The Courier. (Genoa, Nev.) 1899-1904, 1902-01-31
CHApTER XIV.

,
but the mists which for years had
shrouded her reason were too dense to
be suddenly cleared away; and when
Mary wept, winding her arms around her
neck and calling her "aunt;" and when
the elegant Mrs. Campbell, scarcely less
bewildered than Sally herself, came for
ward, addressing her as SISTER" she
turned aside to Mrs. Mason, asking in a
whisper what had made them crazyY'
But when Mary spoke of little Willie's
grave, and the tree. which overshadowed
it, of the green prairie and cottage by
the brook, once her western home, Sally
listened, and at last, one day, a week or
two after her arrival in Boston, she sud
denly clasped her hands closely over her
temples, exclaiming: IT'S come. It's
come! l remember now-the large gar
den-the cross old mantle dead mother
the rosy-cheeked Ella | loved so well
-"
THAT was my mother-my mother" in
terrupted Mary.
For moment Sally regarded her in
tently, and then catching her in her arms,
cried over her, calling her 'her precious
child" and wondering she had never no.
tieed how much she was like ella.
"And don't you remember the baby
Jane" asked Mrs. Campbell, who was
present.
perfectly" answered Sally.
HE died and you came in carriage, but
didn't cry-nobody cried but Mary"
1t was In vain that Mary tried to ex-
plain to her that Mrs. Campbell was her
sistar-once the baby Jane. Sally was
not to be convinced. To her Jane and
the little Alice were the same. There was
none of her blood in Mrs. Campbell S
veins, "or why" said she, did she leave
us SO long in obscurity, me and my niece,
Mrs. George Moreland, Esq. n
This was the title which she always
gave Mary when speaking of her, while
to Ella, who occasionally spent a week
in her sisters pleasant home, she gave
the name of "little cipher" as expressing
exactly her opinion Of her. Nothing so
much excited Sally, or threw her into SO
violent passion, as to have Ella call
her aunt.
"If wasn't her kin when I wore a six
penny Calico" said she, II certainly am
not now that l dress in purple and fine
linen"
When Sally first went to Boston
George procured for her the best possi-
BILE medical advice, but her case was of
SO long standing that but little hope was
entertained of her entire recovery. Still,
everything was done for her that could
be done, and after time she became far
less boisterous than formerly, and some
times appeared perfectly rational for
days.
True to her promise, on Mary's twenty
first birthday, Mrs. Campbell made over
to her one-fourth of her property, and
Mary, remembering her intentions to-
ward William Bender, Immediately offer
ed him one-half of it. But he declined
accepting 1t, saying that his profession
was sufficient to support both himself and
Jenny, for in a few weeks Jenny, whose
father had returned from California, was
coming and already a neat little cottage,
a mile from the city, was being prepar-
ed for her reception. Mary did not urge
the matter, but many an article of fur
niture more costly than William was able
to purchase found its way into the cot
tage, which, with its overhanging vines,
climbing roses and profusion Of flowers,
seemed just the home for Jenny Lincoln.
And when the flowers were in full
bloom, when the birds sang amid the
trees, and the summer sky was brigbs
and blue, Jenny came to the cottage, .
joyous, loving bride, believing her OWE
husband the best in the world, and Won
dering il there was ever any one as hap
py as herself And Jenny was very
happy. Blithe as bee, she fitted about
the house and garden, and If in the morn
| ing tear glistened in her laughing eyes
as William bade her adieu, 1t was quick
ly dried, and all day long she busted her
self in her household matters, studying
some agreeable surprise for her husband,
| and trying for his sake to be very neat
and orderly.
There was no place which Ella loved
so well to visit. or where she seemed SO
happy, as at the Cottage" and as she
was of but little use at home, she fire.
qllently spent whole weeks with Jenny,
becoming gradually more cheerful-more
| like herself, but always insisting that she
should never be married.
The spring following Mary's removal
to Boston, Mrs. Mason came down to the
city to live with her adopted daughter
greatly to the delight of Aunt Martha
whose home was lonelier than it was
won't to be, for George was gone, and
| Ida, too, had recently been married to
Mr.. Elwood and removed to Lexington
XIV.
| And now a glance at Chicopee, and ouI
| story is done. Mr.. Lincoln's California
| adventure had been a successful one, anC
not long after his return he received from
| George Moreland a conveyance of the
| farm, which, under Mr.. Parker's eff
| cient management, was in high state oil
cultivation. Among the inmates of the
poorhouse but few changes have take1
place. Miss Grundy, who continues a
the helm, has grown somewhat older anG
crosser, while Uncle Peter labors indus
triously at new fiddle, the gift of Mary
who is still remembered with much az
| fection
Lydia Knight, now a young lady o.
sixteen, Is n pupil at Mount Holyoke
and Mrs. Perkins, after wondering ant
wondering where the money came from
has finally concluded that ''some o.
Georges folks must have sent itp'
|