Year: 1878

You might have been puzzled to define
the kind of room in which stood Bertha
Dane-whether it might be meant for
parlor or kitchen. Acottage piano filled
one corner; a sewing machine the other;
the large windows we're furnished with
holland blind shades without; with
hanging baskets, from which dropped
ferns within. But the crate was large
old fashioned thing, with an oven and
hobs, evidently meant for cooking; in
fact small sauce pan was simmering
on one of the hobs at this moment, and
the tea kettle boiled on the other. 1t was
the ordinary sitting and living room
of the oldfashioned farmhouse; there
was better one on the other side of the
hall for high days and holidays.


At this farmhouse lived Mr. and Mrs
Robarts generally addressed by Bertha
as Uncle Stephen and Aunt Pen. But,
in calling it farmhouse, it must not be
supposed that farming was carried on
there. A few acres ofland were attached
to the house, that was all. The Roberts
family had been in days gone by an i'm
provident family, and the greater por-
ton of the good broad lands were parted
with before it came into possession of
the only son left-Stephen. He and his
wife, middle-aged people now, lived
here in peace and quiet on their very
limited means; he cultivating the gar
den and the little land remaining to
him; she practically attending to the
household matters with untiring activity.


1t wanted less than a fortnight of
Christmas Day, and Aunt Pen had gone
out on a shopping tour connected with
the preparations of that hospitable sea
son. Bertha, lifting now and again the
lid of the little saucepan, stood by the
fire crying. On the red cover of the
centre table stood the tea tray with its
cups and saucers; a white cloth was
spread over the opposite end of the
table, a plate of bread-and butter on it,
and some knives and forks.


The entrance door was heard to open.
Somebody stayed to take off hat and
overcoat in the hall, and then came into
the room; small, short man, with a
quiet thoughtful face and grey hair. He
wore . suit ofgrey and began to unbut-
ton his leggings as he sat down by the
fire.


Where your aunt, Bertha?"


"She went into the town to order cur
rants and things, Uncle Stephen. And
she said that, as il promised to be a fine
evening, she might go on to see grand
mamma. Uncle John would be sure to
see her home at night"


whats the matter, Bertha?" For
Bertha had been unable to hide the
sound of tears in her voice, and the
moisture that glistened on her eye
lashes.


"Oh. nothing" she answered evasively
and forthwith began to make the tea in
hustle. Uncle stephen, getting off the
last gaiter, put that and its fellow in the
corner behind the mantlepiece; and
then had leisure to miss something in
the room.


whats gone with the hearth rug,
Berthal"


aunt Pen rolled it up before she
went" glancing at the far part Of the
room. She said she could not trust me
not to upset things upon it when had
cooking to do"


Cooking"


Bertha lifted the lid CT the saucepan
These kidneys are being stewed for
you, Uncle Stephen. We thought you
would want something better than bread
and butter, as you could not get home to
dinner"


Bertha turned the stewed kidneys
into dish as she spoke, placed it on the
white cloth by her uncleis place, and
sat down to pour outthe tea. Mr. Robarts
was hungry, and did justice to the good
cheer provided for him; but he had
leisure to look at his niece between
whiles. He studied calmness, in spite of
the compressed lips and brimming eyes,
showed the self-control she was exert
ing; and he admired her for it. The
girl had nice face; bright dark ewes
and good, well-carved features, with
fresh, pure complexion. She was rather
short and wore shabby stuff gown, all
over darns. But in spite of the shabbi-
ness and the darns, her looks, her voice
and her selfcontained manners all be-
spoke the gentlewoman.


Bertha" said he again, what's the
matter"


No answer. Just a sigh swallowed
down with gulp.


Bertha, what is it that's the matter?
Answer me, my DEAR


at is the rehearsal to night spd-and
Aunt Pen won't let me 60"


The answer came with burst of grief:
the pent up tears rained down now.


"Why not? Because she is out her
self"


"Yes. And tits such nonsense besides
she says. Oh, Uncle Stephen, This
night of all nights, not to go.n


Aunt Pen was mistress and r,.s,.~