The Red Cloud chief., 1889-09-27

q WOrQrOr token OF o0cctlOns
The tears dropped OF the long lashes and
= bitterness settled over the white face-so
very white now in the deepening twilight.
Ii her young heart was breaking from
neglect and want of sympathy, b diner
moe did it make; what difference, indeeda
She was only an orphaned niece, moneyless
and friendless. finding shelter under the
aristocratic r~ooftree Of Uncle Wilton, sim
wise. People would have censured, you
sec.
Cousins Kate and Clara were in the
drawing-room entertaining friends, and the
soft light came through the drawn curtains
Of Glmy lace with . dreamy radiance SUIT
7ng we'll the slow. sleepy music of the
GUITAR some one was playing inside.
The girl paused to look IN at the coy en-
loyEent hungrily. How h loved music;
but b she could not sing. No; tho mu-
aicSl vein of the Wiltons had failed TO throb
into her life for ONE reason.
Sh couldn't sing, she couldn't dance,
neither could she appear we'll in society; so
Aunt Marie said ''tbere was no use bother
ing with the little, ignorant begGar."
The big tears, hesitating on the dark LASH
cs, FLASHED down on the crimson shawl, and
Babbette turned away with . choking SEN
sstiOn in her throat
Gu. across there. though, where thelights
twinkle through tho trees, lived a dear old
friend, tho g~ray.haired rector. How many
happy hours she had passed In that pretty
cottage; the little study with its modest In
ar.in carpet and softly-shaded lamps; with
Its narrow, green shutters opening out ON u
loug, old fashioned piazza by day. and closed
ON the little happy world at night, was u
paradise to the lonely girl.
Doubtless the low rocker in its snug cor
ner waited her coming tonight As often be-
fore; and they wouldn't miss her in there
where the soft, sweet music mellOwed the
mir and fioated out OF her des0late night.
No, there was NO room for her anyway,
had she chosen to have remained indoors.
Her place must be among those in the
dreary by-ways OF ifel
But the rector, kind old man, VA COM
Fashionable and . friend. She would step in
and have another Of those long, serious
talks she delighted in. Poor mani He, too,
was alsne now, with none but the house.
Reepet to look after him. His wife slept
over there in the church-yard, and his son
WE'LL Babbette didn't mind Of ever see-
ing him.
/. ae was away to college somewhere, but
0{16 TOClU u0u OOAO . tAAoS NO wVuIU OO ~
home shortly. After his coming. Of course,
Bahbette argued, she wouldn't feel As free
to occupy the willow rocker ct the rectOry,
Eor-l Well, she was now eighteen and real
II child no more, for all Aunt Mario kept
herin ankle dresses and long, childish curis.
Turning from the music and merriment
within her uncle's drawing-room, she drew
The crimson shawl closely under her dainty
chin and went awsyi in b darkness. Cross
Sng the lawn and shutting h wicket gate
hehind her she ran swiftly along under the
greening cedars toward the rectory.
Tapping ct the study door she Wa i'd
united by the grsy-haired clergyman, as
usual, who drew the familiar rocker for
ward and, pushing his books aside, turne0
arsund for the talk he knew wa expected
q be forthcoming.
"And tonight I am eighteen" said Bah
bette. letting the shawl drop from her
shoulders with . weary gesture, land what
have I "a accomplished. or whore Is the pros
pechve niche for Babbette WiltonT
Her fingers clasped and unclasped them
selves in an ainless nervousness, and the
choking sensation welled up into . sob.
The good old man placed his trembling
hand On the brown curls. "DauRhter," said
he, ~se Of good cheer; violets are lowly,
but I dare say the brilliant and stately bios
CONS of the hot-house would not be missed
- much as they"
A step sounded in the hall The rector
booked up. at is my son, Max" he ex-
Eaained. HE came home yesterday; I
.diin't tell you, did II Maxi" calling,