Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-06-27

EA v1HSZXW uOOT OI UIlc SdlOOu A>::- shows her ticket. EXSMs-z<.uA There is no 9@gyA doubt about her SINE|@IZA right to enter the G3E#D -.<gA> saloon and also | NF .y,.-ssscs33zz97eA2 s33z7eA2 to cupy the ~ be tt stateroom upon the great ocean steamer that will leave Liverpool in an hour or two. But as she enters she hes1tatcs, catching cer- | tain scornful glances from ladies ill the latest style of travelling costume, whis- kered dandies in attendance, and white capped ''bOnneS," watching eXtraVa- | gently dressed children.
 But while she hesitates, Ethel Mor daunt, young girl in new deep mourn | ing, who is with party of merry people chatting together, comes forward, and | asks:
 Are you looking for any one?" 1 "Naw," the little woman says; 'but I'm not knowing where to go.' Then, encouraged by the sweet face bending over her, she continued: My son-in- law is sending for mo to New York, Miss, and he took my stateroom before the steamer came away from there. I'm tired and dazed like, for I've been on tho cars since yestere'en and it's new to me to move about" And here the tears started, for she felt unutterably forlorn.
 Miss Mordaunt had come aboard with a weary feeling that life for her had come to a standstill; but youth has springs of energy to meet many trials, and an interest awoke at once in this girls heart for the little old woman | Finding the stewardesS, she aScertained the locality of the stateroom and fol- | lowed it's occupant there. makin g her | comfortable by a few womanly devices, and winning uncalled-for confidence.
 Its my Mary's husband," tho little old woman told Miss Mordaunt; "and Mary's the last of six children. She left the old place in Devonshlre more'n thirty years ago, and I've staid with the others till they all lie in the churchyard, and Mary will have me come to New York. It's grand man, her man is there, hear with big house and no end of money. They sent me e1OO to buy clothes, an all, but couldn't be grand if tried, so just put the money by, ,and Mary can buy them for me. She'll not be the slip of girl now that left me, for she has sons and daughters of her own. You're in trouble, miss, yourself, I'm feared" and she gently touched the crape on Miss Mordaunt's dress.
 Both my father and my mother died of malarious fever in Rome six weeks ago." was the sad reply, and tho girl did not shrink as rough but kindly hand caressed her gently, and a tender voice , pitying names.
 It would have astonished the friends of | Ethel Mordaunt to have seen her pres ently sobbing like a child in the caress- ing arms of 'such a very common-look- ing person. as Mrs. Foster, her new friend. Self-contained, proud and yet keenly sensitive, the girl had cased her. self in an armor of reserve, for with orphanhood she had met with other | trials.
 Letters found amongst her fathers pa- pers proved that he had left homo to try to save expense, and weather through financial tangles of magnitude. He was in broken hcalth and had put his affairs into lawyers hands until he could tho end had come suddenly, while to Ethels heavy sorrow was added a double 1 loss. as her mother only survived her father two days. The friends with whom they had travelled knew that Ethel would | return homo to poverty as well as sor- row, and without intentional unkindness l their pity had a touch of patronage that stung Ethel to the quick. So she had wrapped herself in a cold reticence and suffered in silence.
 But in helping another she found help. Mrs. Foster was terribly seasick all the way across, and Ethel devoted herself to
 che old woman's care, and kept the poor little soul alive by the chcery voice, her coaxing and her betting. 1t was Ethel who dressed her and led her on deck when she could bear the motion; Ethel who listened to the many stories of
 "Mary and Marys good man." dcscrip-
 tions of the presents sent often to the
 mother in. England, and tho many letters
 urging another" to share in the comfort
 of the New York home.
 But Ethel imagined that Mary's hus- l hop pd hah n ln oho,, i1 and the magnificcnce of his hone only SC
 by comparison with the little farm in
 Devonshire, where he had becn hired
 man to Mary's father before ne started
 to make his fortune in America. But when the vessel drew up to the
 dock in New York. and Mrs. Foster look , ing eagerly from the deck, spied ''.Mary,' Ethel smiled for the Mary was a girl o 19 or 20, in the very latest style of New York extravaganza, leaning upon the arm of a gentleman few years older, whose face Ethel could not sec distinctly undcl a wide Panama hat.
 l There was the usual delay. while the , custom-houSc officer came aboard, anC
 the passengers looked over the railing d , the crowd upon the wharf X m.,i..in aged gentleman, with a handsomely at tired lady on his arm, camn to the si!e O
 tho vessel, and looking up, asked , s'Is> Mrs. Foster aboard ??
 And the little old woman, dropping EtheIs arh., cried:
 "It's John and Mary!"
 And so it proved, for they came aboard followed by John and Mary, junior. wh, had already attracted their grandmother
 eyes and Ethel kept away during ine in spagtion of baggage. and the seurc! !.s, liSsle old friend made for her. She ., t.rin all wbirled away in a superb, opol barouche, excepting John, Jr., who saun tn. ';l nif on foot, and sine said, signing :: ii ;,i.all never see her a5d.nt'
 Size heard some one sdJ: