The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1892-11-05
HELEN'S GOOD DEED.


into a decline. Rest, relaxation
change of air and scene-that's wha
she ought to have.
Mrs. Dardanel looked perturbed
Dear, dear, she said; what a pity
And she's quite pet of mine, too
dear little thing. She is very quick
with her needle and really ingeniou:
and the way she puts trimming:
on dress positively reminds one O
Nine. Antoine herself.
The seaside cottage would be the
place for her, suggested DIR. Mid
land. You are one OF the lady pat,
ronesses. believe, and
Yes, but the seaside cottage is
full, said Mr.. Dardanel. Not an
inch of room unoccupied. l had a
note from the matron Yesterday.
All, indeed! said the doctor, fum-
bling with his watch seals. Unfor-
tunate-very.
But, cried Mrs. Dardanel, an idea
suddenly occurring to her much
bepufed and betrizzled head, there
is Mrs. Daggett's farm a few miles
further down the shore. She takes
boarders for S. a week, and believe
it is very nice place. If you think
it advisable l will take a month S
board for the girl there. l really feel
as if the dear little girl belonged to
me.
An excellent plan, said the doctor,
oracularly. l have no doubt but
that a month of sea air would make
a different person of her.
Helen could hardly believe her
own ears when Mrs. Dardanel BEAM
ingly announced her intentions.
The seashore! she cried, her pale
face flushed all over; the real sea
Oh, Mrs. Dardanel, l have dreamed
OF it all my life! And for a long.
bright summer month. Oh, how
shall | ever thank you?
By getting well and strong as fast
you can, said Mrs. Dardanel, touch
ed by the girls enthusiasm.
And here is a $40 bill for you, she
added. with smile. You may need
some trihe OF dress, or there may be
a drive or a picnic or an excursion
going on in which you will want to
participate.
The poor girls impulse was to
return the money.
No, you shall not give it back
it is a present from me, and choose
that you keep it.
Helen Hyde's heart beat high
with delight when first saw the
Daggert farm house, low red build
ing, with an immense stack OF CHM
neys, cluster of outrageous. maple
trees guarding it about with shade,
and dooryard full of sweet, old
fashioned flowers. while in sight of
the windows the Atlantic flung its
curling crests of foam all along the
shining shore. Mrs. Daggett well
coined her warmly; she had been
Mrs. Dardaners housekeeper once
and knew the value of that lady's
patronage.
I've just one room left, my dear,
she said, under the caves of the
house. It's small, but it's furnished
comfortably and there's a view of
the ocean. | could have given you
better accommodations if | had
received Mrs. DardanePs letter a
day earlier. But four young teachers
in the Ixwood Institute, came yes
tcrday, and Pm sleeping in the
parlor. But we will make YOU as
snug as possible, and the very first
good sized room that is vacant you
shall have
Helen was very happy in her little
nook, from whose easement she
could see the ocean, dotted with
white sails.
Mrs. Daggett was driving, ener-
getic woman. Farmer Daggett was
an honest man who invariably fell
asleep of an evening with his chair
tipped back against the wall, and
every available inch of the house
was filled with summer boarders,
mostly ladies. There were but three
masculine appendages to the house
besides its master-an old clergy
man whose parishioners dubbed
together every summer to treat him
TO six weeks vacation, a literary
man Of large aspirations and small
income who had come hither for
rest and opportunity to study up
the skeleton" for his next novel,
and old Mr.. Miff1in.
1t was some time before Helen
Hyde fairly comprehended who old
Mr.. Miff1in was. A bent and bowed
little man, with silver hair curling
over the collar of his coat, a ruffled
skirt like pictures of our Revolu-
tionary forefathers, and blue eyes
that glistened from behind a pair of
silver spectacles, he shufled in and
out to his meals after an apologetic
fashion and sat all the bright after
moons under the naples staring at
the sea.
Who is that old gentleman? she
at last ventured to Mrs. Daggett.
That lady frowned.
It's old Daddy Mifflin, said she,
and | wish it was anybody else
Is he boarder?
Well, he is and he isn't, obscurely
answered Mrs. Daggett, who was
picking currants for pudding while
Helen sat by and watched her. But
he won't be here long. You see,