The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1885-07-11

Der OF his company, Tor she was the daugh
ter of very dear friend, long since dead
To which Joe replied: "Mr. Nelson
Miss May is my guest, and no one bu
myself shall spend one chilling on her be
half while she is in my house. And
shall see that nothing is wanting that will
be for her good
ssMr. Martindale," rejoined the other
"you are good fellow. God bless you for
it leave my friend in your care with
the utmost confidence and whatever you
may do for her, | am sure you will never
regret She is not like one of our set
But l must be off, for my wife will be
worrying herself to death till / get back
with news how Phyllis is going on And
shaking hands heartily with Joe, the wor-
thy manager set out once more for Carlisle.
CHAPTER Nv.
The recovery of Miss May from the eff
fects of her accident were slow, but salts
factory. For some days she lay in state
of semi-stupor; and afterwards, when full
consciousness returned, her feelings were
more like those of one in dream than in
waking life. She was aware of the gentle,
mother-like assiduity for her comfort of an
elderly lady, who seemed to be always at
hand to attend to her wants; and in that
visionary stage of convalescence in which
at times the patient can scarcely distinguish
between dreams and realities, she was fain
to believe it but dream that she had been
an orphan from infancy, for here was her
own dear mother tending her again with
watchful care. The other figure, that
glided round her bed with noiseless foot
steps, she could not make out at ALL With
dreamy eyes she could see it was that of
a blue-eyed, faxen-haired girl of her own
age, or younger. She had an intuition,
too, that her name was Ruth; and she
liked to hear her speak, for her voice was
low and musical, and so full of sympathy
for her. But further thought cost too
much effort, so she was fain to lie in state
of dreamy comfort.
Strength and mind and body came back,
however, gradually but surely; and at last
the doctor granted permission, one after
noon, that she might leave her room and
join the family at tea in the parlor By
this time Mrs Martindale, Ruth and she
were great friends; and she had learnt from
them the circumstances under which she
came to be in her present condition. Her
recollection was blank from the time that
she was struck down by runaway horse
She had indeed dim remembrance of
seeing some one apparently spring out of
the ground and seize the horses bride
simultaneously with the blow she received;
but further than this she could recollect
nothing. So it was as perfect stranger
that Joe appeared to her that afternoon in
the cosy parlor, redolent of rose leaves, and
in which the first fire of autumn had been
lighted for her comfort How grateful
she felt for all this kindness, bestowed
upon her, an utter stranger playactress
too, one of class whom country folks look
upon still as a species of social pariah.
And how prettily, and with what emotion,
she expressed that gratitude, two precious
little tears gemming her ewes as she thanked
Joe for the life he had preserved her,
Joe would have considered it sacrilege
to call that afternoon and evening by such
a commonplace term as pleasant. 1t was
heavenly And who but he knew how to
PLACE Miss Mays easy chair just at the
very angle where she could enjoy all the
comfort of the fire without being incon-
venienced by its glare? And who but he
could arrange the cushions in the easiest
position to support her dainty head :?
Why, nobody; and Ruth made the discov-
cry that Joe had missed his vocation in
life, which should have been that of nurse.
Then after tea, when Joe and his mother
had retired for while, Ruth thought that
her new friend was now sufficiently strong
to become the recipient of her condolences
touching her engagement to Dick, and this
seemed to cement their friendship still
more; so that with one thing and another,
before bedtime they were like q little family
party, instead of the strangers they had
been only few weeks before.
Days went by, and Phyllis-she was
Phyllis now-was able to go about the
house, and began to talk of the time when
she must no longer trespass on their kind
hospitality, But Mrs, Martindale would
not hear of this, and declared she should
not leave Knowecroft until she was per-
fectly strong; for where could she have
such chance of speedy recovery as in the
clear bracing air and restful atmosphere of
Linthwaite? The truth was, the winsome
ways of the young girl had so twiDed round
the good old ladys heart, that she was
loath to think of the time when they must
part with her, Many q time did she be:
wall to herself that the lot of such sweet
bit lassie should be cast among athem play
actors |" She had gathered from Phyllis
that she was an orphan, and had often
wished that she had been sent to them
sooner, to be trained up in good, solid,
sensible country ways, instead Of the non
sense of playacting.
After while Phyllis was sufficiently
strong to go into the dairy and watch Ruth
making up the butter, which she always
did with her own hands; and one day she
surprised that young person by saying to
her "I4et me help you, RuthIei think !
can do 1t your way now, after seeing you.
"Why, Phyllis, replied Ruth, "what can
you know about making butter? Those
little hands of yours were never made for
such work as this"
ooh, wern't they, though ?'' rejoined
Phyllis, laughing. "But they were
Why, you dear, delicious little Ruthie
they have put up pounds and pounds and
pounds of butter many time. See r she
continued, turning up her sleeves, and set
ting to work in QFthodQx fashion, seizina
handful of butter, and polling it and
patting it and moulding it as deftly as the
astonished Ruth could have done it her
SELF "Does that look as if | were doing
this work for the first time p
"Where did you learn p asked Ruth in
amazement "Why, Phyllis, you could
beat me hollow !"
'Have [ never told you p replied Phyl-
lis. "My dear old uncle and aunt, with
whom | have lived nearly all my life, had
a farm in Shropshire, and | always used to
help with the dairywork. You know my
father was an actor; my mother died when
/ was only three years old, and my father
before | was five; SO, as uncle and aunt had
no children of their own, they adopted me
Poor uncle died twelve months ago last
Christmas; and when everything was set
| t1ad n IuaS found thot thara 1Uac IittIa or