The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1904-08-24
By Miss ANNIE EDWARDs.'

And cautiously from beneath his fat
tened straw hat draws forth what two
minutes ago was q butterfly, q man
sled heap of legs. wings and gold
powder, just enough of life animatinS
all for the creature to culver an instant
in it's conqueror's iron grip, then be
still.
"Oh, Paul! One more butterfly muir
dered!' says Daphne in a voice grave
" proportioned to the Nervousness of
the child's crime. "He was 81 happy
with his friends among the flowers and
did nobody any harm, and you have
killed him! Paul will never be able to
run races with the poor butterfly
again."
ME till another" says Paul prompt
", and, showing a row Of tiny pearl
white teeth as he shakes the corpse
of the victim with disgust from his
small fingers. "Vilain butterf'y-va"
Mrs. Chester snatches the child up
from the ground, looks reproVingly Tor
q moment or two at his bold, brown.
th~ree-year-old face, then begins to
smother him with kisses-the usual be-
ginning and ending Of Paul's punish
ments."
Tell me, my sweet" She Whispers
as she bears him in her strong, young
arms toward the house, think q long
time first, and tell me how much love
Paul has got for Mamsy?
Without thinking a second, PAUL
mute off q scarcely appreciate fraction
Of space on one tiny finger.
"And how much for the three Old
aunts, who ell want to see Paul a
good boy?'
For a moment Paul looks innocent
" I'D at the sky, as though he heard
the question not; then he commences
drumming q little, impromptu tune OF
his W composition upon his mothers
shoulder.
What, no love for Aunt Hosie, when
| she makes you toffee on Saturday"
Paurs appreciation Of Aunt Hosie's
"toffee" making is measured, after due
deliberation, by the length Of n hand
say, three inches and a half.
"And for Maitre Andre, when he
lets you ride Lisette, at the Grand
| Charrue?'
The child stretches both arms wide.
paul Anne Maitre Andre beautoup,
beautoutr!' he cries eagerly. Pauis
language, I must explain, is strictly
| composite, part broken English part
patois French. "Beu plus gu to p tte
| Maman."
Daphne's lip trembles. She belongs
to the class of women who want per-
petual expressions Of love from the OBJ
iect beloved, even though the object
| shall have only learned to lisp; and
Paul, whose healthy heart Is granite
hard-Paul has already learned the de-
lights of playing tyrant.
"If 1 tell you a great, big secret
oh. ever so big, Paulie!-how many
kisses will you give me, I wonder?"
The child nestles his cheek coax
ingly against his mothers. At three
years Of age children are sufficiently
versed in ~philology to know that the
word secret means q new pleasure
| for themselves.
Tomorrow Jean Marie will bring
the hay home. Aunt Hosie and / made
cakes this morning, and there's q lit
tie cake for Paul to take down in the
field, like the real haymakers."
"All for mine own self?"
Gail for your own self, sir, and with
Paul on the top in currants. Now,
how many kisses?"
He hugs her we'll nigh to strangula-
ton, bestows three or four noisy, care
less kisses on her cheeks and neck;
finally, a fresh butterfly, more painted
than the last, catching his eye, strug-
giles down out Of her embrace, and,
waving his hat wildly above his head,
is off.
Daphne watches the small. impetu-
Gus figure until it is lost to sight
among the raspberry bushes and es-
paliered pear trees that divide the
domain Of flowers from the ampler
kitchen garden. Then she turns away
into the house, where her owr name
at this instant is being Justify vocif-
Grated from the landing at the first
floor.
Daphne! What in the world is
| Daphne clustering about?"
The voice is old, quivering, yet pos.
| sesses a certain gruf ring Of majesty
in it's tones. One would say, hearing
it for the first time, that, during three
or four score years of human life, that
| voice had been more used to command
than to entreat.
"Theodora! I wish to know If our
niece Daphne, with her usual heed
lessness, has forgotten the post bag"
Upon this, a door on the opposite side
Of the passage to the kitchen opens,
and a modishly dressed lady appears
upon the threshold.
l use the word "modish" with pre-
meditation. Faded though Theodore
Vansittart'g lavender silk may be, it
has received establishments and re-
adjustments that bring up its style to
the level of NJ. WORTH mean M.
| Worth as represented in the last num-
Der but three of the Petit Courier des
Danes. Her collars and cuffs would
have been the newest thing out, not a
twelvemonth ago in Oxford street. Her
faxen hair, plentiful still, though sixty
winters have powdered it, is fashion
ably, almost girlishly, made the most
Of beneath a tiny Vatican cap of
lace, rosebuds and ribbon. 4 furnished
blue and gold keepsake or annual, of
4 date coeval with Miss T~heodora's