Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1888-10-18
WIZ KURF KAYE NEVER MARRIED.

owners gathered round tine low sock'
ing chair where Aunt Kate, "fair, fat
and forty" sat, and rocked and sans
to herself all through the long, bright
morning. while her busy fingers flew
over her mending. There was always
so mach to mend in that house full oI
giddy. careless boys and girls. "COme
now, auntiel It rains so hard there
II be no going out to-day. and there's
no telling what mischief Wen get into
If you don't tell us a story"
A pair of brown eyes, as bright as
any in the group, flashed up from her
work in amused establishment, and a
laugh, as musical as a robins song,
rippled over the ripe. red lips.
"a story, girlsl What on earth
should tell you a story about? /
don't know one to my name"
"Now, Aunt Kate" and Bessie Ha-
will, the favorite and audacious one,
drew the basket of work from her
aunt's lap, and looked up at her with
dancing blue eyes. I'VE know you have
never lived to be forty years old. as
pretty as you are, without some sort
Of love-story. Why did mt you
ever get married, auntie ?"
"Why did mt l ever get married?
l declare ! don't know, unless it was
because I never had time! I We al
ways had somebody's children to look
after, and mend for, and straighten
out generally"
"But, Aunt Kate, did mt you ever
have an offer Of marriage? Please tell
us."
mo, ! don't believe I ever did; but
/ We come pretty near it sometimes.
But l was such a wild, harum-scarum
piece, l always spoiled it all some way"
And she laughed merrily at the
remembrance of her various mishaps.
well, tell us one, auntie, please"
pleaded Bessie; land we'll not bother
you any more to-day"
Auntie settled herself more eomfor-
tably in her chair, and took ups~ pair
of stockings to mend, that her fingers
might be as busy as her tongue.
well, | believe will tell YOU why
l laughed in meeting yesterday.
Girls, you must mt ever laughin
church. 1t is very wrong. When
you see how it spoiled my prospects
once, you'll agree with me. You see,
one summer, when ! was about as old
as Bessie here, We were all Of US ais
tiers, and one or two cousins, invited
to spend a month with an aunt, who
lived about fifty miles away from us,
in lively little village. She wrote
for US to come at once, saying
L" l have great catch for one of
you, and if you hurry you may get
him. I think he would Just suit
Kate.
"Of course that put US all in a glee,
and We were all anxiety to see this
wonderful man. Aunt Mary would
tell US nothing of him until we should
see him, and he did not put in an ap-
pearance until the third evening of
our visit. My gracious, girlsl l wish
you could have seen him. 'Abiah
Beanpole' he was nicknamed imme.
diately. I sha'n't tell you his real
name. A tall, shambling, fair-haired
widower. of about thirtY-fve, with
very red hair and whiskers, and weak,
blue eyes. He was dressed
in slick. shiny suit Of broadcloth,
that must have been his wedding suit.
The sleeves of it did not hide his red,
bony wrists, and the legs came barely
to his ankles. He had a slick, black
beaver hat, and he always put it down
between his feet when he sat down.
"Of course I wanted to laugh at
him, but, girls, he was awfully rich,
and l had made up my mind just then,
for reasons best known to myself, that
| d never love anybody, but marry
only for money. So did not laugh
at him, though he Immediately at.
tached himself to me. He did not
talk much, but he would sit for hours
looking at me, and every time he came
he put his chair little closer to mine.
So I knew he must be smitten, and, if
l could only keep my face straight, I
stood fair chance of catching Aunt
Marys wonderful catch
"Of course the other girls laughed
at me, and made fun of him; but
kept perfectly serious, and at last they
begun TO believe I was in earnest, and
meant to marry him if he asked me.
"At last ona dav ha inv;fad ne al