Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1885-05-21
FINDING A SITUATION.
BY MANDA L. CRoCKER.


"That girl will have to go; she's ole
enough to earn her own living if she
ever intends to. OF course, when hel
mother died / took her in, but that did
not signify that was going to keep hel
forever. I've done good part by the
thankless chit in the last ten years, and
I've made up my mind not to be badger.
ed with her any longer"
Mrs. Lucinda Maynard brushed back
a few silvered hairs which had fallen
unceremoniously into her face, and
leaned back in her ample chair, watch
ing furtively the countenance of her
husband, who sat opposite her on the
broad. chintz-covered lounge.
Il don't know, Lucinda; seems to
me 'twould be kind o hard to send her
adrift at present. She is only sixteen
this coming winter, and sort o. frail; so
quiet and white. faced, you know" and
the husband ended doprccatingly.
He had said his little say, feeling,
that with his wife his words had but
little weight; for ever since marriage
had made them one, he had been aware
that she was the one, and he and his
views constituted mere matrimonial
cipher.
"Frail, fudge! Josiah Maynard; /;
that's always your way of putting
things. i am all but out of patience
with you. Just as if ] didn't know
slowness and inherited
laz.ness from disease. / am old enough
to know that the grass will always have
a chance to grow under Mag Lovells
feet, so You need not begin to hoist your
charity sails in her behalf, No, sir. I've
settled it to-day. There are our own
to look after; Eleanor is to be fitted out
for boarding school, and Agnes must
have the Steinway you promised her
over year ago; so counting up what
.Sa owe "a arr 9p.o own -ahildrep- there isn't
much to throw away on Mag Lowell, L
can tell YOU"
"But she helps you in the kitchen and
dairy great deal, Lucinda, and 1 i'm.
agine you will miss her often; Seems
to me L should"
"Bah! will not grievc, nor have to
wait on her slow motions, either" and
the callous-hearted woman indulged in
a hard, rasping laugh as she folded
her hands and rocked to and fro COM
placently.
Josiah Maynard heaved deep sigh,
and leaned back against the easement.
He knew his broad acres and bountiful
home were sufficient for the wants and
fancies of all, and his plying heart
yearned toward the quiet orphaned
niece who had grown like pale flower
from her babyhood under his roof. His
heart ached at the prospect of seeing
Lowell, his dead sisters child,
thrust out on the charities of an unkind
world. He shut his eyes and gave him
aolf mp to oArtain plans concerning
Margaret.
The door opening out on the piazza
was ajar, and, had Lucinda Maynard
noticed it, she might have seen scared
white face and wild eyes just visible in
the gathering twilight; while with bated
breath Margaret Lowell caught every
word of the conversation between her
aunt and uncle.
Margaret was on the point of enter
ing when the first sentence alluded to
fell, stunning in It's effect, on her ear;
then she drew back and remained mo-
tionless until the cruel closing sentence
had gone to her heart / Ike knife; and
then, retracing her steps stealthily, she
in the shadows.
The evening wind blew coldly from
the gates of the sunset across the
autumn-seared fields, and moaned
around the gables of the Maynard
and the desolate- hearted
girl shivered and walked away. She
did not wish to go in now; she was not
No; Aunt Lucinda said she
"must CO." Where should she go?
She did not know, and wondered in
vague, frightened way what it all
meant.
Uncle Josiah went out shortly after
ward to lock the barn, and found Mar
garet standing by the gate.
"She's going to send me away, thenl
Oh, Uncle Joel" and her slender
fingers closed tightly over his arm.
He started as if Derringer had been
thrust in his face with muir
derous intent.
"You heard her then, Maggie?"
"Yes; what have done to vex her
5OE L really chnnOG cOmprenenu. I've
tried hard to please you all, but it
seems aunt is not pleased. She has
been hard on me lately, but / thought
maybe she was tired, or worried over
Cousin Eleanor's going off to school.
Did she ever talk like this before, Uncle
Joe?'
"Yes, child; yet never thought she
was in earnest until now. 1t almost
breaks my heart to think of ito not
see you around any more, Maggie; it's
like n funeral-like funeral" He
paused and stroked her head, fondly.
Maybe she will relent," he added,
presently.
"No, she will not" answered the
girl, with q seb, "and / could not stay
where / am not wanted, any way, even
If she never urged my going again.
But where can / go? don't know
Oh, / wish mother had not
died, or that ] might have died with
herl / wonder why God let's things go
on this way?"
BE still, Maggie; don't question our
Fathers ways. / cannot answer your
question, dear; but il will all come
A. IL - o..I.- ....k ...-