The Camden journal. [volume] (Camden, S.C.) 1866-1891, 1890-07-03

"Come to dinner, said she. "You're
a regular Philistine, Mark, and always
was" 49,.
but say, Aunt Zillah," broke out
the young man, after the apple-pie and
cream Syllabus had been duly discussed,
"why don't you let Beck have chance
at cultisating that sweet little pipe of
hers2"
"Rebecca can sing we'll enough now" "
''But little culture
"Pshaw!" said Aunt Zillah.
"Those city choir singers"
"We amt the city," pronounced the
old lady. "And l can't afford to throw
good money down Rebeccas throat, and
need all her time and strength to help
me with the housework; so let there be
an end of the matter"
The shadow of the old traditions lin
sered above Marcus Offley yet, grown man
though he was, and fighting his way in
the world.
When Aunt Zillah said, "Let there be
an end CT the matter" in that autocratic
name, he felt exactly as he had when
she boxed his ten-yearold cars and sent
him to school.
"It's quite true what Beck says" OBJ
served he, pulling the tortoise-colored
cats tail. GA man does have better
chance in this world than woman"
"Beck says some very foolish things,
remarked Aunt Zillah. "And they're
most of 'em put in her head at the par
sonage. I've most u mind to forbid her
going there so much. But come, Mark
get your hat. l want you to go out
and see the new Alderney calf. It's as
pretty as picture"
The temporary ripple produced in the
dead calm of Dingford life by the brief
visit of Mr.. OAley, the New York jour
nalist, had subsidized, and Mr.. Villars, the
village clergyman, was sitting in his
study, cutting the leaves Of new theo-
logical review, when the door opened
and in flew dark-haired, olive-com
plexioned maid, closely followed by his
own youngest daughter, Selinda.
"Please, Mr.. Villars,' painted Rebecca
higgins, s'what is to become of me?"
Mr.. Villars laid down his review and
looked hard at her.
''My DEAR" said he, "you seem to have
been walking rapidly. Sit down and
rest"
"Walkingl" she echoed. "I've run
every step of the way! I've run away
from Aunt Zillah. She says I'm thief
that I've stolen her blue butterfly and
sold it; else, she says, o. can have
got the money to take that first lesson at
the conservatory And she won't believe
that earned every cent of it by picking
wild strawberries for the hotel people to
preserve; and she says I'm thief, and
and"
"This is very remar&b ble," said the
parson. "NIy child, don't cry. You are
quite welcome to lemain here until you
can settle this strange misunderstanding
in some way"
~ told her so, papa" said selinda.
''But the blue butteray3" resumed the
parson. "Do l understand"
sits gone,"' exclaimed Rebecca-
"gone out of the case entirely. Some one
has stolen it,"
ssThis is most remarkable" said Mr..
Villars, getting up and beginning to pace
the room.
"It must be a burglar" said Sc
linda.
"Burglars are not, as rule, interested
in chronological collections" said the
parson.
"Besides," added Rebecca, "nothing
else is missing. 1t certainly is unac-
countable And oh, to be called athief.
l couldn't endure it; I had to run away
with both hands over my ears"
"Your good aunt, my dear forgets that
you are eighteen" said Mr.. Villars.
"And she is rather imperious woman
and masterful in her way"
"But no self-respecting girl can en-
dure an insult like that" said Selinda,
the champion.
"No," faltered Rebecca, IL couldn't.
And so l didn't know where else to 60,
and came here"
"You darling!" said Selinda; "you
came to exactly the right place. And
Randolph will be 50 glad when he hears
of it."
Don't Selinda," said Rebecca, col,
oring very red.
At the old Biggins farmhouse, Aunt
Zillah had reached down her old dusty
glass nk-bottle AM the cedar stick pen
handle, to which steel pen was care
fully tied with piece of sewing silk, and
was labol,ously concocting letter to
Marcus Offiey, in New York, relating the
sad story of Rebecca's guilt.
Now and then, as she wrote, teal
dropped down on the page-for in hel
heart the sharp-tongued, domineering
old lady had been very fond of her
niece.
II don't want to be unjust to anybody" "
wrote Aunt Zillah, but Since can no longer
place any confidence in the child, would
like to have your advice as to where | can
provide for Der: anl whether, at some
asylum or fold in that great city where you
are, you can get me good smart, stirring
girl to-
Here the silk-tied pen fell down, sca:
tering a cascade of little drops of ink.
Some one had come knocking violently
at the door.
IA passel for you, marin, come by ex'
press" said Abraham Scraggs, the vii
lage scapegrace, who did all sorts of er-
rands when he didn't forget them.
"Paidm
"La, me-" said Aunt Zillah. ''What