Year: 1866

| can't say that you are" and the smile
which emphasized my grandmother's re
mark said more than the words did. l un
derstood by it that she thought had no
been improving-growing filter for an,
life-work worth doing. 1t sharpened M
temper yet more.


WELL" said, "your paragon"


You mean, presume, your lover" sh,
interpolated.


took no notice, except to change th,
phraseology of my sentence.


| Joe promised to go to town next fall
and get into business. He said that he wa,
going to be merchant For my part,
was willing to wait until he could get
salary large enough just to live on, anc
then | would have shared his lot cheerful
| ly, and helped him all | could, and done
without luxuries until the time for then
came. That would have suited me- should
have been in the midst of stir and bustle-
the rush and movement of life. could
have helped him to rise-I know | could
| "And what is it ?"


81 He came last night to tell me that he
had changed all his plans. He means tC
give up going away, and settle down there
at home, to take care of his mother anC
sister. He says, as he shall never be any
differently situated, there is no use in wait
ing, and he wants me to marry him and
come home there"


"What did you tell him ?"


"That l would take till tonight to think
of it. had promised to share different
life altogether l wasn't fit for this one
and he knew it,"


"Yes," grandmother said quietly, abe
must have known it. But suppose he was
willing to put up with all your imperfec
tions, and make the best of them, for the
sake of the love he bore you. You know
he might get wife great deal more eff
cient and helpful than you would be-"
Let him, then p


said the words deiantly, but l strang
led something which was almost sob al
the thought of Joe--my Joe--ever caring
| for, being helped by some other woman.


Then l took up my embroidery again, and
grandmother stitched away at her sheet
| and both of US were silent. | was think.
ing how loved Joe, and how l hated farm.
work how fussy old Mrs Scarborough
was, and how stiff and poky Joes sister
Angeline. l don't know what grandmoth
er was thinking but, after a while, she
said, gently:


1--WE all have some kind of burden to
bear, Helen. We can not please ourselves
all through life, and then hear the Lords
We'll done at the last He disciplines us
with trials, every one--sends each child
some cross to carry--why can you not take
this for yours 2"


al think old Mrs. Scarborough and An.
geline would be too heavy for my should
ers," answered, tartly. 81 don't like
them"


"Joe does," uttered grandmother with
mild suggestion.


took refuge in pertness, and said, flip
PANTY:


"Then Joe may enjoy all the charms Of
their society without interruption from me. u


Grandmother sighed, as she fastened her
thread at the end of the long seam, and
went out into the kitchen to see about sup
per. | got up and looked in the glass.
lUGs pretty, and Joe had been right when
be said was unfit for farmers wife. l
had done nothing but please myself, so far
in life My father was the doctor of the
little country town, and there had never
been anything to do at home which grand.
mother and her one good strong maid of all
work were not equal to. My idle life had
made me luxurious and indolent. 1t seem
ed to me that no love on earth could be
strong enough to reconcile me to butter
milk and dishwater. | remembered the far
mers' wives here in Hillsbury-meek, fad.
ed, washed-out women--who never read
never rode, never sang--who seemed to
care only to drag through the slow, un.
changing round of each day, and get to bed
early at night. If they had ever loved their
husbands, their lives now gave no time for
romance or sentiment. Lives 1t was not
living at all OF course, if | married Joe
should sink into just such woman. | look
ed at my face-bright, young, handsome,
as l could not help knowing it was--at my
hands, where no rude service had left its
imprint No, l would not marry joe mine
should not be a marriage in haste foI
which all my after-life should be one long
repentance. This decided, | went up stairs
and put on dress he liked--tied my haiI
with the bonny blue ribbons" he always
praised l don't know that | was capable
of the conscious cruelty of intending to be
as lovely as pos ible, in order to make hin
feel his loss the more. What | said to my
self was that, at any rate, his last recollec
tions of me should be at my best-I woulC
have picture photographed on his mint
which the useful wife to come should fine
it hard to rival.


| went down to supper with good ap
petite for warm griddle-cakes and fresf
maple sirup. l did not begin yet to under
stand myself or know what was doing.
was glad that business took my father
away after tea, and that grandmother was
considerate enough to find something to dt
in the kitchen. l made the fire bright il
the sitting-room, lit lamp, and put a little
glass, filled with crocuses which | haC
found in sheltered corner of thh garden
on the round table. Then l stood at th,
window and watched the ear y moon rise
as | waited for Joe.


He came soon, walking with such firm
step, wearing such an expectant look, smil
ing 80 brightly, when he saw me at the win
dow, that his very manner piqued me ant
strengthened my resolution. Was he, thel
so sure? Did he think he had only to maj
out new life for me altogether differen
from my hopes and expectations, and m.
love for him was certain to make me lall il
with it at once? l forgot how many time
had told him that his love was more t.
me than any thing else in the world-hoy
much right had given him to trust in me
I onened the door for him and let him kis