San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1895-05-19

WIN W hdt o"SlAAllS lTllC SIlOuAu lDOh
upon their happiness and know that
had given It'll, who so far had given
| only trouble and modification to my
family
1t was an easy matter to make my
mothers last years comfortable; and
ah! the pleasure, the selfish pride
took in remembering small personal
wishes and gratifying them bit by bit,
while never suspected!
1t was an easy matter, too, through
my agent, to buy the very paper on
which wrote; to slowly dismiss the
men who were a disgrace to it, to pro-
mote and engage men whose work
made it great voice soon, and through
it, slowly to win the public confidence
and work my will, little by little,
among the affairs of'the city. Such a
splendid game it was to arouse public
enthusiasm over some free baths, or
children's playground scheme or
other, to start subscription lists, and
covertly head them myself; to machiu-
ate safely and quietly through my
! great pages, and all the while having
my copy refused half the time, and the
other fellows wondering how I kept
my place.
All this, and much more, was easy
and exciting; more of triumph and a
joy even than l had ever imagined it
would be; but my pet scheme of
schemes hung fire a little. Fred got
his new position, in a perfectly natural
manner; he was good fellow and de-
served it. Still there was no sign of
an engagement between him and my
Cousin Mary. Then | thought, being
an independent girl, she might be
waiting to have something of her own;
ever saw in my life, if it was nv own
invention-and small wonder, for had
1 not schemed at such pleasant mir
acles since l was eight years old?-I
managed to provide her with a neat
little fortune of her own. Still no re-
suit. So one day when was at home
Il did not go often, for mother would
| always lecture me on my habits, and
somehow / never could entirely get
over the hurt of it, big as / was-I
CHANGED to be alone with my Cousin
Mary for as much of an evening as she
would be willing to bear my company.
felt very happy to see how beauti-
fully she was dressed in these days,
how her hands were white already,
| and grown smooth again where the
delicate fingers used to be rough with
| countless needle priclls. The house
was comfortable one now, my mother
was far easier in her mind and there
| fore sweeter companion.
Everything looked pleasant around
Mary, and told her how glad was to
| see it.
l did not tell her how glad was to
see her, how in all the rich and varied
joy of my present position, as in all the
unutterable WEAKNESS and dizziness of
my former state, to see her was the
keenest delight | ever felt, or ever
hoped to feel. Calm, strong, beautiful
woman that she was; perfect in lowell
ness of face and form and character
mine would be poor triumph, after
all, if could not contrive to make her
happy.
l sat watching her, and she watched
bilC Va Il1C nv dlu L
wondered clumsily il what possible
way could force her into the happi-
ness which should be hers, when all at
once she rose and come to my side.
cousin Tom" she said, in that de-
licious voice sof hers, why don't you
amount to more-why don't you do
yourself justice in some way? Is it,
and here she blushed beautifully-but
the cousinship gave her courage, and
she went on. SIS it for lack of money
to make a start with9 Because, you
know, am quite rich now-because l
want you to let me-you'n forgive my
awkwardness, won't you?-to let me
give you some of it, Tom, whole pile
of it."
That blessed, generous, self-forget-
ting creature! She looked SO lovely as
she said it that my poor brain swan
dizzily.
NO" said I, at length, lit is not lack
of money, my dear Cousin Mary, but
sheer personal incapacity that prevents
my amounting to anything. l am an
ordinary, stupid fellow at best, and
my family are too clear-headed to give
me that blind, loving faith which makes
even stupid fellows do very well some
times"
you are not stupid" she cried, nor
ordinary. know you better than you
think. You could be something SPLEEN
did if you chose. Why don't you
choose?"
And then she looked at me with such
an earnest, tender, believing glance as
fairly drove me to her feet.
''Oh, Mary, you blessed angelr' 1
cried to her; could you-would you.
is it possible that you, after all, can
find it in your. sweet heart to make a
place for such useless good-for-noth-
ing as ~"
UAnd then my Cousin Mary just came
into my arms and comforted my sore
heart with a thousand tender words of
hope and faith. And she said the
sweetest joy of joys to her was that
now she was really able to help me
with her precious little fortune. And
since she values IL SO much I have LET