The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1888-06-23

nened was nothing more than happened to
almost every girl in her teens-they fall IN
| love and out of love a dozen times before
| tbev marry-but | never thought Emily was
that sort of girl, either"
and was she in love, or engagedf DO
| tell me. Who was it? Anybody known
said Mrs. Smiles, eagerly.
| Mrs. Knowle wished herself at the bot
| tom of the sea before she had let her feel
| ines carry her away into making z"ch a
| cruel mistake, such fatal admission; 5ut
still the only safe way to remedy 1t was 10
| tell the whole truth, and then trust to her
friends sense of honor. After all, it was
| not very terrible truth. As she had well
said, the thing happens dozens of times to
dozens of girls.
| "Ill tell you the whole story, Mrs.
Smiles, if you will promise not to speak of
it. Not that it was anything bad; poor
| dears! they were SO young, 1t was such O
natural thing for them to fall in love; but il
| caused us-my husband and me-a great
deal of trouble at the time, for it happened
in our house"
| "This love AFFAIR.""
| "Yes, real love affair not bit like
poor John Bowerbank's sober courtship, but
an old-fashoned love affair." heart warm
so warm that Edward said it put him in
mind of our own young days. And the
| people were -
Il can guess, for / was with YOU two
| DAYS of the time of Emily kendals visit,
and | think | can see as far into mill
stone as most people. II was young STEM
/ house?"
Mrs. Knowle nodded with n sad look in
her kindly eyes. Just so! Poor fellow,
have scarcely spoken his name, even to my
| husband-ever since he sailed to India, a
wear and half ago. We we're so sorry to
| lose him. He was n clerk in our firm, you
know-entered the Office as a boy OF fifteen
and that was how he came 30 much TO
our house while she was visiting us. And
he was a fine young fellow, quite the gem
| tleman; and she was lass in her teens,
and a bonny lass she was, too, then-so of
course they fell in love with one another
and, mercy mel how could | help it? He
behaved very honorably, poor fellow! came
| and told me at once rs soon rs ever he had
proposed to her-that is, if he ever did
formally propose. | rather think not, but
! that they found each others feelings by
the merest accident. For / remember he
said TO me, in such burst of passion as
never saw yet in mortal man, I've been an
ass, and some folk might call me O knave
for she has fifty thousand pounds and
haven't half-penny! Poor lad!-poor
ladl"
And what did you dor"
"What could do-shut the stable door
when the steed was stolen? Why, my dear
woman, told you-the poor things loved
one another"
An argument which did not seem to weigh
very much with Mrs. Smiles. She drew
herself up with dignity.
"A most unfortunate and ll-advised at
tachment. !, as mother of family of
DAUGHTERS, must certainly say"
"What would You say?"
THAT 1 would consider it my business to
prevent it."
How could prevent it, exclaimed Mrs.
knowle, pathe,ically, as if the troubles her
warm heart had undergone at that time
were bitter even in remembrance. Here
were two nice young pcople-one nineteen,
the other five meeting every
day-liking one anothers company, finding
out continually how well they suited and
how dearly they enjoyed being together.
In truth the very sight of them walking
under the lilac trees, or sitting outside the
drawing room window with heap Of books
between them, talking and reading, and
laughing to themselves in their innocent,
| childish way, used TO do my heart good.
Many time | thought if God had been
pleased to give Edward and me such a
daughter, or if our little Edward, that's
lying waiting for his mother, in Hale
church yard-well, that's nonsonse!" said
the good woman, with sudden pause and
choking of the voice. All mean is that,
in our childless house, those young people
were very pleasant company; and l used
often to think if either of them was my own,
oh, wouldn't | do a deal to make them both
happy But it wasn't to bet wasn't to
be. And now she has gone and married
John Bowerbank.
Not. continued the lady, after pause,
mot that have word to say against John
| Bewerbank. He is Mr.. Kendals friend, and
my husbands friend; the three are all about
| the same age, too. He is a very good man;
| but he isn't John Stenhouse. And, oh
me- when | call to mind how fond John
| Stenhouse was of Emily Kendall, aud
how fond poor Emily was of him-of all
the misery they went through together
of the nights l sat by her bedside
until she sobbed herself to sleep-and of
the days when young Stenhouse went 10
and fro between our house and the count
| ing house, with his face as white as death,
and his lips fiercely set and look of
| stony despair in his eyes. OH my dear,
| think must have been dreaming when saw
the wedding this morning. How could she
do ity"
Did she do it-what did she do?"
We'll, not much, after all, l suppose"
| said Mrs. knowle, with a sigh. Edward
and L vexed ourselves very much about it
at the time; and yet such things occur
every day, and people think nothing about
them. We did, though. We couldn't see
| eny reason on earth Why Mr. Kendall should
have blamed us so severely for allowing
| such thing to happen Allowing? AS if
,.0vo {ol A.,
If, believing firmly that a real good mar
rage with good man is the best thing that
| can befall any young woman, it would ever
nave occurred to us to try and prevent it!
But Mr.. Kendall thought differently. When
John Stenhouse wrote to him for his cot-
sent, and my Edward inclosed it in the very
civilest, friendliest letter, detailing all Mr.
Stenhouse's circumstances and our high
respect for him, and his being fit for hus-
band for any girl, except in not having
money, which, as Miss Kendall had plenty,
did not signify well, / say, when the old
man came down upon us like thunder
bolt, and dismissed John from the house,
and insisted Oh carrying Emily away, only
she took to her bed with a nervous fever
and couldn't be moved, / own l was sur
prised. My dear, the poet says Fathers
have fiinty hearts; but it's my belief they
have no hearts at all. How thnt old fellow
could have looked at that poor little girl of
his-his daughter, wasted to a skeleton
lying on her bed with her pretty ewes that
were the image of her mothers when Mr..
Kendall married herr fixed on the ceiling
with such hopeless look, AID her pretty
mouth, that never gave her father sharp
word back, but only. whispered to me some
times, Please don't let him be unknd to
John'-how could he do it, and call him
self Christian, and 60 to church every
Sunday, don't understand You must
recollect, continued Mrs. knowle, "that
John Stenhouse was not a bad fellow,
neither low-born nor ill-eGu ated-that not
a living soul had ever breathed syllable
against his character. There was no earth
ly reason for refusing him except that he
was a clerk in merchants Office and she
was barrister's daughter; be had nothing,
and she had fifty thousand pounds. That
was the bottom of it, l know-the cursed,
cursed money, rs my husband said. MIR.
Kendall wanted her to make what he called
a suitable marriage that is, where every-