Milford chronicle., 1889-03-29

door.
To Lucille's surprise, neither father nol
mother tried TO assist him, but his father
called out roughly, as the boy stumbled
SERVES you right for trying to get along
without your crutchl Folks viii notice your
foot just the same if that's what your trying
to hide"
Lucille did not understand the words Of the
hoy's reply as be turned his angry face to his
father. but the look and tone shocked and
surprised her. Whatever may be the faults
Of French training, want Of respect TO par.
ents and old persons is not among them.
As for Bob, blind with anger, he tripped
up against box lying on the floor and fell
fiat.
In a moment Lucille was beside him, and
as he scrambled up, she took his arm
''Vill you not lean on meF' she said, in her
soft voice. Il can help you out"
Let me alone, will youln he cried, roughly
striking away the little baud.
Repuised, and coloriug hotly, the girl re-
turned TO her seat. Her aunt's manner was
eentler 20 her that evening. Whether it was
her protfer Of service TO the cripple, who was
the only one Of the family on whom the stern
mother ayished anything like tenderness, or
whether she felt some sympathy for Lucilles
modification, she was certainly kinder.
Bat what words could paint the strangers
homesicsness as she bent over a piece OF
crochet to hide her tears that evening! She
was outside the family circle They spoke
language almost unknown to her, and they
were interested in things she had never heard
of. No one addressed a word or look to her,
as she sat at some distance from them, feeling
herself too wretched to live.
She was startled at Bob's voice in her ear.
Il say, Lucy, you look awfully lonesome
here"
'LonesomeF' she repeated; "what you call
datl All, yes, seulel Yes, yes. 1t is to break
de heart TO be lonesome
"Wel, it is hard; but when you can talk |
English you won't mind, you know"
Il VIII talk English nevaire, nevairer' she |
cried, raising her hands with a despairing |
gesture. 1t is too difficile. All, but my
tongue refuse to learn
Bob laughed. Here was one inmate of the |
family more wretched and more helaless than
himself
i say, Lucy" he began, sheepishly. "You /
didn't mind when / hollered at you because
you wanted to help mel You don't know nv
ways yet but I'd rather fail and break my
neck than have any one help me-"
She understood enough to know that he
was making kind of apology for his rough
ness.
"Ah, nor she cried, Il don't mind uotin if
you viii me help TO learn dat dreadful Eng
ish dat ties up my tongue"
''I'll do it,n and the coupact was scaled
Lucille did not know that Bob's English was
he worst Of its kind, for tine Hart family
we're ignorant, and had known little of
chools, but human interest was lust then
what she was yearning for
In her quiet, unobtrusive way the girl
made herself useful to all the family. To
ler aunt her ready, cheerful service was in
and even her uncle would shout for
Lucy" when button was wanted on his
hlrts or a message must be sent to a neigh
'orinS farm. She was so gentle, so courteous,
unseliish and ready to oblige, that house
old which had known nothing of those Z
Qualities before began to find them very nee
ssary to their comfort ,
As for Bob, he often wondered how he had {
we'd without his cousin, to interest him in
er bright stories of foreign countries. to
eat up his pillows and bathe his head when
@ was Ill, and make herself slave to his
ck whims. But much as Lucille had grown
ito the hearts Of the Hart household, they
ere not demonStrative, and in the next two c
ears her aunt had never caressed her, and
OF even from Bob had she ever heard one D.,
ord Of affection.
How the poor, sore littlo heart longed for
wing words and loo5sl How impossible to
er emotional French nature did it seem for
eople to feel an affection they were neither
bic nor willing to expressi They did not
otice that the pale, thin girl became daily
ller and thinner, and homesickness grew
Greer and stronger in her heart. Not so
uch longing for Dinard as for the loving
ords and tender caresses of her humble
lends there.
There are tender, simple natures like
ucille's in the world, but, thank God,
icy are few for their own sakes. Even
1cille's dreams became troubled bv :
at cruel nostalgia which was consuming
'r life. She would be back at Dinard; and H
ith the murmur Of the waves would mix
C sweet shrill voices Of her companions, as
ey sang the ronde: t5
Nous n'irons plus au bois. III
Les lauriers sont coupes 4.
Then she would wake up, her face wet with :
lrs and her bosom shaking with sobs. But Z
70 morning she did not wake to conscious Is
IS, and, her aunt, going into the room, 8
und herm muttering in kind of low delirium. 8
>
ere is no constitution to resist it."
She faded slowly away, patient and quiet, E
til long intervals of consciousness, until y
g end came She had fallen into kind of e
lpor, apparently the coma which precedes
ath, when she suddenly opened her eyes, to
her aunt's face bending over her bathed Is
tears. Bob was sobbiug on his knees by ss
D bed, and her uncle hard face was work. ss
3 convulsively. ~
20 Lucy, Lucy, don't leave us, my dearr' 4
)bed her aunt. "What shall we do with Z
t youp
She looked at them with surprise, and then ag
+ pale lips parted in a charming smile. rel
u You love me, you want me-" she cried, ST.
nd did not knowl Kiss me, aunt, oh,
IS me oncep r
Her aunt raised her head, and with that b
'ewell caress, the loving tender soul went
tn to find its kind -
No one can say Lucille's life was lived
lte IN vain, for Mrs Fart became gentler g.
1 more womanly because of it. As for J
b, poor Bobl he never forgot his sweet, -
5ient cousin, and he was a better and
rthier man for the lesson of her life.-M.
Williams in The Youths Companion.