The record-union., 1899-10-22
DOLLYS DILEMMA,

that induced old Deacon Dudley. the
Supervisor, TO bestow upon me. the
much coveted Center school Tt was
the largest in town. the hardest. and
the best paid. i was only Is at the
time, but family misfortunes. followed
by the sickness and death of my
father, made the necessity for employ
ment urgent and imperative.
Heavily handicapped by youth and
inexperience, my first term was a sue
cession of disappointments and disil-
lusions.
Gradually, as I became acquainted
with my pupils, and accustomed to my
duties, 1 acquired the faculty of ad-
Justing myself to my surroundings, af-
ter which my work became much easier
and more satisfactory. Term after term
passed, until l felt my position to be
assured. For six years | held if. cipher
ing annually through the higher alge-
bra, to the wonder of my pupils and
the satisfaction OF their parents Be-
ing district school, there could be no
real graduation, but gradually the day
had taken upon itself the dignity and
Importance OF an annual celebration.
AT hrst / had been one Of it's most
enthusiastic supporters, believing that
its coveted successes would not only
stimulate ambition and reward indus
try, but would also tend toward the
establishment Of a much needed free
high school. Yet I now realized. with
pain, that it bade fair to be a culmina-
tion of jealousy, unkind emulation and
unnecessary extravaganza.
The leader in every extrayagant de-
vice was, naturally enough. Muriel Ma
son, only daughter of the richest man
in town Born to command, she held
her own against all opposition until
the subject of dress was broached.
In her case the important gown was
to be dainty creation of white lace
and surah, therefore she decreed that
her classmates should likewise drape
themselves in white.
That is not fair" protested Lura
Haley, who delighted in CAV fabrics
and vivid coloring. II am sure I don't
want to accentuate my natural ugli-
ness Ra
TT won't make any difference on the
stage, said Muriel with careless un-
kindness.
After this experimental tilt. as no
1urther opposition was hazarded. the
white dress rule was supposed to be
imperative. That evening Dolly Kemp
ton came to me, her pretty face cloud
ed, her young arms loaded.
Poor Dolly; I OWNED her trouble be-
fore she voiced it. She was a delicate
little creature, studious and refined.
yet not exactly popular among her
mates. She was poor, undisguisedly
and undeniably so. She lived with
her widowed mother and an aged
woman, known as Aunt Marty. q
queer, irresponsible old body. who with
the slightest possible claim had bur
dened them for years. With pauperism
staring her in the face she had fled for
shelter to Mrs. Kempton. who was her
self IN Strengthened circumstances. The
connection between them was of the
slghtest and entailed neither legal nor
moral obligation; yet she cared for the
poor soul kindly, so stretching her mea-
ser income that it covered the bare
necessities of life for the three. her
self, her daughter and their perennial
guest
Knowing the circumstances. I could
we'll understand what a perplexinr
dN~1NACAA . cdQcAlIiLS expenses must Dc
IN that pinched household but 1 was
hardly prepared for the solution which
Dolly's big bundle contained. She
opened it. spreading before my aston
lshed eyes a garment quantity beauti-
ful in tint and texture, but grotesoue
in figure and design. An ancient dress
of white silk tissue, eayly brocaded
with huge garlands of pink roses and
green leaves. The fabric itself was ex-
qulsltely fine and delicate, the ground
work time yelloWed into the softest
ivory tint; but alas, the passing years
mad wrought no such refining change
upon the overblown roses and over
grown leaves, running riotously over
the scant skirt and low bodice of this
impossible gown
Dear Miss Deacon" said Dolly, with
a little nervous laugh that had in it
hint of tears, do you think that any
circumstance, or combination of cir
cumstances, could make it ones duty
TO wear that for a graduating dress p"
l looked at her in astonishment.
Mother wants me to wear it, she
went on, "and indeed I want to. after
fashion; yet all the same my soul
abhors those ancient roses. You see.
1t was Aunt Martyrs wedding gown.
and in her eyes, as fine and valuable as
ever. Through all the shifts and
changes of her most unhappy life, she
has clung to this sole relic of happier
days. | fancy that after her husbands
death his people made much of her for
time. Her father was wealthy, and
there was always the chance of his re-
lentinG, but as one by one her over
lures were ignored and her letters re-
turned unopened, this possibility grew
less and less, until after the family
moved East, it ceased altogether. She
was never strong or smart or capable,
and little by little every ones patience
gave way, until even our home, with
its many privations, seemed a very
haven of rest to her. This afternoon
Mrs. Mason called, and talked of moth
ing but the necessary expenses of the
coming occasion" She left poor auntie
nearly frantic, and absolutely deter
mined to throw herself upon the town.
She has. felt it her duty, ever since she
became so helpless with rheumatism.
Nothing but the fact that she had
rather die than live with Mary Ann
Biggs has kept her with US for the last
year. Poor old soul; she would have