The record-union., 1893-10-28
LOVES BADNESS.
CHAPTER 7

'
tending the finest rosehpsbae IN bar
pretty old-world garden. CIick-clip.
clck-cllp! went her bright scissors with
even monotony as she robbed the poor
push OF half its treasures, and ruthlessly
deprived 1t OF quantities of leaves and
small unnecessary twigs.
MISS Grace had been a fresh, pretty
country girl once, the darling of her
mothers heart and the belle and pride of
the whole village; but that was very
many years ago, before the brown eyes
winch had wrought such havoc in their
une-had grown faded and dim and were
hidden away behind a great pair of spec
tacIes; before the rounded cheeks had be-
come sunken and wrinkled; before the
sunny chestnut hair had demoralized into
SIX lat little gray curls-three on each
side OF the face-and before the pretty
red-hpped mouth had ceased to laugh
-nlschievously and disclose the even
White teeth and those enchanting dim
pies for which she was famed.
Miss Grace never laughed now; some
times vague, patient smile would fit
across her plain, worn old face, lending it
pathetic beauty which it would other
wise assuredly have lacked. There is
always something beautiful about an old
race, no matter how homely it may be-,
and 1t was this patient smile alone which
saved Miss Grace from being utterly
condemned by the critical little world IN
which she lived as a remarkably ugly
old maid
Her elder sister, Miss Farnham. was a
small, shriveled, perky little body. who
had meyer been pretty or in the least de-
gree admired, and who did not cherish
the memory of even one love-StOry of her
own. No, Stella had always been abso-
Iutely practical and Tar above such fool
lsh sentiment as love: and on this she
prided herself not little.
She had been an excellent and abso-
Iutely dutiful daughter to her mother,
and had striven to be a good, careful sis
ter to Miss Grace; and If she had a tenn
per of her own and sharp tongue, she
was like the proverbial dog who, we are
taught TO believe, IS more to be feared for
his voice than for his teeth.
And Miss Grace shipped and tweaked
at her roSebush, pounced upon unsus-
pecting caterpillars, and lent rather in
attentive ear TO her sisters incessant
chat, the while being dreamily occupied
by thoughts of her own.
Miss Farnham was not idle while she
talked. Her nimble fingers were busIly
working at a huge length Of coarse calico;
she was always to be seen sewing calico,
with what end in view not even the
WiSest gossip in the village could dis
close, but it was shrewdly supposed that
the mysterious lengths of stuff We're
converted into sheets and sent up to Lon
don to some charitable institution.
STELLA" said Miss Grace, meditatively,
as she tenderly clipped Oft a full-blown
rose, and half-unconsciously interrupted
her sister in the midst of grave har-
angue as TO the best and swittest method
of ridding garden of slugs: 'Stella, |
have waited patiently for very many
years."
Hush, Gracep' whispered Miss Farm
ham reprOVingly; "SuppOsing some one
in the neighboring garden should hear
you, L should feel greatly ashamed"
'Ihere Is no one in the next garden, -
answered Miss Grace mildly; mo one at
all; but l Will not mention the matter
again if you would prefer me not to, al
though 1t is a great relief to me to speak
out all that is in my heart to some one
who can sympathiZe with me-"
''Grace, Grace" and Miss Farnham
laid her work down in her lap for one
brief moment and regarded her sister
with stern displeasure; 1--WE are both too
old to trouble ourselves about such mat
terS. it is not as if you were a silly, love-
sick girl, but" with cruel truth, "we are
just a couple Of plain, elderly women,
you and l, and as such should be think
ing of higher things than the petty
troubles and disappOintments of this
world. L tell you once more, for the
nine hundreth time, that oliver Deane
will never come now-neveri Why, you
are-let me see-hoW old are you, Grace ?"
Never mind =" Miss Grace snapped in
q manner entirely foreign to her gentle
nature. Then she turned and faced Miss
farnham suddenly, with flush on her
/
light in her eyes. ''It was on a day like
this, Stella, a warm, glorious summer
day, and we were standing together under
the lime trees, Oliver and /, and he was
bidding me farewell-a long, long fare
Well-and he took my hands in his and
held them firmly and smiled down into
my face with his kind, true eyes, say
ing"
"Yes, Oracle, yes," interrupted Miss
Farnham more kindly than was her
wont, yes, dear, you have told me what
lie said.''
oh, how well she knew that old story,
the poor little story which Miss Grace
had worn threadbare by almost constant
repetition, and, worse than ali else, now
well practical Miss Farnham knew thai
all the romance founded on that story
had been sad mistake so far as Oliver
Deane was concerned! She knew toe
well that out of all Miss Grace's lOng-agC
admirers this handsome young ne'eT-dO
well had never for moment cherished
one serious thought of love for the gir
who had, all unknown to him, given hel
young heart into his careless keeping.
She had loved, and he had gone away
as is too frequently the manner of the
contrary individuals who people thi:
perplexing world of ours-and there
most assuredly the matter should have
ended; but no, Miss Grace, through al
the quiet, uneventful years which haC
worn away since that all-inlportant sum
mer day. had still obstinately cherished
calm, unalterable belief that Oliver
Deane would come back again to her, anC
this belief was founded merely on a few