Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1886-01-13

fear, without satisfaction, TO see Injuries
appearing In the house, and on the table,
that she was sure hor father could not
afford.
"she,l ruin him next" was tho comment
In her mind, not knowing that the step
mother bad an income of her own nearly
equal to her husbands.
One day Margie saw workmen In the
parlor, and soon after a new fireplace
appeared, with bright wood fire. When
the old-fashioned carpet that had tried her
soul was taken up to be cleaned, IL re-
turned no more. but modern wool carpet
was laid down, and rugs were scattered
around. Thus all over the house, In every
room, improvements went gradually on.
Every one was In good taste, and would
not resolutely steeled her heart to good
Influences.
One day on coming home from one Of her
long visits TO heofriend Molly. sho found
that her room-which until now had been
untouched-had received visit. A rickoty
old rocking -chair, too old to be safe, had
been removed, and a pretty new one, de-
lightfully easy and comfortable, occupied
its place.
Her first sudden emotion was pleasure,
but she remembered that unluclxy word
manage" and anger quickly followed.
ing.'" was the thought, and she flung open
the door, dragged the new chair out, and
called to the housemaid who happened to
"Mary, this is not,mine; when wish my
furniture changed will tell you. I'll
trouble you to return my chair"-and she
closed her door. The old chair was brought
down from the attic, and no more attempts
were made to improve her room.
Not long after this began some strange
experiences in Margie's life. The first
thing that happened was what she had
wished for all her life-a regular allowance
for her own expenses. Heretofore when
she wanted money, she had been Obliged to
ask her father for what she needed, and
tell him how much would do, and what she
should use IL for. Sometimes he had de-
INJURED and thought her wishes extrava-
CANT, and It had been a trouble to her.
Since the step mother arrived this matter
had been harder than ever to arrange,
since the old pleasant relations with her
father were all over, and she had gone
without everything that was possible,
even suffering for clothes before asking.
This state of things she unreasonably
added to the account against her step
mother, and was embittered accordingly.
Nothing could depict her surprise, there
fore, when one morning she received by
mail a check for a larger amount than she
had ever possessed at once, with a short
business-like announcement that she should
receive In future like check quarterly for
her own expenses.
Margie never had pleasanter errand
than that afternoon, when she went to the
bank and received her money, and from
there hurried to Molly's to tell the good
news, and secure her company in a long
wish ed for shopping excursion.
She returned home almost happy, but
the sight Of the smiling face of her stop
mother turned the current of her feelings
into the old channel, and she sat down to
dinner as gloomy as ever.
She tried to thank her father that even
ing, but failing to catch him alone, wrote
him a note of thanks the next morning.
From this time many pleasant things
came to her. Speaking one day of de-
lightful journey her friend Molly was soon
to take with her mother, and how she
should like to go, the next day she re-
ceived check, with full permission to
join the party.
On her return in the autumn she re-
ceived In the same way, season tickets to
certain musical entertainments she had
always longed for. When her friends be-
gan to make up classes of different sorts
for the winter, she received tickets for
each. Nothing was forgotten, q new
piano appeared for her Christmas present,
and on her birthday a generous check with
which she was requested to refurnish her
own room, thing she had long desired
to do.
So IL went on, and il she had not so
steeled herself against her step mother,
she could almost have loved her for being
the cause-though remote-of these
changes in her life. She never had so many
sources Of happiness, never was so easy
about money and dress.
Whom this had been going on for some
time, she began to receive letters which
protested to be from an old-fashioned
friend, who wished to be of use to her
mothers daughter, and signed herself
"Your Fairy Godmother."
These letters were written with the
happiest tact. They began entirely ON in.
tellectual subjects, to lead her thoughts, to
direct her reading; and while not alarming
her pride or arousing sensitveness, and
never speaking OF any person, they gradu-
ally led her to see many things in a differ
emit light, broadened and deepened her
character, and by guiding her reading and
studies in music and art made great changes
In her.
Margie delighted in them. She was
keenly DESTROYS of the best culture, and she
saw in them exactly what she felt the
need of, the advice and help of a cultured
and refined woman; one to take the place
of a mother.
She answered them with enthusiasm,
and It soon grew into worry frequent cor
respondence. Once she ventured to speak
of her life at home, and hint of her unhap-
piness, but the answer came promptly,
Keutiy Dubtluk Ill Gnu W bflS, uuu TeQueSt-
Ing her not to write about the family.
Nothing of all these pleasures softened
Margie's conduct toward her step mother.
Unconsciously to herself, most of the Bit
terness had gone out of her heart; her
years mental and spiritual growth had
raised her above her former self, but her
manner was stereotyped, and she was not
yet noble enough to acknowledge her mis-
take.
Things were brought to a crisis in the
Barnard household by terrible accident.
Returning one afternoon from visit to
friend, Margie found the house in confu-
sion; two Doctors carriages before the
door; her father sent for; the children
crying; the servants standing around the
halls.
On her appearance she was assailed with
the news. Horses had run away, Mrs.
Barnard was very badly hurt-the doctors
where's fatheri was her j. question SssI now
."In the library, half crazy" was the re.
aNow,D thought Margie, "now's nv
chancei Now can be a comfort to papa"
and throwing aside her street things she
rushed In eagerly. Her father was walk
ing back and forth, talking aloud in his
sore distress.
30 Godw he murmured, 81 can not see
her sufferl I can not have her diep'
Margie stopped, awed by his grief. He
went on:
"With her lose every hold have on
lifeU
Margie could keep back no longer.
30, papa ~ she cried, laying her hand on
his arm, "Don't say that! You have us
children; we surely are something TO you.
I, papa, Twill be all can to YOU"
Her father looked at her, and the mingled
grief and sternness of his face Margie
could never forget.
"Yous" he said. "You-will comfort ?
You have systematically aud cruelty re-
PEELED the tenderest heart in the world !
You have planted every sting in my heart
that was In your power, since she conde-
scended to be a mother to my neglected
children, and fll a vacant place in my
heart which no Observation-Disclosures dear
could possibly fill. Do you think your
blessed mother would approve of you?
Leave me alone with my grief"
Margie crept out of the room, stunned,
crushed, struck with sudden sense of her
own abominable conduct. She had been
forgetful of her own mothers dying words:
Daughter, do everything you can TO make
papa happy, for my sake" She felt her.
self q wretch; she saw herself for once as