The Wilmingtonian., 1885-06-27
THE STORY TELLER.
A Poor Girls Romance.
BY ELIZA ARCHARD.

Wdktu bub GCuOcb,duu mohu phiouHh
the trees about Zion Church, thrilling and
sweet
Miramon lifted his lazy blue eyes in sur
prise at hearing such voice in that place.
But he saw only an arrangement Of dark
black hair, surmounted by "cute" little
bonnet, head very gracefully poised upon
firmly knit shoulders.
But there is great deal of individuality
in woman's back hair. Albert Miramon
got to thinking about it, and making guess
ing pictures of the face in front of it.
He was SO deep down in this occupation
that he gave start when the girl struck
long, rolling joyous chord upon the little
organ, and began to sing "The Sweet By
and-By."
He could not quite account for it, but her
voice seemed to say to him just as plain as
day:
"You sing, too"
There was preliminary hem-hummng in
the throats OF the three dozen persons, little
and big in Zion Church, as they prepared
to ''pitch' the tune"
But they had no sooner got started than
with one accord-even with the words "By
faith we shall see it afar" still in their
mouths-they craned their necks and made
great eyes at the owner of the rich baritone
voice that was so unexpectedly helping out
with the singing.
The voices, hers and his, sang so marvel
ously that the rest of the three dozen stop
ped piping their own lays to listen, with
erect ears.
Hers was a mezzo Soprano, powerful and
sweet, and it had been exquistely cultva-
ted.
The two voices blended in celestial har-
mony. They sang only to each other as they
rose and fell in the thrilling, joyful re-
frain:
SIN the sweet by-and-by,
We shall meet OH that beautiful shore"
1t was not proper, perhaps, it certainly
was not devotional, but the instant the
word ''shore" died away on her soft scarlet
lips, Helen Macy curved her beautiful neck
to see who that other singer was. She
turned her dark, calm eyes, and met the
glance of slender, fashionable, half dudish
looking young man.
He wore tigers eye scarf-pin, and a
gray neckte with peacock-blue polkadots
in it.
A flush mounted to her cheek, and she
dropped her eyes. She wondered if he was
one of those horrid commercial travellers
But on the way home from Sunday School,
she remarked to Louie Lovela Wilson:
There was a young man at the church
to-day who sings nearly as well as Spul
brother Ike"
What a sly designing young woman sh
vast
"He don't belong around here" sai
staying at Mr.. Busnrou s. -
Meanwhile, Miramon says to young Clal
ance Andrew jackson Bushrod:
"Aw-by. .the-way, one of your Zion girl
sings very well, the one that played the OF
gan.
''HerP" replied Clarence Andrew Jack
son. 'That amt no Zion gal. That's
town gal, Helen Macy. She's a boardir
over to Wilson's.
Next day.
Helen Macy sits beside the spring undel
meath the willows in Wilson's meadow.
Young man, graceful and very swell, br
trying to look unconscious, approaches. Il
lifts his hat with superlative grace; he has
handsome head, the wretch, and he likes t
show it off.
He says;
"Pardon-Miss Macy think?-but di
you happen to SEE copy of Hand and Rim
lying anywhere about under the tret
here?'
Helen looked up.
'Do you think you lost it here?"
81 think it was," said he forgetful
grammar, rhetoric and sequence.
Helen smiled.
'YesP" she said 'But you must be mi
taken"
Now, he had not lost any book at all.
''Well, perhaps am" he replied. "Ar
yet don't think 1 am, You sang at Zic
Sunday School yesterday morning, didn
you Miss Macy"
''Yes," said Helen. ''You did youisel
didn't you?"
81 tried" he answered, with true byp
critical modesty. "But | can't begin
sing as well as Ike Wilson.
Helen laughed.
Then she mused: Who cared whether 81
talked to strange young man OR not? N
soul, she thought, with some bitternes
She was quite able to take care of herse
and proud of it.
But somehow, in that flash of introspe
tion, the girls lonely independence did n
look to her SO admirable and beautiful
thing as it did sometimes. We'll, it was
matter. He seemed gentleman.
might prove pleasant acquaintance in Il
stupid country spot.
They talked lightly of this, that and
other. They became better acquainted
half an hour than many persons would ha
been in a month. At length Hell
rose.
"NIss Macy" said the young man, sin
ly, "my name is Albert Miramon. 1
not much credit to my family, perhaps, /
never did any thing to disgrace it, thir
They used to call my father Governor Mi
mon."
'And the Miramon House, on the Aver
was that named for yOuP" asked He
Macy.
'Not for me- but for my father.
not old enough to have house named
me-"
Helen was looking medtatively at the
of her pretty little beaded bronze Slim