The Penn's Grove record., 1885-08-22

fort that | "a refrain from weeping
aloud. Fortunately the mar III gray
has his back towards me, and is appa-
rently ~criticising the architecture of my
home. When | feel that my voice can
be heard without any perceptible, trem-
or / ask
SLOW did it happen2"
''G shot it,"
You shot itl' | echo, in amazement
aud scorn; then | continue, not even
trying to hide my contempt, What
right have you to handle a gun if you
don't know how to use one?'
There is a faint smile on his face as
he answers humbly-
"'Alas, Miss Hammond, it was no ac-
cidentt shot your monkey on pur-
pose"
1 stare at him blankly, almost think
ing he must be a little wrong in his
head; but no-he looks perfectly sane.
Then my indignation breaks forth.
"Then you are 30 gentleman, and a
coward to boot, u exclaim angrily, Ito
shoot a poor little harmless creature
that had never in any wayinjured youl'
lone moment, please, for explana-
tion," he interrupts quite calmly and
politely-my angry words seem to have
fallen short of their ann,
"Well2" | say. still rather defantly,
feeling that no explanation can calm
the wrath within me.
''In the first place | did not know
that he was yours"
"That does not alter the fact that
you killed Bonnie" retort bitterly.
1.-THE act is the same, no matter to
whom he belonged"
Secondly" continues Bonnie s muir
derer, ignoring my remark, ''he stole
five hundred pounds, and had to shoot
him in self, defence to get my property
back"
People have no right to leave their
money about in that careless fashion"
| assert; ''besides, unless 1t was in
notes'-my voice is faltering-"I don't
see how he could have taken five hun.
dred pounds"
"He took it in the easiest form he
could carry it-diamonds," my CON-
panion explains. MY sister is going
to be married next month, and l went
up to town yesterday and purchased
her wedding-preSent, a set of diamonds.
This morning, wishing her to see my
gift at Its best, | opened the cases and
placed them, in the full blaze of the
sunshine, on the library-table. | left
the room for a moment to fetch my
sister. and, when l returned, what
should | see but the monkey''-point-
ing rather Indignantly towards my lap
with the diamond reckless in his
grasp, making his escape through the
open windowi'
How could you expect him to re-
sist it'll" | ask tearfully.
81 did not expect him at all" an
swers my companion. "How was I to
know that you kept a monkey which
you let run at larger For all / knew
he might have been an animal trained
by burglars to help them in their work.
He made off across the lawn at express
speed; and perhaps even you Will adj
NIT that it is not pleasant to watch five
hundred pounds vanish out of sight
without an effort to stop the thief. My
gun was handy, and-I used it.p
"Poor little Bonnie, poor little Bon
nieF' l weep.
81 am exceedingly sorry to have
caused you so much Distress" continues
the man in gray. Had | known that
the monkey belonged to any one near,
[ might simply have followed 1t home
as 1t is, / can only tender a sincere ap-
ology, which l hope you will accept,
Miss Hammond"
The latter part of the sentence is ut
tered in ID in~terrogative way, but l
make no reply to it. | feel that | can-
not forgive him.
Fortunately at this moment my faith
er emerges from his study by way of
the French window, and advances to.
wards us across the lawn.
"Do my eyes deceive me, or I'M |
gazing at Jack Fairlough in the desh?"
he asks in his iovial voice.
My companion turns, with a start,
and there follows a decidedly friendly
greeting between the two. For some
moments l am forgotten, and | avail
myself of these few seconds to deter
mine that nothing shall ever induce
me to be more than distantly civil to
Bonnie's murderer, no matter how par
tai papa my be to him.
"Ah, by-the-way, this is my daugh-
ter Vera!' says my father, wheeling
round suddenly and indicating me with
a nod. "But"-doubtfully-''I think
you were talking when l came upp"
Eyes; l have just made Mr.. Fair
lOugh's acquaintance" | say, with cut
ting meaning in my tone
Mr.. Fairlough stares at me in hope
less kind of a way, he evidently thinks
an unreasonable girl-a girl with a
temper.
81 have had the misfortune to intro
duce myself In a most disastrous way
to your daughter" he says, with a
slight bow in my direction. 81 have
killed her pet monkey" and he points
to Bonnie still lying on my knees.
MY dear fellow" my father begins
eagerly clasping his friends hand, ''you
couldn't have conferred a greater boon
on the household; that monkey has
been the plague of my life for the past
two monthsi'
Papa, how can your" is my indlg.
nant exclamation; and then, gathering
up my pet, l rise, deciding in my own
mind that such cold. blooded persons
are not fit associates for me.
My father gives a low expressive
whistle.
"Here, Veral" he calls, as l begin to
move away.
YES, papa" l make answer.
Look here, child-never mind about
the monkey, poor little brute-he Is out
of his troubles now"
Eyes" l allow, with a meaning look
at Mr.. Fairlough.
"And see here, Vera"-as l am again
turning-"I read in a natural history
Yesterday that monkeys sometimes live
to a hundred and fifty"
mot in this neighborhood is my re-
sponse; and then. as papa makes no
further effort to detain me, | enter the
house and retire to my bedroom, where
having shed a few sorrowful tears w
Bonnie. | take up my post at the win
dow which oyerlooks the lawn, and
whence / can watch the movements of
the enemy. Papa has a way of taking
desperate fancIes to people, though this
Mr.. FaiIlough is apparently an old
friend. i have a presentiment that he
NAV be about to ask Bonnle's murderer