valley once more" she
sObbed. land the vineyard with clusters
purple in the autumn sun; the fountain,
fiecked with shifting shadows; and the
dancers at the grape festival. 1t is. o.
God be thanked. it is Francois at last.
0, Francois, my heart is breaking for
the mountains. the dear ones at home,
and for jacques. Let us go back to
them soon, my Francois"
And they did. Francois conyalesced
rapidly. and, with orders enough to
keep him employed for year. they re-
turned to Vaud, and rejoiced the hearts
of their parents. to say nothing of
jacques, whose good, faithful heart had
been heavy since Marguerite's depar-
t!Ire. or Lisettc. whose bold. sorrowful
eyes had often been dimmed with tears
for the absent Francois.
All this happened some years since.
Old Antoine and his wife Jeanne sleep
in the parish church-yard, but in the
little chalet on the mountain live
Jacques Godin and Marguerite, his
wife, and sometimes, when Francois
and Lisette come with their children to
visit them, Jacques relates to the little
group the story of Marguerite's music
box.
''And is. it not we'll then to have
talent?" cries sturdy little Francois
Beauvert, turning upon his Uncle
Jacques his bold, black eyes, so like
those of Lisette, his mother. land to be
a great genius and admired by every
body"
Il dare not say that it is not" an
swers Jacques, in the old. slow fashion,
looking admiringly at Francois, the
elder, who has still the reputation of
being the most skillful wood-carver in the
canton; ''that do not know, but this /
am sure of. that God sometimes leaves
his best work to be done by. those who
are only loving and good.-Julia MiiiS
Dunn, in FrdnG LeSiie's Illustrated
Newspaper.