The Providence news. (Providence [R.I.]) 1891-1906, 1896-09-25

"Yes," said the girl, sand have al
/ ways chased white butterflies ever since
. was born. l feed them and keep them
in my yroom-and suppose i tame them
--and make them like me in that way.
But believe they would like me any
way-that there was something be-
tween us. Don't you think that that
might be?"
Perhaps So" replied Mrs. Wood,
slowly. "At any rate IL is n beautiful
omen. 1t betobens a white soul"
"In me?" questioned the girl, half
mockingly.
"Yes, you"
| "Oh, you don't lSnowl" she murmured,
bitterly.
What did you say, RIP" demanded
her mother, suspiciously. "Tale care!"
Mrs. Collins Wood felt uncomfortable
and rose TO depart, more interested in
! this strange girl than ever.
"Then you will come on Sunday?"
she said.
"No," muttered the woman thickly.
"She can't go and she knows she can't"
Dorilla said nothing till she handed
the ItlllS lO MIS-. hODb. Hth bht Biii
intimated that she might appear at the
schoolhouse on Sunday afternoon after
| all, and only laughed at the rather
| shocked and doubtful expression which
| appeared on her visitors face. She
drove away, with the vision in her mind
of Dorilla standing there in the sun
light, with delicate, whte-winged
things settling down upon her. Beside
that picture, the sordid, shackly house,
with it's vulgar mistress and it's sinister
atmosphere, sank into insigniflcance.
Sure enough, on the following Sun
day, the girl appeared at the school
| house, and after the lesson was over
and the Others had left, she explained
to Mrs. Wood that she had come with
out the knowledge of her parents, but"
she went on, sit didn't make any differ
ence. A lot of my fathers friends came
from the city last night, and we had to
get a big dinner for them this noon.
Father does some OF the cooking, and
Mil1ey and the others help. Mother
doesn't like to have me spoil my handle
She and my father core n great dea:
more about keeping them white than /
do-and while they were eating, just
crept away. They think ! am in the
woods-for i go off there by myself
great deal. It's no matter, anyway"
"Oh!" breathed Mrs. Wood, still some
what dubious as TO the propriety of re-
ceiving Dorilla into her class under
the circumstances, and wondering why
these strange parents should wish 20
keep the girl cooped up by herself on
Pine Hill; but herSdelight in the class,
her evident love for her young teacher,
and, as the Sundays went by, and still
she came, her high ethical perceptions
and her thirst for spiritual light, de-
termined Mrs. Wood TO let things go as
Dorilla wished. She said one day TO
her: ut is just as l said, Dorilla-the
omen is true-ryou have white soul.
You always know what is right an1
see it more quickly than any of the
rest of us"
Again the moclSing, half-distressed
look came over the girls face, and her
eyes filed.
you don't understand" she repeat
ed, in a voice full of misery.
Mrs. Wood did not call again at the
house at Pine Hill, but sometimes she
drove past it, on the chance of catching
a glimpse of DoriIla. One day she had
seen a man who was undoubtedly Mr..
Thomas Keasbey. He was short,
thick-set man, slovenly, yet flashy, like
his wife.
Occasionally Mrs. Wood managed TO
get Dorilla to spend an afternoon with
her in the village. Then they had long,
affectionate talks. in which each told
the other of the chief events of her life,
though Dorilla was rather provolIingly
reserved in her accounts. Mrs. Wood
gathered, however, that she had been
born on her grandfathcr's farm, little
way from New York city; that later the
family had removed 10 the town, where |
they had lived above Mr.. Keasbey's
locksmith shop; that they had periods
of prosperity. during which they had |
travelled abroad, dressed well and had |
everything. These had been succeeded |
by times of poverty. Dorilla spoke |
most lovingly of the sisters at the corr
vent where she had been so long. 81 |
hhh btNh SiNhs bub EiNN NNil
strong there" she said. "Oh, loved |
the convent sol IN were only there |
now!" She burst into tears as she |
spoke, and sobbed long and passion
ately.
"Don'U Don't, Dorillai" begged her
gentle hostess. "You shake so and sob
so. you frighten me-"
"Oh, you don't know" wept the girl.
Don't know what? Aren't they kind
to you at home?"
"Oh, yes My father is good 10 me
md proud that have had some educa-
tion. He somehow expects 90 become
rich again. and then he will make
6ne lady OF me, he says" II
AS Mrs. Wood stroked the girls silk |
on head. she east about in her mind for
threads OF recollection which might |
unravel the mystery of Dorilla's tears.
Che rop,.y,l,roJ gaotuv ,t,,o d, ,f,.. Il