Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1885-10-21
AUNT BETSY'S PRESENT.

ssWell, must say, think it is horribly
mean of your Aunt Betsy, Estella., Altel
making such favorite of you all youl
life, and having you with her ever since you
were mere baby, she might have sem
you something worth having on your twen
ty-first birthday, especially as she knows I
how poor we are since your fathers death,
said my mother, sharply.
"You had better take it as hint tor the
future, and not build any more castles OF
what Aunt Betsy is likely to do for you
remarked my sister Lena.
Walter, my brother, added with pro
voking grimace /:
"Here endeth my sister Stella's great ex
pectations.
s'You need not make such unpleasant
remarks" answered, pettishly.
''In sending me the portrait of her olf
sweetheart, poor auntie has given me hel
greatest treasure, and she, no doubt, thinks
I shall value it as much as she does.'
"Weli, it may come in useful, after all
for if, as expect, you never gel sweet
heart, you can imagine he was yours, wher
YOU are sour old maid like Aunt Betsy,
said Lena, who prided herself not a little
on beng engaged at eighteen, while ], a
twenty-one. had never had an offer, MOI
even the ghost of lover.
had lived with Aunt Betsy down in hel
quiet country home in the south of Corn
wall until my fathers death two years be.
fore, when coming up to London for hii
funeral, l found my mother left in sucf
staightened circumstances that felt it my
duty to stay and earn what money I could
to help her thereby, however, incurred
Aunt Betsy's anger.
'Surely," she wrote, ''your brother ani
sister can help your mother you have NJ
need to leave me lonely in my old age af
ter have had all the trouble of yon as 6
child" etc.
close London lodging was not at all to my
bouse, but my mother seemed to lean or
me, and so dreaded my leaving her, that
had not the heart to go.
Aunt Betsy neither came nor wrote, and
I had quite resigned myself to the idea
that was hopelessly on her black books
when the above related event to k place.
|. Now l knew that I was forgiven.
In her early youth Aunt Betsy, then the
beautiful Elizabeth Marston, my fathers
only sister, had been engaged to the son
and heir of wealthy London banker.
He had been sent abroad, on business
for his father, just before they were to have
been married, and through the jealous
treachery of another man who madly loved
her, ana wished to supplant his rival, the
engagement had been suddenly broken of
by him.
He then remained abroad, and Aunt
Betsy never heard from him again. Just
before he left England he had presented
her with beautiful little miniature Of
himself set in gold and diamonds, and this
she had kept, together with her maiden
name-no other lover ever induced her tC
change it.
As a girl, I had often seen and reverent-
ly admired the pretty souvenir, and l had
taken all girls keen interest in the love
story attached to it. Aunt had always told
me it was to be mine. and now [ felt GER
tain with this treasure in my possession, that
l had not quite lost my old place in her fav-
or. though | heard in the same letter in
which she solemnly commended the por-
trait to my care, that she had adopted an
orphan girl in my place as her companion
4 and probable heiress.
put the letter and portrait away with a
sigh of regret for my old happy home, with
it's quiet and freedom from the daily toll
and worry that were now my portion.
Things went on from bad to worse with
US, and my twenty second birthday found
me in despair.
Walter, in despair, had gone to New
Zealand : Lena had married on a very slen-
der income, and gone to live 10 the North.
| could not bend to ask help from Aunt
Betsy, and nv mother was ill, and my
work so scarce that / could barely find US
in the necessaries of life.
As last, too, became i'll, and we had not
penny in the house everything we had.
even poor mammals engagement ring, had
gone for food.
'Stella, you must go and get some
money. Mrs. Burton says she will have
the rent by tomorrow, or we shall have to
turn out into the street. There is-would
you MINI, dear ?-your Aunt Betsy's pre-
sent; you could get enough for that to
keep us for a long time"
mamma dear, l cannot, dare not sell
| it /! Anything of mine I would not with
hold, but this-oh don't ask me
''And yet the generous donor has never
sent us the price of loaf" said my moth
er, bitterly "Well, take my wedding
ring, it has never been off my finger since
your poor, dear father put il on twenty five
years ago but it must 60 now."
"No, no, mamma, you must not shall
not, take it off, | will 60 and take a=nt's
present not to sell, but to the pawnshop f;
then l may, perhaps, get it back when
Walter sends us some money"
| With a heavy heart ana weary tagging
steps, departed on my hateful Grand
All our things had been sold, we had pre-
ferred to lose them to going into that last
disgraceful refuge of the destitute, Lon
don pawnbroker's.
Arrived outside. paced to and fro, un-
til my tottering limbs, weak from illness
and continual fasting, warned me that
my strength would not hold out much lon-
er.
entered. Only one other person, a tall.
dark gentleman, whose IA l could not see
in the semi-darkncss, stood there talking to
the shopman.
81 tell you, my man, the plate is here -
it has been traced by clever detective,
who will join me here in few minutes
He is only delaying because he thinks he
has traced the thief, and has gone to follow
up the Search
"Well sir am sure yoa are mistaken,
but my principal will be here in a few mo-
ments, you must talk to him. What can
DO for you, young woman % he asked,
turning to me somewhat eagerly, evidently
glad of an excusc to evade his unpleasant
visitors conversation.
sure, The shopkeeper looked suspiciously
at me as he took it up and tested it.
"Your name and address, please" he
said sharply. Sand how how much do you
want p
81 want IA little money, if you please, !"
I faltered.
As spoke the gentleman turned and
could feel a pair of bright, keen eyes scan
ming my pale face. grew more helplessly
confused, my tongue refused to utter
word.
''Tell the shopman how much you want,
and your name, my good girl he said in
kind and p1tying tone.
Then, for the first time, I raised my
eyes to his face, feeling that had found a
| friend. Merciful Heaven! was dreaming,
or had my late troubles driven reason from
my brain, and filled 1t with delusive fan
| cies.
Surely there stood the original of Aunt
Betsy's portrait, but young and stalwart as
he had been forty years ago, when it was
taken.
In vain | tried to speak. I could only