Waterbury Democrat., 1902-12-10
Mrs. G1enfie1d's s
 Boarder
By HELEN E. GRAVES.

ITS no use talking" said Mrs.
 Glenfeld, energetically. Poor? Yes, dare say he's poor; but so am poor. I need the money for my rent, and this is six weeks he's behind. Go to his room, Ernestine, and take the bill; it's high time the money was paid"
 Mrs. Glenfeld was sharp-nosed, long-featured matron, whose face, originally pleasant enough, had grown sharp and. acid with years of weary struggling to make both ends meet. A widow who keeps a New York board inghouse has plenty of opportunity to look on the shady side of things, and Mrs. Glenffeld, somehow, found herself growing misanthropical as she grew older.
 Ernestine, her eldest daughter, took the proffered slip of paper, somewhat reluctantly, and went slowly upstairs with it.
 She was a slight, small creature, with bright brown eyes, hair of soft chestnut hue, and arch, pretty fea- lures. If Ernestine Glenfeld had been the petted daughter of rich man, her natural advantages set off by swans down, silk, and jewels, the world would have pronounced her beauty. As it was, with fate and fortune against her, she even was remarkably pretty.
 She knocked softly at Mir. Harney's door, and dejected voice answered:
 'Come in.''
 Ernestine pushed open the door and entered
 Wallace Harney sat at the dingily- covered table, his head resting on his hands. The handful of sullen-looking red coal glowed like vindictiye eve from the socket of the grate. A pile of papers, loosely tied together, lay on the table, close to his hand, with an open note. containing the ''respectful- 1y declined" of some great publisher, who had never taken the trouble to read Wallace Harney's carefully writ ten manuscript.
 Mir. Harney was young man, prob ably 30 years of age, but he felt much older. He had been fighting destiny all his life, and up to the present mo- ment he had had the worst of the en- counter. No wonder that he felt al- $ IlOsb IIGllllSu bO
 He started up, however, at the light sound of Frnestine's footsteps on the worn carpet.
 Miss Glenfeld!"
 s.You used to call me Ernestine,' she said, half laughing. What makes you so ceremonious now?"
 s'I don't know" he said, vaguely, pushing the damp hair from his hot forehead. "Did you want anything of me?"
 Ernestine colored and hesitated- to the ineNorable editors note. Wal lace Harney saw it, and his cheek grew as scarlet as her own.
 Mamma wishes-that is, she hopes" hesitated poor Ernestine, who was very bad hand at deceiving
 .I see,' said MT. Harney, your money or your life'-that is the fash ionable formula nowadays. But if you happen to have no money, what then?"
 .'I-I am very sorry,' said Ernestine, meekly.
 s'I do not know why you should be-" said MT. Harney. .1t is six weeks since I have paid your mother any thing, but it is not because have not been working hard.'
 "Mamma's rent came due last week." said Ernestine, feeling as if every drop of blood in her body were turned to liquid fire, s'and-oh, MT. Harney, I am so sorry!''
 The last words broke from her lips as she saw the pained look of mortif- cation in the young authors face. In- voluntarily she put her hand in her pocket, and drew out rustling $20 bill.
 ssUncle Jason gave it to me for new dress" she said, sSbut my old one is good yet-black silk always looks well, you know, no matter how long you have worn it. Please, please, MT. Har- ney, take it.
 He pushed away her soft little hand almost irritably.
 '.Ernestine!" he cried, passionately, s'I am not yet fallen so low as to take your little capital.
 .sBut you will pay me back some day. she urged, still holding out the bill.
 q would rather not risk it.''
 'Then let me give it to you. Oh, MT. Harney, please!"
 He looked up in her face with sar- donic sort of laugh-the. soft, pitying ught in her eyes seemed to strike 6 New chord In his heart.
 "I will not take it, Ernestine; but, believe ne, it has done me just as much good as if I spent it all. Tell your mother cannot pay her bill, but she is welcome to my poor belongings here. They will sell for something, at least, when am gone"
 'Mr. Harney," cried Ernestine, look ing up with wistful surprise, "you are not going away?"
 "Yes.'
 "Where?"
 gro the river, the railroad track, any lonely, desolate place, where I can end a life that has hitherto been of no use to myself or any one else, that can sec"
 "And leave me?"
 s'Ernestine, it cannot be possible that you care for me.''