The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1886-07-31

Is it all over, Mabel? Will George
come here no more?" She caressed the
bowed head as she spoke, caressed it in
her own soft, motherly way, for she had
been mother as we'll as sister to her
fathers youngest child-the child of her
fair stepmcther, lovely woman who
seemed to have come to the old house
only to leave it the brighter with her one
gift-a baby whose face she never saw,
dying as its first Cry thrilled her soul.
"All over, Grace. And 1 am SO sorry
for him. 1 loved him dearly as brother,
as friend; but I could not love him as
wife should love her husband. Why is il,
Grace, that l am always to have lovers,
never brother, never friend? 1t makes
life very lonely"
"God has given you a rich, rare gift,
my darling. You are beautiful; and men
love beauty. Ifyou were plain as am"
and she laughed softly, "you might have
friends, no lovers, though. have friends
by the hundred; of lovers, ah me, not
one"
"Plain, Grace, you plain" and the
| young sister lifted her face and looked at
the one bent toward her. "You are not
plain; you're like a Madonna; Raphael
would have painted you for one." And
she rose and flung her arms about the
| neck OF Grace and kissed the face SO pure
in looks, so delicate in every feature; a
face no longer very young, yet still with
out wrinkle.
"Grace!" sitting down beside her, on
a hassock, "Grace, I'm going to turn
over a new leaf. I've been your and
fathers butterfly long enough
"Not butterfly, darling; our nightin-
gale"
Well, nightingale, if you will have it
| so-useless anyway. I'm going to be in
dustrious!
But you are, Mabel. You are never
idle, except when your lovers come a
counting. What would our flower gar
| den be without your hands to tend it?
| Who would gather the currants and the
berries and the fruit? Who would find
the eggs and care for the chicks and feed
the birds? Who would trim my bonnets
and make my dresses?"
Yes, yes, Grace, but all that is easy
work, play for me. Now I am going to
turn housekeeper and let you be the
nightingale. You have never been quite
strong since the fever of last winter.
You shall take long rest now"
But you forget our dodgers come to-
! morrow"
No, I do not forget. know they are
coming. Not bit of need of it either,
only the dear old father likes to put away
the bright sovereigns and count them
over, saying, So many for Grace when
she gets married, so many for Mabel
when she gets married and SO many for
me when am too old to work. don't
like it; strangers coming every summer
and eating the best of everything y
"But, Mabel, there is always enough
for you, for us all"
az know; still they are in the way, un-
der foot always. But since he will have
them, I'm going to do the work this time
and you be Lady Grace"
And then, in quiet, womanly way, for
she could be quiet and womanly, though
she did call herself butterfly, she ar
ranged the work for the coming summer,
and her sister, who was yet weak from
the long illness of the winter, seemed to
feel her WEAKNESS pass off, just with the
sweet thought that she need not rise be-
fore the sun to hurry up the women and
to see that the men were served with
breakfast in due time.
And then Mabel kissed her sister and
went away, and while Grace slept she
lay wide awake and planned out future
for herself, future that should be with
out troublesome lovers, a future that
should be all woodwork for her father,
work for Grace, work for the house, the
garden, the farm.
Because" as she finally tied dainty
cap over her soft, brown hair, " because
l shall never have a lover to suit me,
never one that touches my heart away
down deep-never be married-and so I
may as well make up my mind to be a
useful woman, useful as Grace has been
and is. Dear old Grace, / wonder if she
is really happy / wonder if can be
really happy and never have lover"
And then che fell asleep, and alas, while
she slept, the young man who had told her
his story on the rustic bridge was tramp
ing up and down the woods upon his
farm and wishing he could die, or else
forget.
~
The dodgers came next day, just as the
afternoon was wearing off into twilight.
One was man of forty, grave man;
with eyes that were full of a tender
light, with voice that was low but rich;
man gentle in all his ways and yet with
a something in his air that told of re-
pressed strength. The other was about
twenty-five, full of buoyant life, with eyes
full of merriment, with voice that was
full of laughter; a man gentle, too, in all
his ways, as was his brother, and yet
impressing You with the same thought,
that of hidden strength. And he was
strong and he had done heroic deeds.
young as he was. Men had been saved
from death by him; women had called
him their deliyerer; children had been
mt haol into THAR poOthars' arnna 1uban