Bridgeton pioneer., 1884-10-16

ished whiteness of the even teeth in her
tender mouth was worth second look
when she spoke or smiled. AS Arthur
watched the graceful precision of her
movements while attending to the tea,
he took to wondering how she would
appear if she could afford to wear be-
coming attire instead of the small silk
mantle and scanty dress of faded black
which seemed her only costume for out
of doors and indoors.
He took to wondering, too, what
would become of her when her father
was gone: they had not a friend in the
world. MI Lennard was one of those
shiftless men who have way of get
ting lost in the side currents of humani-
ty; drifting beyond the knowledge or
care of their kith and kin. He told Ar
| thur, with the unconscious, pathetic
resignation belonging to him, that he
could not remember when he last saw
his friends or heard from them.
You see," he said not many days
before he died, Il got poor and shabby,
and l always wanted help, and l think
at last they looked upon me as a kind
of nuisance, so l stayed away. If l
knew where to find them l would write
for Mary's sake. l am really going to
eternity, you know; l do-not mind, but
! want to know how long?"
The doctor inclined his head regret
fully. This was no new subject between
them. Mr. Lennard could speak quite
calmly of the approaching day that
would bring an endless night of rest
The only thing that lay heavy at his
heart was what would become of Mary
when he was gone? Mary was his
own pet name for her
You may make your mind easy on
! that score" the young doctor said sim
ply; for | love your daughter, Mr.. Len
nard, and | think you could trust her to
me-"
LAS would to Heaven." said the dy-
ing man, with grateful solemnity. 81
will not ask you if you are sure of this;
| know you love her. | have seen it;
but you have your friends-your pros
poets to consider, these are very early
days for you.'
Il am sure of everything. even of Win
ming her." Arthur had smiled; but not
without some trouble, for Mary is very
proud, and might take it into her head
to consider my prospects and my
friends. This is, however, compact
between you and me; will you give her
to me?"
GLADLY, Arthur-you cannot tell how
gladly; to have lived for such day is
more than enough"
When Arthur spoke to Mary he met
with just the opposition he expected,
for the girl, as he had already found out,
was very proud.
You have been wondering what /
shall do when | am left alone." she said
to him. You are very sorry for me,
and pity me, and in your generous ma
ture would burden yourself with me.
Honestly, Mr.. Allenby. is it not so?"
Il daresay it isl he answered, smil-
ing gravely; "but have not asked my
'self the question. l am very sorry for
you, and l pity you, and-I love you
Mary, and you love me, my darling, in
spite of all the pride in that sweet face;
and Mary, if must urge anything, be-
yond my own poor merits, your father
has given you to me-"
1t did not require that to make her
nestle down in his arms. Arthur AL
lenby had been the hero of many girls
day dream, and he was of hers; but she
had never ventured to think the con-
summation would come so soon, if ever.
After this Arthur took upon himself
the kindly offices that would have been
his by right had Mr.. Lennard lived long
enough to be his second father. 1t was
too late to remove him from his dingy
room, but not too late to make that
dinginess less palpable. He sent in a
comfortable couch and an easy chair,
and brought the old man his favorite
books for the pleasure they gave him to
| look at, even when he was too weak to
read them. And he delicately insisted
on supplying Mary with the means to
make some necessary changes in her
wardrobe, and he spent more time with
them as the end drew nearer
| Books were the old mans children: to
the very last he kept pile of them by
his bedside, and he would turn the
covers to look at a favorite page when
he had grown too weak to lift volume.
Study had been his passion, he had
gathered in rich store of learning and
had found it a very poor stock-in-trade.
1t was hard for him to realize that the
age Of intellectual publishing and intel
lectual publishers had departed -leav-
ing convenient market in the hands
of commercial men more or less litter
ate. The poor scholarly gentleman, to
whom the grand old classics were as
familiar as twice-told tale, might have
been fossil for all the value they set
upon him. He was useful hack when
they wanted one-nothing more.
So he died and was buried and the
| most genuine compassion was felt for
him and his orphan child by a score or
so of those chivalric persons-improvi-
dent literary light horsemen of Fleet
Street and the Temple. They were in
the country bareheaded when the soli-
tary coach drove in, and DR.. Allenby
led Miss Lennard out to hear the fare
we'll sermon and look her last at the open
grave. Next day two of them waited
upon Arthur with cheque for seven
teen pounds and a few odd shillings.