New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1894-01-21

'o ,M1 ' ne dia she vas woman in whom duty
took The place of faith and hope and charity
She that Una was wei c'O.,,su I,aI fanrh.
md Lnd regular daily exercise in the open an
she took her to church. She taught he[ , h"r
catechism. and at the proper aye Siie i |u his
taken TO the bishoT to be conhilneH. All ,lo
ca~e Miss Vincent gave ungrudgngy more
than this she had not in her to give. -, .o
So Ina grew up a silent. awkward girl NOR
ard more finding her pleasure in learning nnu
raadinp There were no books OF frivolous
character at Miss Nncents 1t was Il sympa
thetc housemaid who gave ot ma h dp1S
Iongfellow furtivcy on her hfteeh'h pii'nday.
and the same housemaid at her request bought
her Mrs Hcmans and Scott. and vileiy printer
edition of Shakespeare with the zen shllilhsS
the doctor had given her at parting I'VE Xeats
before She had not spent the zen shhnhss;
she had nothing to spend it on. Al her naleria,
wants were supplied. and Miss vincent Woula
NOT have approved OF any catering FOR spiritual
needs beyond the official banquet or prayer
book hymn-bOok and sermon. -,
So Tina hid her poetry books on tho top OF the
big wardrobe and read and re-Iead them.
After that first day she had never looked IN
the glass. At first from the pima hsthct -,
obedience. which ten years OF loving care hau
made strong within her; afterward because the
memory of her aunt's words to her ranked III Il
wound that never healed. $1,000
mo one will ever love me am not Eoou !
shall never be clever. | must always be ugly. !
don't want to ugly, stupid persons FACE.
And not to look in any glass in any room AZ
any time became habit stronger than any
resolution could have been. and she grew up,
learned for her years and thoughtful, taking
her part In Miss Vncents mothers meetings
and the acts of duty. misnamed charities. uIi
it seemed to her as If the world must always.
always go on just like this. with nothing IN IL
beautiful except the flowers in their seasons III
the dull garden. the memory OF those ten years
in India, and the contraband poetry books on
the top of the mahogany wardrobe.
She still read with her gOverness. though she
had long outstripped that worthy woman httle
round Of learning and accomplishments. She
kissed her aunt morning and evening, but after
Betty. the housemaid left there were none IN
whom she could cOniidc even To the point on
stretching her arms in their presence when she
was weary. or signing In their presence when
she was sad And she was sad 50 often yel moe
with the bitterness of those first days. because
one can get used 10 any pain even the pam Oh
loneliness and of a lOVeless HE.
1t when the housemad left that ma DIS.
began to write poetry. furtively. with one OF her
drawing pencils in the blank spaces 81 an on
exercise book filed up with vulgar fractions.
And her poems We're echoes OF me poeuS Sne
had read. and rough and bad ana poor Hr1
with an individual note. and the very HrSl me
of the very first poem began: Il know tha' am
ugly" Una has that poem sun. but II j. u'ii.r
seal. and even now she never mas the HciI' 10
look at it, and gradually out of the world whose
one great fact that she was ugly ana ti4e'e-
fore no one would ever love her she passed mo
the other world where all things were beauuiui.
and therefore she loved them; so with the poetry
she wrote and the poetry she read she huiit her,
self dream palace In which. as the DAYS paSSy''
by, their dull duties and routincs became me
dream and her beautiful, bright dreams 'he
only reality.
No visitors came to the house except the prim
ladies who brought their scissors ana thiiilpleS
and sat seriously sewing through the NeGneS-
day afternoons. while an improving book was
read aloud. Una was as much alone as tnousm
she never touched human hand or saw
human face. Then quite without warning me
change came.
Miss Vincent died died suddenly. sitting up
right al her table. working al the accounts III
the little marble-covered account books, died
with her pen in her hand and with anxious eyes
tracking through the long columns a missing
fourpence halfpenny. They found her there in
the morning when they came in 10 unbar the
shutters and remove the slight traces Of yes
terday's dull life from carpet ana chair ana
fender.
They went up and told Una without preface
or hesitation.
Get up. Miss Mary the hOusemad Sald.
Your poor aunt Is dead.
And Una got up. She did not run down 10 see
the worst for herself, In dressing gown ana
slippers: but she dressed quickly with all the
customary routine of the toilet. and as on
other mornings brushed out her long hair and
| twisted it up looking all the while out Of the
window. II a bright May morning. There
were two blackbrds on the wet lawn. Then
she said her prayers. because she had always
been used to say them. and went downsiairs
The doctor was there. They had laid Miss
Vincent on the table and covered her with a
sheet. The doctor arranging its.fods over
the dead face when Una came in
"The poor ladys niece" said the cook. intro
ducing them. The doctor, Miss Mary; be- says
it's all over
Una turned away and went into the drawing
room. She stood there gazing out of the win
dow the tears slowly rolling down her face
with an ache Of heart. just as though she had
loved the hard woman who lay cold under a
sheet across the hall Perhaps she had. without
knowing it. for love Is a plant which grows In
strange places and with little to feed H. The
doctors voice reused her.
Come. my dear. he said You must cheer
up. Is there no one YOU can send ior?'
mo one" said Una.
He medtated moment.
1,,f, ax.n. oil a.
sad house. he said.
He was a white bearded old man. with shin-
ing bald head and friendly eyes.
II must send my wife 10 keep you company
And Una. who could not understand her own
tears let him go without word. II seemed 10
her that no time had passed. or else very.
very long time indeed. 50 long that one might
well lose count of IT, when the door opened ana
a stout. rOsy-chceked old lady. with little white
curls on each side Of her smooth forehead.
came into the room. She made two steps for
ward hesiated. then came right up 10 the for
lorn little figure by the window, and, quite
simply. If 1t Were the most common thing IN
the world. took Una in her arms and kissed her
again and again.
you poor little thing" she said; you must
come home with me-
And Una. still stunned, Obeyed.
They gave her the best room at the doctors.
and the doctors wife waited on her and fed her.
and petted her AZ though she had been indeed
one of the children that had lain, In the old
times. on that mOtherly breast. and Ina's soul
drank In the love az a thirsty flower drinks dew.
MISS vincent was buried ana the VIII read,
and Una knew that her aunt's money WIS hers
and that she was her own mistress: yet the
weeks went by. and still she stayed In her new
home with the new happiness that not even her
books or her dreams had pictured for her. She
was not clev"r-oh. no; she not pretty
either she was nOt-shc knew too well--even
good. Yet here was some who loved her
1t was wnen she had been there a month that
the doctors wife looked up from her pile Of let
tiers at breakfast with a new joy in her face.
My son is coming home" she said. Gle viii
be here, ne saws, almost "A as his let
He has got years leave. on, my dear. what ii
happy old woman ] am,-the happiest in the
world"
And the doctor at the other end OF the table
took his spectacles off and wiped thcm-to have
good look. as he said, at the happicst woman
I'm the world.
All this time Una had never looked in the
glass They love me here" she said to herself
so what does II matter how | look?"
That night. as they sat round the hre--for the
evenings were still chilly. though Il early
June-the rumble OF wheels came up the road
The Doctors wife, throwing her sixty years be
hlnd hei, rushed 10 the door. There was a sound
or hurried inquiries. of kisses of Ilppa bcing