The Robesonian. [volume] (Lumberton, N.C.) 1870-current, 1897-10-13

q grey she always wore, a nor
! pleasing woman of unconceale
: middle age than Mrs. St. Quenti
1T would have been difficult t
q lind. Poor Mr.. Ferrers though
so, and the words that escape,
s him as he took her white hand
-i"How charming everything her
ls!' certainly included his hos
l tess.
4 You re fncenfusion, of course
at your own home," Mrs. ST
Quentin said, motioning him to ,
chair (oh! such soft, deep, com
Portable one); land that is why
troubled you to come to me in.
stead of myself ailing upon you
Deeply thankful the curate fell
for her thoughtfulness. Com.
pared with this, his home was
SIMPLY poverty-stricken. Glad he
was she had never seen it. Some
thlng he murmured about his
| little place not being fit to receive
ladies or friends; and she went
Oh
Il fear there have not been too
many at Langton of whom Won
could make friends, Mr.. Ferrers.
L think you have been rather q
hermit, like myself. I hope your
next home will be brighter and far
more genial for you"
You are very good" the curate
said, looking down into his we'll
worn hat with sudden heaviness
OF heart; leaving had never seemed
quite so bad as at this moment !
''At my age one ceases to expect
much brightness. But Langton
has been my home long while;
my poor people and I get on so
we'll. For that and for 9TH:
tor many reasons, [ am sorry to
|go.'
"4ou have not accepted fresh
post yet?' the lady asked.
II can't find one," he answered.
simply. "But," hastily, most
likely [ shall soon. And it doesn't
at all matter-except to me-"
"Ah,' she said, very kindly, 'sI
understand that Except to me-
better than you think, Mr.. Fer
rers. Do you happen to know a
place called Higham Granger"
He looked at her-startled.
"4e-es; by name only.
'Wel1, L was there last month
Its owner is an old friend of mine. |
And she had new companion-I
a young man. Such nice girl
}
ana her name-can you guess it?
is the same as yours. And to
tell the truth, Mr.. Ferrers, I soon
found she was your niece; and
heard how from the tinae she lost
her father and mother something
like half your means must have
gone to educate her, and fit her to
earn her living as she now does."
'"Oh, really, Mary ought not"
began the curate, earnestly; but
Mrs. St. Quentin, with a little
gesture, silinced him.
'And [ ought notl Perhaps it
is not right of me to let you find
that l know what you have kept
hidden SO long-your great self
denial, and most brotherlv
charity"
The lady's voice was a trife un-
The curate, with shake of the
head, would have deprecated
praise; but she went on j
"Still, [ hope you will excuse
me. Sometimes - by and by,
when you are gone-you may not
be sorry to reflect that one person,
At any rate, understands and ap-
preciates the unselfishness of.your
life here. And you have found
ways to help a lot of the poor,
too, l know"
"Oh, very, very little" said the
curate; but he felt that many a
supperless night, many an old
coat, many a patched pair of
boots, were now getting,'a reward
little expected. This recognition
from this lady gladdened him.
ah! more than a thousand teapots
or thousand pounds.
Whatever that little was. it
vas worth hundred-fold more
han doles given out of abundance ,
such as-mine," said Mrs. St.
quentin, softly. ''But," sudden
y sitting very upright and assum-
ng severely business-like tone,
what | particularly wanted to
'ay was, that as@aH this liheraity h
't yours-yes, liberality it was," !
rs he must have been {
very heavy pull, I hope you I,
Won't resent my taking small (
share of the burden. It lis my ,
11tu o,eI Il | /