The Ohio Democrat. (Logan, O. [Ohio]) 1886-1906, 1890-02-01


fairly-always ready, always on hand to
upon bed Of sickness. An untiring
teacher in the Sunday-school, which at
first she had attended as q pupil, Flor
ence was valuable assistant in Mr..
Hendon's parish. And for these past
two months she had been much thrown
in Mr.. Weston's company, as his uncle,
Mr.. Hendon, taking advantage of his
visit, had left him the care of the parish,
while he himself went away for change
which his health had long called for.
"Miss Florence will act as your assist
ant" he had said at parting; and Flor
ence had smilingly acquiesced.
"You would make good clergyman's
wife, Miss Brown" said Mr.. Weston one
day, as they slowly wended their way
homeward from visit to sick family
where Florence had unexpectedly met
the young missionary.
She colored deeply, but did not reply.
"Ilow would you like to be mission
ary, Miss Florence?"
"Above all things" she replied, ar
IDENTIFY, and her face glowed. sit has
been the dream of my life"
at is indeed noble ambition" he
continued, musingiy. zone feels as if
life is not all in vain, when it is spent
for the welfare of others. But your pa
rents have other views for you, hear"
and he looked at her closely.
Florence turned away her head, and
in a low voice, replied:
81 believe so"
81 am going out" he continued. as If
changing the subject; II am intending
to return to my mission labor next
month. / never expect to see this
country again"
Florence caught her breath hastily,
but she asked quietly:
"Do you go alone?"
"No. not alone. / also am engaged
to DO married. My-my wife goes with
me-"
do you love her?" the words had
passed Florence's lips inadvertently,
and she would fain have recalled them.
Her companion looked surprised for a
moment, but he answered quietly:
81 thought did, at least believed
so; until ] came to Brooklyn. And now
] think-but, Miss Florence, here is your
door, and your mother looking for you.
So good-bye;' and raising his hat to Mrs.
Brown, he passed on.
Ten years later, and Florence is in
her husbands wealthy city home. She
has changed-greatly changed. Her face
has acquired a cold, hard look never
known in earlier days, and her mother
complains that Florence is so unsympa-
thizing. And unsympathizing perhaps
ferent. Tied for life to man whose
love she never cared to win, even had
he any to bestow, she soon began to feel
that for her nothing remained but the
lavish expenditure of the wealth for
which she had been sold.
Gayety she had never cared for as
girl, but since her marriage she had
rushed into every excitement with
feverish eagerness as if to drown re-
morse.
One child had come to her, and for
the pent-up love and affection of her
heart; and then it had gone; her idol
was snatched from her by the hand of
death, and she was left more than ever
alone.
In far-off country lives hard-work-
ing missionary, with his wife and two
children. She is a good, quiet little
thing, and her husband loves her; but
she is scarcely adapted to her hard po-
sition, and not much of helpmate to
him in his labors. Their oldest child
"a girls called Florence, and the
wife often wonders why her husband
should have wished that name bestowed
upon it, when he acknowledges it is not
borne by any of his family. He has
never told here. NJ. Wilson, in N. Y.
Ledger.