The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1888-09-07
At HOME ONCE MORE.

"WASTED-A governess at Brayton
Lodge. One capable of teaching music
and languages, and bringing good refer
ences.r
AT Brayton Lodge! Dear old Bray
ton, my own homer cried Lucille Bray
ton, throwing down the paper and burst
ing into tears "How csp ever go back
there as governess. and see It owned by
strangers; and yet, what else ofersitselfl
/ cannot starve."
Almost desperately she sprang up, and
walked about the little room for a mo-
ment, then picked up the paper and re-
read the advertisement.
How / wonder who owns the dear old
place nowr' she unused. is there any
girl there now who is as happy as i was
who, perhaps, has my room, loves the
flowers and walks as did. Has lover,
perhaps, and rows with him on the lake
in the moonlight evenings. Oh, Lloyd,
LoydI Why do torture myself in this
way," she broke off, suddenly throwing
herself on the little old lounge, in q pas
sion of tears and grief. 5
Hers was truly sad story.
Ten years before, pettsd only daugh-
ter, surrounded with. every luxury and
affianced to one whose devoted love she
fully returned, sorrow had singled her
out target for its Arrows
First, her lover was called abroad, and
in mid-ocean went down with the fated
ship on which he had taken passage
Then, just as her heart seemed breaking
with its weight of grief, n terrible blow
fell over her home-none other than the
death OF her father by his own hand, and
the sudden terrible knowledge that he
had succumbed, first to one temptation
and then to another, intending in time to
Replace al, but driven to desperation at
last by the accumulation of bad luck and
wrongdoing.
To make what reparation they could,
the heart-broken widow and daughter
gave up their home and everything they
possessed, and then went away TO cover
up their shame and grief in i part Of the
world where they would bc strangers TO
all.
The year that followed had been one
continuous struggle with sickness and
poverty. in the midst of which Mrs Bray
ton quietly folded her tired hands over
her broken heart and died, leaving Lucille
alone in the world.
After that, overcome with loneliness
and longing to see her old home, Lucille
rlOwly drifted back TO the place OF her
happy girlhood; had just tonight arrived
hotel, asked for the paper, and read of
the goyerness wanted In her old home.
Il can at least 20 and see the dear
place." she said to herself the next morn
ing, when after n night spent in slespless
sad memories. she ate her breakfast with
ont seeing one familiar face and started
of.
II don't suppose viii do, because my
references are too far away, and will not
let them know who I really am"
How familiar was every turn and by
way of the little village and the road
leading of to the Lodge. Lucille's eyes
were SO continually blinded with tears,
that she hardly noticed the few passers-
by. and 10 one noticed her
Yelled, and In her plain black gown. she
bore little resemblance to the beautiful
Lucille Brayton who, in other years, had
dashed gayly over these roads on her pony
or in her phaetOn. the admired OF all OBJ
servers
AT last the dear familiar tower, peeping
above the trees, rose in sight, and then
only Few steps, and she was at the gates
stretching Hospitality open az in oldeu
times, with the smooth white drive rolling
away beyond under tho shady beeche..
II must-I must control myself, - she
murmured, leaning for 81 moment against
the lichen-covered stone caterpillar.
But, on, how hard il is, And how little
everything is changed had hoped TO
find it so, and yet how doubly hard it
makes il - bear,'
Slowly she went on, winding in and ont
the wide shady drive until the house was
reached. and every step revealed how
lightly time had touched the place
The new owners had made no changes
Every seat, arbor, and statue were the
same, and unchanged rs to position.
Two children on the shady stone porch
sat on the same ornamental settee she
had always used, and At the sight OF her
one OF them jumped up.
Il s'pect you're our new goverEess. Do
you want to zee mammal"
Yes" answered Lucille, with great
eIertion at s. st-adyins her voice.
AID the child 1T once disappeared into
the house, leaving his sister staring shyly
at the stranger.
A pleasnnt-faced lady soon appeared In
the doorway.
"WiH you walk In, please. Il is very
warm without" +"
Lucille did so, more by sense OF feeling
than sight, for memories were overpow-
cring.
"You come i'm answer to the advertise
ment, Miss -"
''Lathrop," said Lucille family, and
pushing aside her veil with reluctance rs
rho remem bcred her tear-st aimed face.
But the darkness Of the room only re-
vesled its excessive pallor- nothing
more.
Il would be pleased to secure the po-
sition; aud can teach music, French, Ger
man, and with \ little study, Latin. But
am a-stranger here, and my references
arc from places and people so distant that
l did not know whether you would be
willing TO accept them"
Two keen bright eyes had been search
ing her face ~ she spoke, and their owner
was making mp her mind in n hurried
decisive way characteristic of her.
81 think ! would be willing. Are you
fond of children,"
"Yes, madame"
And have taught beforsr'
For three years, in family from
whom bring recommendation"
A few more questions and answers fol-
lowed; and then, almost before Lucille
realized it, she was engaged, shown to
her room, and n boy dispatched to the
village for her trunk.
Can it be possible, or am / only dream
ingl' she murmured, sinking into the
chair by the window, into the very room
that had belonged to her Goyerness.
Father, mother, do you know that am
Mt home, Homei Oh, what a bitter
mockeryl must 40 away again. can
never bear itr'
But she did bear il, and soon learned TO
love those who now called it home.
Mrs. Morton was n widow, with frank
impulsive heart, that was soon won by the
stranger; and the children fell promptly
in love with their new governess, who
never grew tired of strolling about the
grounds with them, and telling the most
wonderful stories, of how another little
girl had once lived in their house, and
done so and so.
1t was life nearer happy than any she
had lived for ten years; and many, many
times the truth hung to her lips when
talking with Mrs. Morton. But she
never spoke it.
'sSuch a niece of news ~ said that Indy