Year: 1874

when she came into the Sunday school,
| holding timidly by the hand of the kind
superintendent. As she entered the door,
was struck by the great sweetness of the
shy fair face, half hidden by tho broad
brim of her cheap straw hat, and by the
grace of the poorly clad little figure. I
was glad when the superintendent led her
to my class saying


| IL have brought you new scholar, Miss
Annie, she is small. but have talked with
her. and think she is quite capable of
taking her place here"


For mine was an advanced class, and
little Alison was certainly younger than
any of my scholars. f.-t.sg


"How old are you. dear Pr asked, as
she shyly took her seat


eleven in April"


"And have been at Sunday school be.
fore?


"No mama. papa taught me. but he is
dead" and the tears gathered to her soft
blue eyes, "and mamma wants me to come
here. if you will be good enough to allow
me-"


1--WE are always very glad when little
girls come here,' said, wondering where
the child had acquired slight foreign ac-
cent. that was very winning.


l soon found my new scholar would put
to shame the big girls around her whose
limited advantages for education in our
small village, made their simple Bible
studies difficult. She read with ease. and
a remarkable power OF elocutiOn in one SO
Young, giving to the inspired writings
beauty they rarely attain in so young a
voice, and when we closed the holy vol
ume and talked over what we had read
my new scholar surprised me by the
knowledge she showed of sacred subjects.
1t was no parrot like repetition OF voices OF
Scripture. but clear, bright adaptation
of truths to the daily life, that proved
concluslvely that she had lived under
Christian influence, where Christianity
was loved.


After services were over saw Alison
again, walking quietly by the side OF a
tall, pale lady in deep mourning, who took
the road leading directly to the village.
while mine led me down shady lanes,
nearly mile away, to my home, Farm
ingdale, where lived my lonely life. with
only Margery my servant for company,
and the servants about the place for pro-
lection.


1t was probably my monotonous nm
eventiul lire that made me think SO much
during the ensuing week Of my little schol-
ar, with her golden hair and sweet, fair
face. A few lines here l must write OF
myself, that my later story may be clear.


was the only child and orphan heiress
of John Gardiner, who had inherited Farm
dale from father and grandfather, but who
had left home when young to seek and
find fortune in the great city of New York.
From my babyhood have been very shy
and fond of seclusion, and the happiest
days of my childhood were spent at the
old homestead. visiting my grandparents.
| was eighteen when I was betrothed to
one, who loving me we'll, won my love,
and died week before our appointed
wedding day. holding my hand fast in his
own. A year later my father died, leav-
ing me a house in New York, handsome
income, and Farmdale, for his parents had
been dead some years. l was sad and
wanted seclusion. | rented the house in
the city, refused my guardians offer of a
home in his family. and came to Farmdale.
Books, music, grand piano and many
Improvements in furniture crept into the
homestead as year after year rolled away,
and | was known as q ''learned lady"
among the villagers of "Steele, " the little
village a mile from Farmdale, who re-
garded my foreign literature and music as
proofs of profound erudition.


l will not deny that l was often lonely
and longed for ompanionship, yet my life
suited me, and had passed my thirtieth
birthday when Alison Fairfield came to
Steele.


1t was Tuesday morning, when Margery
coming home from the village, told me of
the new people, the widow Fairfield and
her daughter.


''She has rented the little cottage by
the bridge, Miss Annie, where Mrs. Lee
used to live, and put up paper sign in
the window for sewing. All, me! it's
little she'll make with needle at Steele,
where they'd sew all night to save dol
lar any of them"


could not defend the village against
this accusation, knowing how fond of q
dollar, and how hard working its people
were, but | said There are all those pill
low cases and sheets, Margery."


Laws me, Miss Annie, I'll find plenty
of time for those"


"But think will have the pillow cases
refilled and trimmed. Margery."


There you got" she answered 'al-
ways looking out for other folks. AS if
couldn't see it's all to give the poor wo-
man chance. Well, go along for an
angel as you are y


BY which it will be seen Margery rath-
er over-estimated my merits, habit she
had from the tine l would toddle out.
wee badly, to have my cup filled at milk
ing time.


drove over to the village in the after
noon in my little basket carriage, and took
the pillow cases to the window. 1t was
not long before she was teartully telling
me her story, and was drawing my own
conclusions.


Her husband had been literary man,
and had spent most of his married life in
Europe. where four children younger than
Alison rested in their graves. 1t was ev-
ident that the dead husband and father
had been disappointed man, ambitious.
and failing in his ambitions always poor.
always in debt, had returned to bis own
country to die of illness, brought on by
despair. 1t was also evident that his wife
was uneducated, fretful, and repining
with the traces of long past prettiness
upon her worn face.


Your little daughter" l said, "has


CONTINUED ON FOURTH FACE