Sturgis advertiser. (Sturgis, Dakota [S.D.]) 1887-1???, 1890-12-18

castle curl of the lip accompanied the
question.
"He expects to return to the city on
next Wednesday, l believe" answered
the daughter, peculiar expression COM
ing into word and manner.
"Well! | am glad of It'll" exclaimed
the mother, triumphantly, "for | don't
want him poking around here on Thanks
giving Day when our city friend, Howard
Altering is with us; he comes to spend
the week with his uncle's family, you
know, and I've sent an invitation to all
to eat Thanksgiving dinner with u.s."
ayes; SO you told me yesterday" And
Bernice went back to her flowers, with a
strange little smile lowering about the
determined mouth.
Mrs. Hunter leaned back among the
cushions and took up her crocheting
once more. Bernice's affections should
be transferred from that poor, pennilesS
young lawyer, who, already, had snug
fortune, if she, Mrs. Isabelle Hunter, had
any tact for matchmaking.
Yes, decidedly, it must be. Week after
next would be Thanksgiving, and the
Atherlings were expecting Howard. And
by family and education the young law.
yer and Bernice were suited to one an
other.
But then this contrary freak of her
daughters threatened now to upset all
her calculations and bring trouble In an
other direction.
Bernice seemed to utterly ignore the
young disciple of Blackstone, preferring
the company Of merely a book-keeper
here of late.
1t was really too provoking for any
use; yet she was thinking, as she thrust
the shining needle through the meshes,
that afler all the girl only meant to tease
and amuse herself with Will Thursby for
time. 1t could not be that daughter
of hers would so far forget her social
position as to be in earnest in so doing.
Elise had married wealthy, and Olivia
had become the proud wife of Chicago
banker, and Bernice must follow their
example, or she, Mrs. Isabelle Hunter,
would know why not.
Yes. Well, then, next week that penni-
less but dangerously winning Thursby
would go back to his employer, and the
coast would be clear for the working of
her much-desired plan. How lucky!
"Will," said sweet voice over the
back gate that evening, Ibid you say
that you knew when Howard Ather-
"Fhe cards are out for the day before
Thanksgiving" answered he, shut why
do you ask, Bernice?"
She leaned toward him and whispered
something in a low, laughing way; and
Will Thursby drew the dear head down
to his breast and said: "Then your
mother doesn't know that have fallen
heir to the cool thousands, and that I
only go back to Detroit to arrange the
Office affairs for my successor?"
@No; / shall keep 1t from her until
Atherling is married, just for fun.
Mother does hate poor men so very
much, especially book-keepers; but then
can just imagine how quickly she will
fall in love with Mr.. Will Thursby when
it comes out that he is lifted above the
necessity of earning his own bread and
butter
And we leave them enjoying their hap
by secret by the wicket in the November
twilight.
Thanksgiving morning dawns crisp
and bright. Everything is i'm keeping
with an air of thankfulness for pros
porous year in Mrs. Hunters lovely
home, and she, like the strict Puritan
that she assumes to be, makes it her
religious duty to attend church services,
and see that every one belonging to her
household Is punctnally in her pew.
The Atherlings are there also, and
Howard Is there also, looking more
stylish and handsomer than ever.
But lady at his side seems to claim
oil his, attention, and is dressed, too.
like bride. 1t certainly wasn't Grace
Altering, his proud sister, whom she
met once at their uncle's, year ago.
No; she didn't resemble her one bit.
That provokingiy beautiful veil, too,
looked like the browning point Of a
bridal trousseau.
Mrs. Hunter looked again, This time
she saw a look on the handsome young
lawyers face as he gazed down on the
Woman's beside him that made her feel
aWfully uncomfortable, somehow.
Well. Mrs. Isabelle Hunter sat the
services ont without feeling the least bit
thankful, for reasons best known to hers
self Bernice, however. seemed wonder
FULLY attentive to the sermon s= y.