The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1897-07-01

| being told OF how affairs stood,
agreed with her somewhat elderly
husband that Molly must be taken
s.asss of. While it was not an adop-
ton in the legal sense of the word,
it amounted to about the same
thing. Molly was given fair edu-
cation, and then she was taken into
the household as something a little
above a high class servant
with her beauty, " said Mrs.
Cloverdale as the girl left the room,
'she might marry duke. :
Then the pretty mistress of this
charming old stone house in the
very heart of the BerksEires put
down her fan, distracted something
from between the pages Of book
on the table by her side, rose from
her place in the deep bent wood
rocker, and passing out into the
hall, stopped for a moment to APP
propriate a parasol and snatch up
another object, which she deity
hid among the voluminous folds of
the white muslin gown that she had
gathered up so as to free those small
feet of hers for a walk across the
lawn.
Tripping lightly down the stone
steps of the mansion, she passed be-
meath an outrageous arbor that
shaded the smooth, close cropped
field that spread away down grad
ual decline to where a row of grace
full, light green willows told of the
presence of a stream of water. The
walk was not a long one, nor did
she linger for any time on the brink
of the gurgling, miniature river
that flowed through the Glover
dale domain. For an instant she
stopped, as if to gather something
from among the reeds that line the
shore, giving one a picture similar
to that of PharaOsa S daughter rescu-
ing the infant Moses, but when she
again stood upright there was moth
ing left in her hands save her para
sol. On re-entering the mansion the
sound of a voice angrily raised
reached her ears.
My panama hatl'' the master OF
the manse was shouting. my pan
anna hiatt That is the third have
lost in the last eight daysl John!
Thomas! Henry! My haiti Where
is it,"
"Great heavens!'' exclaimed Mrs.
CloverdaIe, coming in at the mo-
ment. what are you making such
commotion, about, my dear! Do
you want to arouse the whole neigh
borhood?"
my hat! I want my hat'' cried
the husband irrita bly,.
Surely" she went on, it is not
because you can't find it-you, who
are so absentminded2 What does it
matter? The price you pay for your
hats is not SO great =
Mr.. Cloverdale paid no attention
whatever to this fling. With all the
servants in the house aiding him he
continued his search in every cor
ner, while Mrs. Cloverdale resumed
her seat in her bent wood rocker,
her eyes fixed upon Dresden clock
on a nearby cabinet.
Adjoining the Cloverdale estate
was farm belonging to Captain
Adrian Sylvester, a young English
man, who, having made fortune
for himself in cattle breeding in the
west, had for the last three years
been spending it recklessly. He had
purchased this old homestead in
! the Berkshires, and each summer
he. spent a few weeks there, usually
to recuperate from round of dissi
patton that would have sent man
of less sturdy constitution to his
grave. The stream that meandered
through the Cloverdale property
wound its way later across the
broad acres of Captain Sylvester S
farm and a little beyond emptied
itself into the river.
At point on this ribbon of run
ming water some distance below
where Mrs. Cloverdale had stopped
for a minute over the reeds that
fringed its brim, young Andrew,
the lover of poor heartbroken Mol
ly, was sitting patiently upon fall
en- tree trunk, holding a rough fish
ing pole and watching a cork that
bobbed about on the bosom of the
fretful stream.
TWAS a cool, shady nook in which
he had thus ensconced himself, and
though he had been fishing there
| for upward of an hour without SO
much as a nibble to reward him he
showed no sign of discomfort. He
was waiting now for Molly's return,
more than half fearing that her an
swer, which he knew depended up
! on Mrs. Cloverdale's decision, would