Los Angeles daily herald., 1886-12-19

1.-The new people. The rector and
bis wife will think me incapable. ln'
deed | know they do: they have said SO
They would rather have conventional,
proper mistress.
"Incapable! Nonsense, child, you
are over sensitive. Every one knows
how clever you are. Weren't you gold
medalist at that--what do you call 'em
place? Incapable, indeed! Who has
been putting that into your head,
Nary"
"Nobody has put it in, Mr.. Brooke, "
she answered, smiling at his warmth;
"it came of self, but | know what peo-
pie think"
"Who has said anythrng?" he asked
Indignantly.
ono oue--at least not to my face.
Bat | can see what they think without
being told in so many words. Every
thing looks down upon me here because
was once rich and now I'm poor.
"Heer the young woman appraise her.
SELF" laughed Mr.. Brooke. "And do
you think, Miss Bartlemy, that you'd
be worth as much to strangers as you
are to us here, who know and love you
and your mother"
"Oh, no; | know l shouldn't; but
they wouldn't look down upon me as
as--some do here"
"Some! Who, Mary? Have YOU
You haven't been out Of the village. l
know, since / saw you last. Who has
wounded you?"
He spoke augerly, and looks as he
speaks, and Mary hastens to try and
remove his anger.
"Oh, never mind, please! Pray for
get what 1 have said, she begs earnest
ly, while her cheeks flush painfully; II
am silly. and-and over sensitive, as
you say, and-and I'm not used to my
new life yet. | wish / hadn't said any
thing to you. 1t was very foolish. |
really don't mind--at least not much. "
"Yes, you look as if you didn't mind
not much" he says almost contempt
ously, she thinks. 81 think l have
never seen you so thoroughly vexed be-
fore, Mary. Yes, it is silly to be
wounded because "a puppy | Ike that
i beg your pardon, Nary" he said,
checking himself abruptly. Perhaps
you like-still like the fellow, mean,
but there, 1 won't say anything against
h m. Don't cry, you silly girl. Upon
my soul! L know what l should like
uncommonly WE'LL
"Oh, Mr.. Brooke" says Mary, obedi-
emily drying her eyes, 'if it is anything
l could do for you-
"No, no, child; you're the very last
person who would give me my own way
in that matter" and Mr.. Brooke takes
the little basket, in which he had
brought the poor, paralyzed mother an
offering of fruit and flowers from her
hand ''Good afternoon,
dear; end try little to grow better
pleased with your work and with your
new home here. Your mother is happy;
why shonld you not be so, too? "
"Let me Mt least know what it is you
would like" she says, ready to cry again
at his reproof, though she feels she has
deserved it.
81 would like to collar dear Hugo and
horsewhip him." he answers bluntly,
looking her full in the face; then turns
away aud leaves her, and does not once
look back as he rides away.
She was little angry with him now.
Why need he remind her that the man
who a little while ago was her devoted
follower, had, since her fathers death
and the discovery OF his insolvency,
never once been near her? Mary
blushed hotly as she recalled her old
friends words. Yet she knew right well
that if she had still been the only child
Of the rector. Mr.. Fortescue would pro-
oably have declared himself weeks be-
lore, and poor Mary felt herself as COM
Dletely Tilted as if they had really come
TO an understanding and he had broken
'aith with her.
She went indoors and gave her mo her
4 bunch of hothouse grapes hs had
brought with him, placed the flowers
hat had covered them in q vase close
beside the invalid's chair, and united the
parcel of books Mr.. Brooke had selected
rom his own latest supply.
She read to her mother till the invalid
lropped asleep, declaring the hero of
,he tale to be ''almost as kind and good
Is dear Joshua Brooke himself" Mary
could not refrain from tears at the un.
yitting reproach thus conveyed to her,
md when she saw Mr.. Brooke riding by
II the cool of the evening, she threw
iown her work and ran out to stop him.
81 want to speak to yon--to tell you
she cried breathlessly; "do
top minute-that is-if you have
ime," she added. blushing at her own
confusion and the haste in which she
lad forgotten her hat.
"What is it, Mary?" he asked, dis
and looping the reins over the
title garden gate. "More complaints?
Are you going to tell me that you canuot
possibly be mistress of Ashleigh any
onger? / am poor ignoramus; till
o.day always thought that pride felt
10 pain."
'That isn't true," returned Mary,
ending her head shamfacedly as she
lade her confession. IL ap proud and
did feel it, but should be much more
rieved if you--if my mothers one
riend were angry with me. Please,
1r. Brooke, please, godfather, forgive me
or thinking more of my own trivial. self.
III troubles, than of your own kindness
nd goodness"
dui hoV ohSiy WIN you, shiy Shuu,
ut I'm not very fond of gratitude, and
p quite misplaced term between us.
'ou oblige me by being mistress of my
wn school and organist of my own
rgan in my own church. | think
ave right, as built both church and |
,hool, as l endowed both, to select a
distress and an orgapist."
"Oh, yes" said Mary, who, still afraid |
{ his anger, was ready to agree to any
hing, "but / am So"
"You cannot make yourself the filter
" either post by depreciating yourself,
larry" he said, interrupting her; "and
,member that even if you succeeded
on depreciate my judgment in selecting
ou. If, as you say, you are really
rateful and do not wish me to be down
ght angry, pray say no more about it.
on will thank me best by trying to be
Apply here"
ii will, | will, indeed!" she answered
sgerly, and looked up at him with ear
est eyes to see if he were growing more
ke his old self, but sudden glow of
olor overspread her face as she II ct the
uoze of the two ladies who |