Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1884-04-18
OLIVES FORTUNE.

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| Dorothy Graham, peering over her specta-
cles at her pretty niece
Anxious 2" cries Olive why, 1t is the
one thing on earth worth living for. 1 would
do almost anything for money"
yet you have only to put out your hand
and take it," says Miss Dorothy, dryly.
"How do you moan p asks Olive, looking
puzzled. Then, with a sudden flash Of en-
| lightonmont "Oh, you mean old Mr.. Dal-
ton But, dear Aunt Do, never contem-
plated becoming rich by a crime and to
marry him, feeling as 1 do toward him,
would be nothing short of a crime. Neither
did | mean that for the sake of being rich l
would consent to be in bondage for the rest
Of my life. 1 would do a great deal for
money but"
A knock at the door interrupts her and a
quick flush rises to her cheeks as young
man enters. He is a handsome fellow, with
curly brown hair, laughing dark blue eyes,
and firm lips, which the slight mustache wells
without concealing.
"a letter for you, Miss Ralhbone, " he says.
II was at the post-ofice, and thinking you
would hardly 60 for your mail this stormy
| night, l brought it up"
Thank you, Mr.. Leigh" says Olive, de-
murely, as she takes the letter. what a
formidable looking document But won't
you sit DOWN."
"Only for moment, thon," says Paul
Leigh. ''Do not let me hinder your reading
your letter, though, or l shall leave at once !"
II confess to some curiosity" says Olive,
as she tears the letter open and glances at
the contents. Then, with sudden cry,
which is almost shrek, "Who would be-
lieve it, Aunt Do? 1t has come-it has actu-
ally come"
dropping her knitting with a look of alarm.
MY fortune" cries Olive, waving the let
ter in the air. And it is all through Mr..
Dalton, after all. He has died, and has left.
everything to me-everything-co coupled with
one slight stipulation" she adds reading
from the paper in her hand.
"And that ?" asks Miss Dorothy.
81 don't know-it doesn't say but it can
be nothing that l would not comply with.
To think Of it, Aunt Do We shall be rich,
after all. We can go everywhere, do every
thing. Only to think Of i'll"
From whom do you say this fortune
comes Z" asks Paul Leigh suddenly. He has
not seemed to share Olives delight in hear
ing of it. On the contrary, at the first news
he has turned pale, and now there is stern,
set look on his face, which Olive is too much
excited to notice.
From Mr.. Dalton-Ralph Dalton" she
says. He was al old friend of my fathers
and of ours, aud he is dead. Poor old man
did not quite take it in before. l am very
sorry for him, but Oh, Aunt Do, think of
being rich !"
And this Mr.. Dalton-where did he come
from - asks Paul.
"From-oh don't know where Mime
sofa, Nebraska, Colorado-some of those
places" cries Olive impatiently. "Oh no; 1
remember now it was western Pennsylvania.
He made his money in oil, but did not keep
it there. 1t is all in bonds aud stocks and
real estate, safe as the bank of England
II must bid you goodnight" says Paul,
rising suddenly. at is getting late, and Oh
ly your good news has detained me so long"
Good night, Mr.. Leigh" says Olive alb
sently. You will come again soon, will you
not to hear more about my wonderful news" "
Thank you" is Paul's reply. May your
fortune bring you all the good you hope from
II, and more That is all can say"
He holds her hand for o moment in a close,
warm clasp, looking down at her with a
strange. wistful expression. Then he bends,
presses a kiss upon the taper fingers, and is
gone before she can speak.
II.
"a widows weeds But it seems abso-
lutely immoral" cries Aunt Dorothy with a
gasp Surely you will never consent, o.
i've 7"
Never consent, whom three hundred thou
sand dollars are at stake p cries Olive.
"Why, il he wanted me to have my head
shaved and wear sky blue and chrome yell
low all the days OF my life, should consent
for the sake of the reward After all, IT was
a harmless freak enough. The poor old man
wanted somebody to mourn for him, at least
in form, and none OF his own family seem
likely to. Widows weeds do seem putting it
rather strong but after all, in these days
they admit of so many notifications that il
is not so bad. II the old style OF widow
cap prevailed ! should do it all the
same, suppose, but it would be rather
tough"
And in case you fail to perform the con-
ditions 2" asks Aunt Dorothy.
"In case ever leave of or Tighten my
mourning, if but for single day, the whole
estate passes to the child or children of Mr..
Dalton's sister Sarah, if such can be found.
1t seems that she mortally offended her broth.
! or thirty years ago by making a runaway
match. From that time all communication
ceased between them, and all trace of her,
even to her married name, has been lost II
she or her children cannot be found, then il
all goes to the next of kin, the Denbighs
But don't be alarmed, Aunt Do. Neither hit
sister Sarah's children nor the Denbighs viii
ever come into the property so long as re
tain possession of my senses. have sent tC
. the mourning store for all that l shall need
for the present, and Here il is now," SHE
, adds, as an express wagon stops at the gate
aud huge box is carried up to the from
8 door.
Half an hour later Olive stands before thu
l glass adjusting the heavy folds of Henrietti
i cloth and Grape which have replaced he
4 pretty robin. ed-breast suit Of brown ant
scarlet, pinning the little butterfly cap upoI
= her hair, and fast ming the lisse Tuffes will
q tho onyx pin. Then, as she pauses to con
+ template the effect, an expression of dismay
sweeps over her face.
"Auntl" she cries, turning suddenly away
q from the glass; 81 am absolutely hideous !"
. 1t was not quite true, perhaps, but in he
4 first dismay she was almost justified in think
ing so. Olive was pretty girl-an uncom
4 monty pretty girl, many thought but sh
. was of the dark, colorless type. Her hal
! was black, curling softly around low, broaC
forehead hor features were delicate, rehne
and piquant, but irregular her eyes prettil.
n shaped, soft and clear; her complexion-ah
u there's the rub" Her complexion, thoug
., clear aud smooth, was of pale olive tint
1t with only n vestige of color on the ovs
l. cheeks and only faint bloom upon the mo
u bile lips. Dressed in the oolors which sh
y had hitherto affected-soft bright pinks, puT
u scarlets, or deep rich reds-she was q stril
% ingly pretty girl but in her present costum
81 of sombre, unrelievsd black she was simpl
D. insignificant. The light seemed gone froI
her eyes, the olearness from her complexion
r even the gloss and richness of her hair ha
a disappeared quenohed by the surroundin
g blackness Aunt Dorothy hesitated, searcl
le ing for something pleasant to say.
H. "You look very lady like, " she says feebl!
ID at length.
III 'Lady-likel" cries Olive, with gesture
" despair. "What is that Anybody can loo
lady-lke. Put the vulgarest woman on earl
le into fresh widows mourning, and she VI
40 look lady -like-until she speaks or move
ID Lady-likel Aunt Do, was a pretty 81
n once. Look at me now |"
be She turns with tragic gesture to the mi
ht ror which has just told her such unhatteriI
81 truths Then, catching up a scarlet sha'
Of which is at hand, she holds it near her fac
nd The effect is magical. The mass of Viv
80 color has brought out all the latent glow an
re sparkle of the small dark face which gazes
ca her from the polished depths of the mirrc
h, "Why can't wear scarlet, Aunt Do ?" q
ge asks, wistfully. "It is mourning in Englan
sts and why not here Do you think they wou
be very hard upon me for wearing 1t o.