The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1891-04-04
HAVING HER OWN WAY.

neeu 10 Oe aHeduY. Nnal 90 l Sdil
by another fifty thousand dollars?
Old Herodotus Howard stared al
his saucy grand daughter as if she had
propounded piece of rank heresy-
as indeed 1t was in his system of every
day theology.
Violet you are fool, said he, harsh 4
ly. Aud It's luckily for you you have
a grandfather who can look after your,
interests better than you seem able to
! do yourself. Mr.. Ericsson is to be here
to morrow afternoon. And you will
please-with an ironical emphasis on
the word-receive him as your future
husband
Violet opened wide her saucy brown
eyes.
And what is to sbecome Of Oliver
Belton !she asked, demurely.
Oliver Bolton is nothing to me !!
stormed her grandfather. Neither you
nor Oliver Belton thought it proper to
consult me before you wound up boy
and girl love affair with boy and girl
engagement and I might long ago
have told you that Mr.. Ericsson ha d
honered you by proposal As it is
you must take the consequences of
your own folly
And Mr.. Howard strolled off down
the garden path, to look at his buds of
tulips and ionquils.
Violet's eyes followed her grand
father, with mischievous sparkle IN
their hazel depths.
Now l wonder, she thought to her
self, if grandpapa really thinks | am
going to tie myself for life to that old
fossil of Caleb Ericsson To carry
his slippers, pour his tea, listen to his
lectures upon the movement cure and
salt water bathing, for-nobody can
guess how many years Not if know
myself to be really and truly Violet
Howard! But then I've got to very
cautious, for l know grandpapa has
been very kind to me even though he
don't quite understand how Oliver and
| feel towards each other
Violet sat down on the farm house
step, her cheek eestlng in one hand,
and pondered deeply.
! What a pretty little cabinet picture
she wou..,I, have made in the cool
afternoon sun shine, with the apple
blossoms showering their tiny pink
shells all around her on the grass. and
the downy, yellow chickens. peeping
around her for a morsel of meal or a
bit of crumbled bread. She was plump
and round and chubby horselt like the
chickens, and pink, like the apple
blooms, and passing fair to look upon.
Whoever Oliver Belton might have been
he was urquestionably gentleman OF
| good taste.
Presently Violet rose up again and
went into the house, only stopping to
gather a cluster of cinnamon roses to
pin into her goldenbrown hair as she
| went.
Dorcas said she, putting her face
into the kitchen. where the said maid
servant was chopplng suet for an un-
ctuous pudding.
Dorcas looked up, even her hard
countenance softening at the radiant
apparition OF youth and beauty in her
homely kitchen world.
Well, Miss Vl'let!
We shall commence TO clean house
to morrow"
To clean house Miss Vl'let, and
company coming.
Violet's brows contracted.
Company ought TO make no differ
ence at a regular institution like this,
| Dorcas.
1 can't help that, said Violet briskly,
can't have the spring cleaning dragging
half through the year.
There's something In that, said Dorcas
rehactlvely. But what will master say.
He needn't know it, Dorcas, until
we've got the carpets all up and the
floors all deluged with soap-suds. And
then you see, Dorcas, and the brown
eyes shoue mischievously, he can't help
himself.
Dorcas smiled grlmly. Dorcas
White never had a lover or love
affair in all the six and fifty years of her
solitary life, but Dorcas had woman's
instinct lying dormant within her heart,
and she evidently comprehended the
whole affair.
Very well, Miss Vi'let, she said.
And Violet went singing off to skim
the cream for tea.
Mr.. Ericsson came in the next even
ing's stage, complacentiy looking for
ward to country air, country rest and
country delicacies, after his long dusty
Journey. He was a portly well pre-
served old gentleman with bald head,
a dyed mustache and a set of expensive
false teeth, who considered that, as
money had bought pretty much every
thing else in the world for him, it might
wind up matters by purchasing pretty
eighteen year old wife in the person
ality of Violet Howard.
Mr.. Howard had gone to the nearest
village that day on some legal business
and only contrlved to meet his ex-
pected visitor at the very garden gate,
Delighted to see you, I'm sure, said
MIR. Howard, taking off his stovepipe
hat and mopping his brow with spot
less silk pocket handkerchief. Lovely
spring weather we're having. Yes,
yes walk in. Dorcas, where's Miss
Violet?
| A.sSs ...hn made her annearanCe