The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1893-10-07
THE FAMILY SECRET,
BY HELEN FOREST GRAVES.

There's sketching party, said Mr.
Poyntz, six Of us-three gentlemen
and three ladies. Do you know of
any place in the neighborhood where
we could get decent board?
The postmaster looked up at the
ceiling and then down at the big
stone spittoon. He reflected.
Then he shook his head.
No, said he, l don't. The hotel
don't open till June. Old Mrs. Mox-
on used to take boarderS, but she
had a stroke O paralysis last month.
| | dunno OF no one else.
should be willing to pay fair
price, said Mr., Poyntz and well give
as little trouble as possible.
Still the postmaster shook his
head.
I-don't-know-of-nobody, re-
peated he. Here, Janey Walton
two packages and letter for your
| folks and six cents due!
A bright eyed young girl slipped
forward from the shadowy corner
where they sold calico and canned
goods at double city prices, and
counted six cankered cents, reluct-
antly from a shabby purse.
Her cheeks were flushed, her
heart was humping like trip
hammer, as she lifted her timid eyes
to PercivaI Poyntz's handsome
face,
II think l know of place
where You could be accommodated,
she murmured, if you are not too
particular-an old farm house with
fresh air and plenty of room.
Mr.. Pointz stepped forward, rais-
ing his hat as he did SO.
We should require four bed rooms
said he and we're fully prepared to
camp down in almost any fashion.
Would fifty dollars a week tor the
party be too little1
Janey's big brown eyes dilated.
Fifty dollars week seemed colossal
sum to girl who had never seen
more than a five dollar bill at any
one time before
He drew out his card.
Will you favor me with the ad-
dress2 SAID he. May call at once?
This evening, faltered Janey,
feeling as If she had burned all the
bridges behind her, at eight o'clock.
It's the old Walton homestead
beyond the mill race, where the big
elm trees grow,
And before Percival could syllable
any more questions that slim figure
had vanished,
Janey Walton did not go home by
the road but took instead a short cut
flying through budding woods,
stopping on the edge of Racket
Brook to gather a handful of the
very earliest violets ere she jumped
airly across the stepping stones
climbing rude walls like squirrel
and springing lightly from hummock
to hummock IN the marshy meadow
under the hill,
So that her cheeks and eyes were
brighter than ever when she darted
into the wide low cciled keeping
room where her two elder sisters sat
bemoaning their hard fate.
Amelia and Philippa Walton were
widely different from their dark,
nervous natured young sister.
Amelia was tall and fair, with
frizz I'd faxen locks and expression
less blue eyes.
Phiippa was like big wax dol
with pinky cheeks and deliberatlor
OF movement bordering on stupidity
Dear me, exclaimed Amelia, how
you do bounce into the room.
We thought, said the magnitiec
wax doll, that you never were com
ing back.
: There's letter for Philippa, sale
Janey, from the Thackeray Magazine
1t looks like her story coming back
And two parcels for Amelia,
Declined with thanks, angrily reac
Phlllppa And those packages ar
Melia's painted scarts from th
Bureau of work. knew ther
wouldn't be any market for them
= AS much as there is for your sill,
stories, sharply retorted Amelia
Oh, dear | never would hav
bought that blue serge dress if
hadn't thought
Listen, struck in Janey, abruptly
I've something to tell you, girls