Bennington semi-weekly banner. (Bennington, Vt.) 1894-1902, 1894-10-12

merchant should become the husband of
his only daughter. I will never give you
to that poor beggar!" was his last word.
1t was not ON account of the difference
in rank for the goldsmith's art was great
ly honored in the sixteenth century, but
Mynheer considered Adrian an idle dream
er.
profession has no golden bottom with
that fellow" grumbled the excited man.
II shall never intrust my greatest bless
ing TO a man who will never be prosper
ous!'
Time crept by slowly and weighed heav-
lily on Antje. Finally she found some di
version IL her embroidery frame. Tho
beautiful lace collar upon which she was
at work had been intended for bridal
gift for Adrian.
"Now the collar shall ornament my
shroud" thought Antje and gave way to
somber thoughts. She did not even notice
that she had repeatedly pricked her middle
finger until the drops of blood from it had
already made large red spot The fine
brussels cambria was spoiled. Antje an
grily threw the frame into a corner. Just
then Greta, her maid, entered and handed
Antje q small package bearing Adrian 8
handwriting.
Quickly Antje broke the seal. A small
silver article, set with a blue stone, fell
out and rolled down to Antics feet. In
quisitively, Antie picked it up and looked
at the strange trinket in establishment,
then put it down indifferently, took up
the parchment and read:
MY DEAR, SWEET ANTJE-I knew very well
that you would not send me a good message.
Now am on my way to England. Believe me,
/ act only from motives of pure, disinteresteG
love. But you, my dear child, must obey your
noble father, who is anxious for your welfare
only. Farewell, my darling. Be happy and
try TO forget. Ever your loving ADRIAN.
P. S.-Perhaps l may give you just little
souvenir. The silver trinket is little cap
which thought of for the protection Of your
delicate finger when l noticed how often you
pricked 1t at your embroidery.
Then Antje alternately pressed the letter
and the little finger cap to her lips and
held up her hand as she made the VOW,
adrian, will wait until you return to
take your Antie with you'll"
Three years have passed. A long, mag
niflcent wedding procession is moving to
the grand jacobs cathedral at Antwerp
The pretty bride, who smiles SO happily
under her lace veil, is Antje Van Der
Solst. She has not lost any of the fresh
ness of youth, but has blossomed out even
more beautiful and queenly, full blown,
fragrant rose. The bridegroom is rich,
stately looking man from Sheffield. He
looks his best in his costly velvet waist
coat decorated with wide golden neck
lace Of honor-altogether a distinguished
figure among the paTricians following the
bridal pair.
Antje is following the man from Shelf
field to the altar, with her fathers bless
ing, and still she has kept her vow, for
the bridegroom is Adrian Van Benschot-
ten, the inventor of the thimble.
The practical Englishmen had soon ap-
preciated the value Of the invention, and
through it Adrian had attained riches and
honors.
The renowned goldsmith of Antwerp
lived long, happy life with his faithful
Antje. At their golden wedding, how
ever, the venerable couple still showed to
their great grandchildren the origin Of
their fortune-the first thimble.-Ro-
nance.