The Penn's Grove record., 1885-03-28
THE LAST STRAW.

At the best of times we had hard
work to make both ends meet. "
Twelve years previously the firm in
which my father was junior partner had
failed. and then our troubles, began.
Anxious to retrieve mis- losses, he had
embarked in various speculations, the
result of which wa that we were left
penniless.
Coming home one evening through a
binding snow-storm, cold and misera.
bic. and wondering if my way would
always lie along the rough and dark
paths of life, | became aware that our
windows were unusually bright. Mollie
opened TIE door, and | saw a curious
mixture of pleasure and trouble on her
swee little face, while her eyes were
decidedly red.
What is the matter, Molliep" l ex-
claimed. why is the best bedroom all
Int up?"
But. before she could answer, 1 heard
a footstep on the stairs, and, rushing
up. encountered Ethel about halfway.
"Why, you darling,nI cried, hug
gipg her like a bear, ''what do you
mean by coming upon us like a thief in
the night? How did you manage to get
away? You said the house would be
too full of people Come down and tell
US all about it," and l began dragging
her down the stairs. "Oh, dearl 1t is
so nice to have youl Mollie and l were
talking of you at breakfast, and saying
what a comfort it would be if you were
hereand we could all grumble together"
Don't be too glad about, Esther, .
u IN Ethel sadly; l am afraid it is a
matter for regret rather than rejoicing. p"
why? But, goodness, Ethel, what
have you been doing to yourselfp"-for
we had got as far as the sittlng-room,
and the bright gaslight showed usa pale
thin face rot a bit like the bOnny Ethel
of old.
81 have not been well fora good while
in fact, never since we were at San
aRemo. / think thai little attack had
ge was really a fever which did not
come out properly, and 1t has been in
my syS EN- ever since"
but, Ethel," l interrupted, twas it
right nov to tell us this before? You
should have been taken a + of long
ago"
81 have really had every care" re-
turned Ethel warmly. But latterly
my head has been so bad that / could
not bear the children's noise; and the
doctor says it is quite Imperative that l
should have a few months of complete
rest,
''And a very sensible man he is tooI''
put in MJllie.
sob, if we could only sleep through
the winter like dormice and hedgehogsG'
sighed Mollie one morning at breakfast,
when things were looking their gayest
both inside and out.
-"That's a happy idea, Molliel' | an
swered. ''If we could only carry it out,
what a saving it would be-"
''There's the postmanl" observed
papa.
tOA, [ don't care about him now
Ethel is at home. There is nothing
much to expect but Christmas bills; and
1 am sure they won't conduce to my
happiness - 1 answered, moodily stir
ring my tea.
Zone for dad and n for you," said
Molie. Clocks ~suspiciously like a bill,
Essie.n
'tOf course it ls-two pounds one
shilling and eightpence for selling and
heeling, ct e0terd. But whom on earth
is dads epistle from?"-glancrng at the
thin foreign paper over which papa wa
knitting his brOws in very perplexed
fashion.
He read on for about five minutes,
until our patience was well-nigh ex-
hausted, then, laying the letter down,
glanced at us with a. half comic, half
rueful expression
prepare for the worst, my dears,' -
he said then, "I'm not sure whether
OF not you'll consider this to be the last
straw which breaks the cancels back. r"
what is iii? What is the matterS''
we exclaimed in a breath.
"Read it," said papa. passing me the
letter; and / read aloud
MY dear Charles You will, no
doubt, be much surprised to receive a
letter from me after our long silence,
and especially a letter written in Eng
land; but. after poor Toms death, India
became hateiulto me, and l determined
to settle all my affairs and return to my
native land. ] arrived in the spring of
this year, after an absence of thirty
years, a poor lonely widow whose bus
band and children all lie in foreign
graves. My sorely tried heart yearned
for a little love and sympathy, and |
looked forward with an eagerness | can
not express to a sight of the old famil-
lar faces
''But | had not taken into account
the chances and changes of thirty years.
and / found myself a stranger where |
had hoped to find a home. | went first
70 the house of my only brother, a
wealthy merchant living at Chaplain,
He seemed pleased enough to see me;
but his wife, a fashionable worldly
woman, and his children, who are all
grown up, looked upon ms as an in
truder, and took no pains TO hide their
sentiments. Had they thought me a
rich woman, how different would have
been their reception Of mel For a few
months, for my brothers sake, l bore
their rudeness and unkind hints; but it
became insupportable at last, and | left
them for my only remaining relatives =
the husband and children Of my dead
sister.
Here at first / was received with
open arms. An unknown aunt coming
from India vas a possible mine OF
wealth, and as such not to be despised.
But ana quick at reading faces, and /
saw through them at once. They were
hard, worldly, shallow, and selfish; and
when, after a few weeks, no rich pres
eats had beea received, 10 signs OF