The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1890-09-04

Mary Folliott, who made laborious
translations for very little remunera-
ton, smiled sadly on the young as
pirant.
"You might try" said she. ''The
| field is open to all. l would Aot willing
ly discourage any one, although my Nn
experience has been trying"
So Hetty sat down, and wrote little
story-a story of country fields and
sweet-smelling woods, with such simple
element of love as her girlish expert.
ence had taught her; and she read it to
Hugh Allaire
DO you think the Weekly Leader
will publish it?" said she.
''Of course it WILL" said Hugh. And
SO she sent it in.
And, encouraged by Mr.. Allaire's cor.
dial interest, she told him all her hopes
and fears with innocent openness.
"Hetty," said he, 'it's all nonsense,
your not looking as well as those puffed
and painted city girls. You are a rose
in garden of poppies; diamond in a
heap of glass stones You are prettier,
at this moment than any girl in the lot
of EN-
But Hetty laughed and shook heI
head.
II know better than that" said she.
'But if once Love Under the Lindens'
is accepted, I'll have a new bonnet OF
white, split straw, and real French roses
in it. And then you shall see!"
In week or So check for liberal
sum arrived, drawn to ''Hester Plumer
'Therer' cried triumphant Hetty.
''It must be good story or it would not
be accepted.
''of course" said Hugh, nodding his
head. Didn't l tell you SOP"
So Hetty wrote a second story and
sent it, and this, also, was literally
| paid for. Miss Folliott was a little sur
prised at the brilliant success of this
entirely inexperienced de6utante. Mr..
Plumer stared. Aunt Jemima wished
she had thought of writing for the papers
before her knuckles had grown too stiff
to hold pen.
But the venerable couple were still
more astonished, one day, when Hugh
Allaire asked pretty Hetty to marry
him.
'Me!" cried Hetty, turning pink and
white. Are you quite sure you don't
mean one of the city girls?"
eyes, quite" said Hugh. And he
seemed so certain about it that Hetty
questioned the matter no further, and
confessed that she did like him ''just a
little, you knowp
The next day Miss Folliott's sister ar.
ribed from New York to spend few
days in the country. Hetty herself con-
Quoted her to her room and showed he1
the delicious view across the mountain
crests.
$50 you've got the young editor here,
said Miss Georgina Folliott
''What editor?" said Hetty.
''Of the Weekly Leader, you know, y
said Miss Georgina,
"No," said Hetty, her heart beginning
to thump nervously at the mere idea.
But you have, though" nodded the
newcomer. II saw him smoking Z
pipe under the big chestnut-tree, as
they carried my trunk upstairs.
THAT was Mr.. Allaire," said Hetty
blushing very red indeed.
''Well, said Miss Georgina, adjusting
her curls, land that is the editor of the
Weekly Leader!"
Hetty stood still, in blank amaze
ment
Didn't you know it?" said Miss Fol
lott.
''Is it really true?" said Hetty
''Of course it is" said Miss Folliott.
And Hetty ran away to hide her burn
ing bushes in the cool, little dell be
hind the house, where the spring bub
bled up among the tall green ferns
There, little later, Hugh AlIairt
found her.
"Crying, Hetty?" he said. MY little
love, what is the matter?"
"You have deceived me,' said Hetty
''Neverr' said Hugh.
''You didn't tell me that you were tbs
editor of-of-" faltered Hetty.
'You never asked me, nretorted Hugh
''And it was you who sent me the
checks for those stories?" sobbed Hetty
"Cf course it was" said he. "Why
shouldn't 1?'
81 never should have had courage t
read them to you if | had thought Yol
we're an editor" cried HettY.
81 knew that, )" said Mr.. Allaire. g
kept the dreadful truth to myself. D,
you think, Hetty darling, it would b,
such terrible thing to be an editor
wife?''
Hetty looked up, laughing through
her tears.
81 don't know said she; 'sbut
think shall try it.
She was married when October painted
all the leaves with scarlet and Love
Under the Lindens" became reality il
her own bright life. But she doesn't
write for the paper any more. She says
she hasn't time.-Amy Randolph, in N
Y. Ledger.
-''Oh, children! You are so noisy to
day. Can't you be little stiller and
better?" 'sNow, grandma, You must be
a little considerate, and not scold US
You see, if it wasn't for us you wouldn't
be a grandma at ALL" = Fliegende
Batter.