Year: 1879

said the old gentleman in gray, She is
living, is she hot?"


Yes" said the old lady.


But she cannot be Miss Carney still" !"
said the old gentleman.


But she is" said the old lady and looked
him in the face again.


Their eyes met. Hers were brown and
his were gray


People alter out of knowledge in forty
years." said she; "aud how on earth ] came
to know you don't know, for you look like
your own grandfather, Mark Turner"


ASK the old gentleman to walk in then,
Miss Carney" said he ; 4" for he ought to be
more weary than he used to grow on the
same road a lifetime ago, coming from the
mill, you remember, Priscy, every Sunday
evening"


Did you ~ said she, pretending 10 for
get. ooh, yesl of course I'll ask you TO
walk in, Mr.. Turner"


She turned. lie followed her,


They sat down in the parlor-one on
either side Of the polished table.
Over it, between the windows, hung the
looking glass with its narrow gilt frame.
The bookcase filled the recess.
| On the mantelpiece were some shell how-
ers under glass


There was the stiff sofa with the black
cushion like a slice ola fluted column; there
were the six chairs to match, and the claw
footed sideboard.


There had been no children TO break or
scratch things.


All was the same as when he left il last,
and saw Miss Carney standing in the middle
Of the floor with her long black hair in curls
about her shoulders, and blue ribbon
around her taper girls waist.


Now he looked at her, and she was really
old and stout, but somehow she seemed to
be nobody else but Prscy Carney,


She saw him looking from the furniture
to her face, and interpreted his thought,


"Yes," she said, almost angrily, " is it not
strange? There are the bits of wood and
glass and china, just as they used to be,
There are the oak trees, only finer and
| greencr. The very grass and flowers might
be the same; and here am l, old, faded, and
lonely, and my,handsome bright-eyed father
dead in his grave, and all l care for gone,
wish l were gone also. I think people
who have not seen each other for forty years
need not seek to see each other again. I
wish they would not come to me after being
all the same as dead for forty years. 1t is
precisely like seeing ghosts"


She looked as if she wanted to cry.


"Poor old ghost" said he, "wh ON no ono
wants to see-not even those who promised
to remember him forever"


"Forty years is much worse than forever"
said she, "and ffty-six is a terribly unro-
mantle age"


Yes, it is" said he, "but it is good age
enough for ghosts. BY the way, do you like
ghost stories? Let me tell you one.


"Once there was a ghost-now think of
it, he wasn't always ghost; he was boy
once-the son of a miller down by the water
side. He worked in the mill, and was
foury and white as a ghost should be most
of the time; but he was happy and gay, and
many things happened as he like. One of
them was when a certain rich farmer in the
neignborhood came to the mill. The grain
his servants brought in the great wagons,
but he, the farmer, used to drive to the mill
with his little daughter, in the gig, beside
him. She was a pretty child, with long
curls, and her eyes were big and brown.


"she made pretty picture in her white
dresses and bright ribbons, and she came
when she was so young that she used TO hold
her hands out to this boy and cry, "Come
here, little boy. Show me where the -four
sfls from"


"For that was what she liked TO see the
best, the flour sitting through the fine mus
lin. Every week she used to come until the
miller sent his boy away to school. When
he came home again she was girl of six
teen, prettier than ever, and she remembered
asking MIN to let her see the flour sift, and
she talked to him while her father was at
tending to his business; and the days when
she did not come the boy cared nothing for,
and the days that brought her were marked
and picked out as blessed days.


CATER while he got over the shyness
that kept him from going To see her, and
went, and she was not displeased. She was
the mistress of the house, for her mother
died young. She used to make tea for him
on Sunday afternoon; and after tea her
father would put his handkerchief over his
head and fall into a nap Then they used
to whisper together. Long after the poor
boy came to be ghost he used to remember
those evenings, when he was a bright-cheek-
ed young fellow, the son of "a rich miller,and
had the hope of marrying her he loved before
his eyes.


ale thought the girl loved him as well
as he loved her, and he had no fears Of the
future, no thought that trouble could come
TO him in any way, until misfortune over
took his father. The good old man failed.
The mill was sold. There was nothing but
anxiety at home. At last the worst came
his father died soon after his mother. He
was very sad lie was poor ALSO but he had
hope, for he was beloved by the one he
loved.


cone day he went to her for comfort. He
remembered the day ever after. The low
built, old-fashiuned house, the great oaks,
the flower garden the girl in her white dress
and blue ribbons who came to greet him. |
He was full of life still, but that night,when |
he turned away from the house, he was
ghost-the miserable ghost OF his old self,
for he no longer had any faith in love.


"Standing before him, pale and sad, and !
with tears in her eyes, it is true he had heard
her who had made the world bright for him
say, at is my fathers will that we should
part. cannot disobey my only parent"


Then she had told him that she loYed
him as well al ever but he did not believe