The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1890-06-25
THE BLUE BUTTERFLY.
BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

"The wiseacres say that this is an i'm.
possibility; but l have this day proved
them all wrong. The last ten years OF
my life are nothing but dream, and ]
am racketing schoolboy again, with my
bag of books slung Owe: my shoulder and
a tish-llne hid away in my pocket.
There's the very closet Aunt Zillah used to
lock Inc Up in when she caught me steal
ing blackberry jam-thc same window,
with the same mended pane of glass in
the left hand corner, under which 1 list
ened, nights, when the bachelor school
teacher used to come and see her, and
reproduce him at the breakfast table
next morning, to Gran ther Biggins' S
great delight! New York is thc tigment
of nights sleep. I haven't grown a
day older-aud-"
''It's q shame" cried Rcbccca, gnash-
ing her small white teeth together.
"You've had every chance, and I've just
stood still. You've worked your way
up in that great newspaper office, and
TEe done houseworh and been to weekly
singing school! Why is it that man
has so much better opportunities than a
woman, Id like to know? Listen,
Marcus. Aunt Zillah isa't even willing
to let me take lessons of the new pro-
fessor, who is coming to establish con-
servatory at Dingford. She says it costs
so much. And I've got a VOICE. know
I've got a voice-and, if only 1 had a
chance to cultivate it, 1 might earn a
hundred dollars year singing in the
choir, as well as Emily Elmer"
':Not a bad idea said Marcus,
thoughtfully regarding her.
How she had shot up in his absence,
like one of the tall, red lilies in the gar
den, or the fower-deluces under the
window-this solemn-eyed, olive.skinned
young cousin of his! Rather pretty, too
though in that outlandish, calico dress,
no one could tell what there was of her.
"Sing sometimes for Inc, Beck. Let's
hear what you can do"
Rebccca Higgins leaned back against
the rude wooden column of the portico,
trail of creamy honeysucklc flowers al
most touching her braids of ink-black
hair as she stood, and burst out into one
of the triumphant hymns which, in their
church music, had most struck heI
fancy
Awake my soul, stretch every nerve"
And sang it through to the last word Of
the last verse.
"Well," said she, as the perfumed
summer silence succeeded her lay-and
she spoke as if the vocal organ belonged
to some one else, "what do you think OF
it2"
'sAs clear as a flute" said Marcus
ssand as sweet as thrush! I heard Miss
Floretta Foliati sing solo at St. Eury.
Ndice's last Easter Suuday-when went
there to report for the Daily Omnium-
that wasn't so much better than that, a.
though, of course, there was no end ol
trills and fourishes and that sort of vocal
gymnastics about it."
Rebecca's eyes glistened.
"Do you really think so, Mark? Then
il"
At that moment Aunt Zillah's voice
was heard calling loudly:
''Marcus! Marcus! come in to your
dinner! Rebecca, why aren't you here
to dish up the stewed chicken and green
peas?"
"Hello!' said Mr.. Offley, as he passed
through the stuffy little parlor, shows
the chronological collection? Oh, you
have beauty here! I say, Aunt zillah,
can 1 have that blue fellow for my
friend, Professor Rapparee2 He's fairly
cracked on buttCrflies!"
"Certainly you caD' said Aunt Zil-
lab, with emphasis. "That blue butter
fly is worth ten dollars, the parson says" "
"Ten dollars would just pay the price
of ten lessons at Mr. Meriam's new con-
servatory," murmured Rebecca.
"Mr. Meriam's conservatory, indeed?
snapped Aunt Zillah. IL wonder il
you'd be so anxious to go tagging to a
conservatory where they taught weaving
rag-carpcts and darning stockings? Go
and look after the dinner at once, while
show your Cousin Marcus my collection
VI ulOtuS dull DullclulCS. buG llC DtuC-
winged one is the gem of the lot. You
arc right there There amt a dozen
specimens like it in the country, the par
son tells me. There's collector in Bos-
ton would be willing to pay most any
sum for it, I'm credibly informed. But, "
and she chuckled glcefully, "poor as
am, there's some things money can't buy
from me.
"Well, if it was mine, should sell it
quicker than lightning" observed Mr..
OAley. standing in front of the glass case,
with his hands in his pockets. 81 can't
understand the spell that has bcwitched
Rapparee and all those other bug mani
acs. A live butterfly, now, flying about
in the sunshine-onc could appreciate
that But dead mummy, stuck up be-
hind glass box, with pin thrust
through it-faugh!'
Aunt Zillah laughed again.
"Come to dinner, said she. "You'r
regular Philistine, Mark, aud always
was!"
''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 cultiyating that sweet little pipe OF
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