The Newtown bee., 1896-10-09

c'air and op"ojrg the windows and
 hIjnd- of her smell parlor.
 Hur must be very tired. Did I find
 cau.d take such long walks?
 | thought of ,evcn-niIes lengths that : Alice and loved to double when we had IIhe time, and said that did not call this
 long walk.
 l was scarcely settled when she ex cuscd herself and went out of the room.
 She was gone several minutes, and dur 1 ing the time let my eyes wander about
 in what have been told Is 8 very ilI-bred
 manner.
 The carpet was a bright, large figured brussels, the taste, I suppose, of the late
 Mrs Beach; and the furniture was of slippery black haircIoth. Dried grasses and autumn leaves filled two large vases
 at the end of the shelf, and similar i buaches Of them were hung over the four very black and white crayon portraits 1 that glarod at each other from opposite wall. To escape the horrible fascination
 of this quartet, look up a book from the l table at my side. It was 8 small, leather bound copy of Rochef0ucauld's Max
 inns" wiJh "Evelyn Chadsey, from
 Daniel, 1867, on the spotted first leaf. There was a little ring of china in the
 next room, and then Miss Chadsey re
 appeared with a glass of cold milk and a plate of caraway cookies.
 She was prettier and fresher-looking in i the cotton gown which she wore than
 she had been in the unbecoming black cashmere.
 II am sure you must be tired.' she
 said, as she placed the tray on the table
 at my side; and then. as she sat down herself she seemed at & loss for some thing more to say. Her eyes rested for l m instant upon the brown envelope in
 my lay, and, as laid it on the table, l told her that had been especially inter ested in her account because my father had grown up in the part of Illinois which she had described. She frightened at that, and before she knew it she had forgotten all her shy ness, and was telling me of the life there with an eloquence and pathos born only of long repression. I felt like a small child listening to a fascinating story as she recalled, often with dim eyes, the bright spots in the family life, and the girlish pranks of two or three years in an Eastern boarding school.
 Then-perhaps because I had left the large stuffed rocking chair, and slipped into the corner of the sofa beside her and taken her hand-she fell to telling me of her life since. It seemed a natu- ral thing to do, as she did it. She had quite forgotten that I was stranger. and l was careful nOC to remind her by any interrupting c0mmoDplaces.
 One loss had followed another-her parents, a brother in the War, another brother in 8 mine explosion further west, property, friends. For the last % years she had been teaching in the country schools of the East.
 But everything is 90 progressive now" she said, smoothing my hands. 'I think perhaps I am to old-fashioned to teach any more, unless" she flushed a little, aud hesitated over the question -"do you think if [ could manage to take course at the Normal Training School? Would they take anybody so old?"
 A grotesque picture of poor Miss Chadsey, in white null, reading grad uatton essay, came to my mind, and I buried to banish it.
 Surely her D years experience was sufficient without that, said, and there could be little doubt that she would find ! position if she wanted to teach.
 As I rose to go, for it was growing lark, gave her the slip upon which I lad written the names of the publica- ions.
 "Perhaps it would be as well to take hem in their order,' said. ssYou have written before2"
 Miss Chadsey folded the paper care ully. There was something childlike 3 the expression of the faded eyes that i, 1ere raised to mine as she shook her cad.
 : You must not be discouraged if you ee your manuscript several times after ou think 1t is we'll off. I am quite sure nat it will be published somewhere. "shall be likely to hear soon?9 she I sked. 4 "In two or three weeks, probably" C said. "And if it is accepted, 1t ought [ be published in from three to eight onths afterward. None of these peri \ Heals, believa, pay until publication, 2 |