The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1885-02-12

was III NVIf hiSC. u pC SulC. IN Idu
had 10 sort of objection to support a
weeping damsel, who, despite her tears,
looked as pretty as a picture. But the
grief was real, and that panied Frank.
So, placing her very gently in one of
the library chairs, he managed by dint
of coaxing and questioning to find out
what was the matter. "A quarrel with
mother and a break with Leroy Jones
I wonder which is the worse" unused
Frank. Tell me. Tessie, did you care
much for Leroy?" he asked.
Il did like him, Frank-I always
used to care for him when he was nice.
But he isn't nice any more. He's hor-
ridly fast, and l will not marry him just
for his money, as aunt want ME to do,
and I've told him so, and-and-" The
handkerchief vent up again.
Yes, l see how it is. You are sure
you don't regretit?"
''Of course 1 am sure. Do you think
1 would have made all this trouble if /
had not been surep" She stopped cry
ing, and drew herself up proudly, con-
tinuing: 'Aunt Geraldine has cast me
of. She has told me that this is no
longer my home. l am going away
this very evening. 1 will not stay an
other day in her house."
"Don't be hasty, Tessie. Mother is
disappointed; she will get over it."
But l shall not. 1 am going, L tell
you, Frank"
80, no, not yet, Tessie. Why, where
will you goP"
81 don't know yet-perhaps to Mrs.
Russell-nor dol know what l shall do.
1 nave no money, and 1 am so ignorant.
o, if 1 had only studied as 1 ought to
have done, l might then teach; but I
will find some way of getting along"
and she held her head more proudly
| still.
''Tessie, dear, you are a foolish little
thing. / don't uphold mothers I'M
kindness; but you must remember that
I love you, if she doesn't"
Eyes, dear Frank, you are always
good to me-"
'sWell, then, why not put an end to
all this bother and be my little wife?"
80, Frank, don't, please don't talk
that way. You know we are cousins,
and I've no idea of b%urdening you with
any other relationship. You are very
kind, but, all the same, that can not be-"
Frank tried to look dolorous, but did
not succeed very well. He was, in
truth, too much in love with his profess
sion to have much room for any other
sentiment in his good, kind heart, but he
had meant to do his best, if Tessie would
let him, which she wouldn't.
"Well if you won't, you won't, and I
must bear it,"
(Which you will do with all the ease
in the world, dear Frank. And now I
am going to pack, and will you send my
trunks over to Mrs. Russell's, and tell
Sibyl and Gladys I am sorry not to say
goodbye, and aunt that l regret having
displeased her, and-and- o, how
how happy 1 have been, and how foolish
and-but-"
She grew incoherent and fearful again,
and again Frank urged her to a differ
ent course of conduct; but she was not
to be entreated or urged or advised. In
her hot young indignation the world
was her retreat; she could do anything.
bear anything, but tyranny and injustice
and uniindness. Little indeed did she
know of the world, but she was earnest
and true and strong, and ready to dc
her best.
1t is night in n of the great city
hospitals, and all is silent but for the
means of those in pain and the mutter.
ings of those in fever.
Pacing slowly up and down the aisle
of a ward full of white cots on which
are helpless sufferers, is a nurse whose
duty it is to watch and wait upon those
who require the little attentions they
cannot bestow upon themselves.
To one she gives a glass of water
another's pillow needs raising, and an
other demands soothing words. To al
alike she yields cheerful compliance
stopping often merely to give a .kint
look or a little show of interest. The
dim light falls upon her slim figure in it
neat gown, and reveals the sweet ant
sympathetic face of Il woman of mature
:. years, more beautiful even than in it.
first bloom.
1t is a face of rare charm, so con
; tented, so placid and yet so bright ant
cheerful. Evidently to these poor sicl
people it is a boon just to gaze upon it
But just now she is called away;
! physician wishes to speak to her-prob
ably give his orders for the night. Sh
, hastens to the Office where he is wait
ing.
l s.Miss Stanton, here is a Telegram
from uptown. You know DR.. Ganse
: WORT, l presume. He wants you t
, , attend a patient"
Z as there no one else who can go
L l never take outside cases if I can avoi
{ it."
,, Positively no one, and as he speci
!. { fies you, l should not like to disappoin
| him."
. s.Well then, | shall have to 90,
: suppose; bat what is the nature of tn
case?'
'.An accident"
= "Can you supply my place here?"
= : Eyes. We shall have to double tn
i duties"
With-the promptness of custom, n
more questions were asked, and in
few moments Miss Stanton was on he
4 way to Fifth Avenue. AS she role
along in the darkness, with only til
A street lamps occasionally lifting it, he
thoughts were as calm and cool as
she had been a belle to whom tn
. triumphs of a ballroom were an oil
story; but she knew that she had nee
The carriage stopped before a gre.
a gloomy brown-stone house, n I'll
v door was instantly opened by a waitin
> footman. Over the marble hall and Il
q the oaken stairway and under tapestri'
and velvet hangings she was ushere
. into an antechamber, where, quick
d divesting herself of her wraps, 81
waited. In a few moments DIR. Cans
WORT appeared and briefly related a
,e that had happened, all that was I
quired. The man had been throw
3 from his carriage, causing fracture
- both legs-they had been set-there W;
/ nothing to do now but to watch mo
d carefully.
~ Miss Stanton entered the room.
was suberb in all its appointment
Though the light was low, the carve
wood, the ~frescOes, the glitter of Gu