The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1885-10-08

u Il aunt DSISy, EStellds AitOl
.CSL2Sl1S making such a fayOritc o
ETSSsS you all Your life, and hav
ing you with her ever since you were 1
mere baby, she might have sent yot
something worth having OH your TWEEN
| knows how poor we are since your ia.
theirs death,'' said my mother, sharply
"You had better take it as hint fol
! the future, and not build any more cas-
ties on what Aunt Betsy is likely to Dc
! tor yOu," remarked my sister Lena.
Waiter, my brother, added with {
provoking grimece:
Here endeth my sister Stella's great
| eXpectatiOns,'
you need not make such unpleasant
remarl s." l answered pettishly. "Ir
sending me the portrait of her ole
| sweetheart, poor auntie has given me
| her greatest treasure, and che, nc
doubt, thinks l shall value it as much
as she does"
"Well, it may come in useful after all
for if, as | expect, you never get q
| sweetheart, you can imagine he was
| yours when you are a sour old maid
like Aunt.Betsy," said Lena, who prided
herself not a little on being engaged a,
eighteen, while L, at twenty-One, had
never had an offer, not even the ghost
of Il lover.
had lived wi h Aunt Betsy down in
her quiet country home in the south OF
Corn wall until my fathers death two
years before, when coming up to Lon
don for his funeral, found my mother
left in such Strengthened circumstances
that [ felt Il my duty to stay and earn
what money L could to help her; there
by, however, | incurred Aunt Betsy's
anger.
Surely" she wrote, "your brother
and sister can help your mother; you
have 10 need to leave me lonely in my
old age after 1 have had all the trou BILE
of you as a child"
l would willingly have returned, for
q close London lodging was not at all
to my taste after my aunt's large, airy
country house, but my mothOr seemed
to lean on me, and so dreaded my leav-
ing her that had not the heart to 20,
Aunt Betsy neither came nor wrote,
and had quite resigned myself to the
idea that L was hopelessly on her black
books when the above related event
took place.
Now / knew that | was forgiven.
In her early youth, Aunt Betsy, then
the beautiful Elizabeth Marston, my
fathers only sister, had been engaged
to the son and heir of wealthy London
banker.
He had been sent abroad on business
for his father just before they were to
have been married, and through the
jealous treachery of another man who
madly loved her and wished to supplant
his rival, the engagement had been sud-
denly broken off by him.
He then remained abroad and Aunt
Betsy never heard from him again.
Just before he left England he had pre-
scented her with a beautiful little minia-
ture of himself set in gold and diamonds,
and this she had kept, together with her
maiden name-nO other lover ever in
duced her to change iC.
As a girl, l had often seen and reVer-
emily admired the pretty souvenir, and
| had taken all girls keen interest in
the love story attached to it. Aunt had
always told me it was to be mine, and
now felt certain, with this treasure in
my possession, that had not quite lost
nay old place in her favor, though l
solemnIy commended the portrait to my
care, that she had adopted AL orphan
girl in my place as her companion and
probable heiress.
l put the letter and portrait away
a
home, with its quiet and freedom, from
the daily toll and very that were now
my portion.
Things went on from bad to worse
with us, and my twenty-Second birth
day found us in despair.
Walter, in despair, had gone to New
Zealand; Lena had married on very
slender income and gone to live in the
north. l could not bend to ask help
from Aunt Betsy, and my mother was
ill, and my work so scarce that l could
barely find US i'll the necessaries of life.
At last, L too, became ill and we had
not penny in the house; everything
we had, even poor mama's engagement
ring had gone for food.
"Stslla, you must go and get some
money. Mrs. Burton says she will have
the rent tomorrow, or we shall have
to turn out into the street. There is
would you mind, dear ?-yOur Aunt
Betsy's present; you could get enough
for that to keep us a long time"
mamma, dear, l cannot, dare not
sell it.! Anything of mine l would not
withhold, but this-oh, please don't
ask me -
"And yet the generous donor has
mover sent us the price of a loaf" said
my mother, bitterly, "Well, take my
wedding ring it has never been Off my
finger since your poor, dead father put
it on twenty-five years ago; but it must
go now"
ono, no, mamma, you must not,
shall not take it off, L will go and take
aunt's present, not to sell, but 10 the
pawnshop: then | may perhaps get it
back when Walter sends us some
money"
With heavy heart and weary, lag
ging steps, departed on my hateful err
rand. All our things had been sold,
we had preferred to lose them to going
into that last disgraceful refuge of the
destitute, London pawnbroAer's.
Arrived outside, / paced to and fro
until my tottering limbs, weak from ILL
ness and continual fasting, warned me
that my strength would not hold out
much longer.
l entered. Only one other person, a
tall, dark gentleman, whose face L could
not see in the semi-darkness, stood there
talking to the shOpman.
81 tell you, my man, that plate is
here. 1t has been traced by clever
detective, who will join me here in q
few minutes. He is only delaying be-
cause he thinks he has traced the thief,
and has gone to follow up the search. "
"Well, sir,sI am sure you are mista-
ken, but my principal will be here in a
few moments, you must talk to him.
What can do for you young woman ?"
he asked, turning to me somewhat ca
gerly, evidently glad of an excuse to
evade his unpleasant visitors CONVERSE
ton.
Unable to speak, l drew forth my
treasure. The shOpkeeper looked sus-
piciously at me as he took it up and
tested it,
'eYour name and address, please" he
said sharply, "And how much do you
want?"
'I want "a little money, if you
please" l ALTERED.
AS l spoke the gentleman turned and
could feel pair of bright, keen eyes
scanning my pale face. l grew more
helplessly confused, my tongue refused
to utter word.
.''Tell the shopman how much you
want and your name, my good girl, F"
he said in kind and plying tone.
Then, for the first time, l raised my
eyes to his face, feeling that l had
fOund a friend Merciful HEAVIER was