Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1885-02-14

country girl preSuullns W nave any
ideas of her own was little too ab-
surd.
Just as the conneisseur in flowers,
passing by the royal rose and queen
ly camelia, will sometimes pause to
gather a wild honeysuckle spray,
Harold Grey, who had passed un-
scathed through half dozen gsunt-
let's of metropolitan drawingrooms,
kettle drums and receptions was smit-
ten by deacon Clover's blueeyed
daughter, who had never been out Of
Oldhamville, and didn't know a
waltz from redowa. And when he
heard that she had determined never
to marry New Yorker, he resolved
more earnestly than ever that he
would win the prize in spite of an
adverse fate.
"Liston," said he, "look here. I've
lost my heart to this dove-eyed little
enchantress."
"Now look here" said Liston,
"this is too comical for anything.
Argument of the play: Hero, Harold
Grey, of As Jerrold Avenue. Heroine,
Deacon Clover's daughter. You
come down to stay week at Spottis-
wood farm. The Presbyterian church
gives an amateur concert to aid its
slender funds. Phebe Glover sings.
Harold Grey loses his heart. Grand
cherus-'Love is still the lord of all
1t is not real life, all this !; it is leaf
out of three volume romance
81 wish you would leave off talking
nonsense for minute" said Harold,
beginning to wax impatient.
"Speak on, most noble Harold !!
At your command | am silent! y
"You have never met Miss Clover:?"
| "Neyer saw her in my life until
last night"
"Well, then, look here. Introduce
me rs Victor Liston. You shall be
Harold Grey"
ga case of exchange of identity,
eh ?"
"Exactly! So that she shall not
be prejudiced against me beforehand
by fancying me to be New Yorker"
every we'll. Just as yon say. l
am not in love with Phebe Glover,
and any plan that will keep yon a
few weeks longer at Spottiswood
farm will be joyfully welcomed by
me-" said Liston. "Whoa! Bonnie !!
Here we are at the door,
| q
"Do you really love him, Phsbe %
Pretty Phebe Glover hid her burn
ing cheeks on the old deacon's
shoulder.
eyes, father" she whispered.
"And you think that you can be
happy with him p
eyes, father"
"rhen l say yes, too," said the
deacon. And Phebe thought she was
the happlest girl in the world.
Harold Grey was a little more
distract, little less frankly COM
municatlve than usual that night
when he called at the Clover farm
house, where the crocuses and hva-
cinths were beginning to push their
slender heads above the brown earth
in the flower borders, emerald spears
of the advance guard of spring.
"Victor," said Phsbe, softly,
shave you heard any bad news ?"
He reused himself at once.
"What makes you think so %
"Because you are so silent and
thoughtful"
"Little oracle" he said, laughing,
"No, have heard no bad news, but
| was thinking how-how best to
break some strange tidings to you.
Phebe, suppose were to tell you
thot we could not remain here at
Spottiswood farm? That l must
leave the peaceful place and 60 to the
city to live?"
ooh. Victor, have lost your prop
erty? Were those Egllnton mort
cages never paid off," cried Phebe,
clasping her hands.
"Never mind about that, now, only
answer me, dear"
"Victor, you know that l would 60
anywhere with you"
"Would q cramped room in Sec
ondrate boarding house, with view
of brick walls and dreary psvements,
suit you after all these lovely hills
and wales ?"