Fairhaven herald. [volume] (Fairhaven, Wash.) 1890-????, 1892-04-27
HER LITTLE JOKE.

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nothing to be seen but the garden, with its
heavy headed roses dropping under the
downpour and the village street beyond
now fast becoming rapid water course.
Il call this the dullest place in exist
ence, says Miss Jocelyn half aloud. the
very dullest."
She does not finish her sentence, but
turns to the massive pier glass to look at
the reflection of herself-a handsome girl
In a smart frock After one glance she
turns back to the window with a sigh
what's the use? One might as well
wear sackcloth trimmed with ashes in this
place for all the people there are to see
ones gowns. 1t was much more fun at
school after ALL
"Why"-suddenly craning forward-'ff
that isn't that frumpy little Miss Blake
with Mr.. Stanford, and he is holding his
umbrella over her. She has got his arm
too. l wonder how he likes it, Poor man
I wonder if he ever notices whether a
woman is old and plain or young and
pretty
Now he's gone splash into a puddle,
and she is actually looking up at him and
blushing and laughing. Oh what a jokel
Fancy her blushingl Why, she must be
forty If she's a day-quite forty. And
those little curls bobbing about as she
goesl
81 wonder if her sister makes her wear
her hair like that. | wonder if she is in
love with himf Poor old soulw
Mr.. Sanford is a curate, but he is man
first and afterward a cleric. Strong, manly,
gentle, he plays cricket with the village
boys, is ready to gossip for few moments
with the old CATERS, is a member of the
debating society as well as of the rowing
club
But Miss Jocelyn is young, and is not
yet able to grasp more than the fact that
she is better looking and better dressed
than most of the girls whom she knows.
So to her Ruth Blake is a ridiculous
sight, and Mr.. Stanford's quiet courtesy
which he would extend just as readily and
pleasantly to his washerwoman, is a good
joke"
She watches them part at the Misses
Blakes' little green gate, and thinks she
can see Miss Ruths upward glance and
smile at the fine face above her before Mr..
Stanford turns and comes striding and
splashing back through the puddles.
Then, having nothing else to do, Miss
Jocelyn plans a pretty little piece of mis-
chief, which she promptly sets about carry
ing out. She has one gift, this handsome
Miss Jocelyn; she is very skillful with her
pen, and, after little practice, can initiate
almost any handwriting.
And now she remember that there is in
the study letter Of Mr. Stanford's to
her father, and her eyes sparkle with de-
light.
What fun to send poor old Miss Blake
a love letter. Perhaps she has never had
one. 1t will be a kindness, positively
How she win blush and simper-silly old
thingl Well, serves her right When there
are so few young men in a place, what
business have old maids strolling about
with them under umbrellas"
Miss Cornelis's a-lying down, Miss
Ruth. She have one Of her bad headaches,
and she says as how no one is to disturb
her. And your tea is ready and waiting,
miss"
Ruth Blake turns into the prim little
dining room, seats herself upon one Of the
straight backed chairs and begins to draw
off her brown cotton gloves.
She is an odd little figure, small and
slim, and dressed in hideous, antiquated
plaid, with shades of glazing blue and
green; yet her fair hair-which the wind
and rain have ruffled and made to look like
a halo about her meek, small face-the pa
tient curve of her lips and her slightly
flushed checks, render her appearance not
altogether unpleasing.
She eats her simple tea quickly, glancing
from time to time at a book which she has
propped up against the milk jug-a book
Mr.. Stanford mentioned incidentally one
day, and which she had obtained from the
village library.
The next morning Miss Ruth gets a let
ter. She knows the handwriting on the
envelope before she opens it.
Parish matters, Of course" she says to
herself Perhaps it's about the school
treat"
She opens the envelope, unfolds the note
within and is reading it slowly, when sud |
denly she utters low cly, her breath comes |
fast and the familiar world about her |
grows in moment strange and unreal
For it is a love letter. She is thirty-three |
and this is her very first.
And from such a mau-the man whom I
she has looked up ID and reverenced and /
followed so humbly and modestly ever |
since she first saw him! She goes down TO |
breakfast with a flushed face quivering l
lips and radiant eyes.
Miss Cornelia's just on the ramp this |
morning, miss" says the little maid warn |
ingly as she meets Ruth in the narrow /
passage that does duty for hall
Miss Ruth mods and smiles as if this were |
the pleasantest intelligence possible. Cor |
nelias diatribes this morning fall upon /
needless ears.
Ruth answers at intervals, Eyes, dear" |
and "No, dear" and 81 will see to it, sis-
ter, as in duty bound but her heart and /
oul are filled with one thought--that won
derful letter
After breakfast Miss Cornela goes out
to visit her district. Then Miss Ruth takes
up her pen and writes tremblingly out of
the fullness Of her heart:
DEAR Mr.. STANFORD letter has sur
prised me very much. l scarcely know what
to say, except that am most grateful TO you.
IL is 80 good Of you to love me as you say you
do, and love has always seemed such a beauti-
full thing TO me, though never thought that
il was likely TO come TO either my sister or me.
But / am very, very glad TO have had your