St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1888-08-12

before in the household, the absence of
the poor dead mother being scarcely
perceptlble. Some few weeks, how
ever, after WARMERS return, Miss Mac
lean came to him, evidently in great dis
tress and agitation.
Philip" she said, 81 have something
to say which l know will be as painful
to you as it is to me. 1 must leave
you"
Leave me-" exclaimed Warmer.
You do not mean for GOODS
Il cannot bear to say it, but l must
go, and at once"
why, what is wrong" he asked.
what is the meaning of it?"
DO not ask me-" she answered.
You know the world, Philip. You
cannot be ignorant that it is not right
Tor me to be living here alone with
you"
81 know nothing of the kind" re-
turned Warmer. "And you yourself
never thought so till now. What has
put such an idea into your head?'
Indeed, have feared it all along. l
knew that 1t would not do for me to re-
main here for good-that people would
talk"
"And they are talking, are they?"
said Warmer, Savagely. Tell me, has
any one dared to speak of such thing
to you? Stay; | suppose this is what
brought Mrs. BOdkin here this morning.
She ought to know better. | will go to
the vicar and tell him 500
NO: please do nothing of the kind,
Philip" pleaded the girl. sit l, not the
wears fault, nor his wife's. She said
nothing but what it was best for me to
hear"
Come, Ethel" urged Warriner, edo
not allow this silly tittle-tattle to make
us all miserable. Look at the common
sense of the situation. You have lived
here for nearly three years as the head
OF my household, and the most strait
laced of our kind neighbors has never
dreamed of there being any harm in
your doing so. Seeing what poor Con-
stances condition was through the great
er part of the time, what difference can
her death make in the right and wrong
of your being here now?"
"lt was no use of talking of common
sense" replied Ethel, with flaming
cheeks. ''Would you have me stop
here to be a by-word throughout the
neighborhood? Can you not see now
why the Blakes and the Suther-
lands have not called since you came
back-why l was not asked to the
Helmores' party last week-why old
Mrs. BioXam cut me in the church yard
on Sunday? Oh. | should hate myself
if stopped here another day! l ought
to have gone month ago, but it was so
hard to leave my-my hOme!' and poor
Ethel finished the sentence with big
sob and burst of tears.
Neither argument nor entreaty could
move her, though Warmer tried his
Ia, ncf hot IL, 10,
she took her departure. twas black
day for all of them. The children did
not know that they were losing her for
good, but for all that the two younger
ones were quite incOnSolabie, and at
the last moment Charley, now sturdy
little fellow of five, chung desperately
to his aunt'S dress and insisted piteously
on accompanying her. Ethel tore her
self from them as best she could. The
carriage whirled away, and for the first
time Philip Warmer knew in all its
bitterness that he was widower, and
that his children were motherless.
Some four months later an alarming
telegram brought Warriner back to
Claythorpe in the minst of short visit
he was making to London on business.
In the interval he had endeavored to
supply his SiSter-in-law'S place by the
services of houSekeeper and a gov
erness. Three ladies had been tried in
the latter capacity. The last of them,
who had hitherto seemed to Warmer
the most satisfactory of the series. had
taken advantage of his absence to pay a
visit to friend at Scarborough. While
she was away nurSemaid had, in de-
fiance of orders, taken the two Younger
children into the village, where scarlet
fever had just broken out. Charley had
caught the disease, and by the time his
father arrived he was just entering Oh
the critical stage.
Warmer at once sent away the two
other children and telegraphed to Lon
don for a nurse. The best that money
railway could bring her. But with her
arrival a new difficulty are. The child,
weakened and occasionally deliriouS
with fever, refused to endure the pres
ence of the stranger, and, indeed, was
SO distressed at the sight of the nurse
that it was found impossible to keep
her in the room. Even the presence of
the servants whom he knew was Ills
tasteful to the boy. and Warmer had
no resource but to take his place by the
bedside and assume the duties of nurse
himself. He could not be there always,
however, and the child's life was now
lidilS ing ny d UHledu. w lldI WAS 10 DE
done? The only course which remained
had already suggested itself to War
riner'S mind when one night, as he was
sitting by the bedside, Charley suddenly
turned over. and spoke to him.
Father, l have been dreaming OF
Auntie Ethel. When is Auntie Ethel
coming back?'
Il do not know my boy. Do you
want her?"
'sOh yes, father! Tell her to come
soon. l shall never get we'll again until
Auntie Ethel comes to me-"
Il will send for her in the morning,
Charley. | will tell her what you say.''
The much-trOubled father dispatched
telegram at daybreak, explaining to his
siSter-in-laW the boys condition. The
next night Auntie Ethel was at Char
ley's bedside.
1t was a fortnight before the child was
thoroughly cohvalescent. Day by day
throughout that time Warmer watched
with deepening gratitude Ethel'S never
failing devotion to her charge, and the
child'S touching delight at her presence.
The thought of her going away again
of repetition OF all the trouble
and sorrow that had come to his chill
dren in her absence-became inexpressi-
bly, painful to the father. Nor was it
only of the children that he thought.
Warmer was past the susceptible age
of manhOod-past falling in love in the
conventional sense. But it would have
been strange had he not felt by this
time the tenderest affection for the
woman who had devoted herself so low
ally to him and all who were dear to
him.
Must she go? Will she insist upon
leaving? Time after time these thoughts
passed through WARMERS mind-time
after time he tried to hit upon some
plan to induce Ethel to remain. But
before Charley had left his room she