Year: 1870


BY ALICE RoBBINss


My Aunt Nancy was little woman
of forty, who had till within five years
superintended her brothers. household
and lived very easy, happy life, un
troubled by thoughts of the future
She had never dreamed that her staid
| brother would bring home a wife bui
he did, on the day that he was fifty.
| twO-brought her without having by
word or look prepared his sister for the
event-and Aunt Nancy found herself
suddenly In the power of q woman
whom she had disliked for years, and
who returned her dislike with interest
The two women had nothing in com
mon, and could not agree. The result
was quarrel between Aunt Nancy and
her brother, an indignant refusal oi
the small stipend he proposed to settle
upon her, aud an attempt to earn her
own living. I, having lost my husband
in the war about that time, and know
ing of no nearer relatives, offered to
join my slender means to hers SO we
hired two little rooms, and undertook
to earn our living by that precarious
little instrument, the needle.


Aunt Nancy was not pretty but her
face had kind of latent power in it,
that blazed up sometimes and made
her curiously handsome. She was
good, too-good to her hearts core,
God bless her The dearest friend that
l ever knew. I don't think she had
ever been disappointed in love, as most
maiden aunts are, you know-though
she may have had her girlish day-
dreams. once but she was bravely
over them now.


t'Don't talk to me Of marriage" /" she
would say, grimly. 81 wouldn't give
up my independence for the best man
that ever lived" I often told her how
happy I had been. And she listened,
shaking her head she was very set in
her way. Some people, hearing her
talk, would smile and say ftsour
grapes,@ and declare that she had no
heart. They did not know her; she
was all heart.


For two, yes, three years, we tried
our best to keep our heads above
water; and that was all we could do.
My clothes, of which had had a good
supply, were growing shabby, so that
could no longer go TO church. Aunt
Nancy always lost two or three months
work in the year on account of her
eyes, which We're not strong All
through the dreadful heats Of summer
we were obliged to stay in those close,
sitting rooms, and stitch away as con-
stantly as ever. In the winter we did
very well but we learned to dread
the time between june and September.


TT seems to me, y said Aunt Nancy,
one morning when we were soaking
our bread in very weak coffee, .'that
there's some better way than this for
us to live. Pm tired of it. Suppose
we are women? The Lord has given
us hands and feet and strength. I'm
strong enough and why shouldn't we
do something that will help us up a
little, instead of stitching our lives
away for the pittance that hardly keeps
us alive I declare, it seems mon
strous. If we were men, do you sup
pose we'd be working in this style
We're as poor as Jobs cat; and in the
time of his humiliation she was a lean
critter to look at, very likely. Can't
we get out of this humdrum life? I'm
tired of it % And she gave the little
table an energetic push that nearly
sent it over. But what can we do,
without money and without friends %


ANSWER that advertisement of the
elderly gentleman who wants house
keeper" said, laughing.


'sNo. don't like houskeeping-tha
is, not that way, to be at anybody's
beck and call, I'd rather live on a
crust. I've a great notion of freedom,
of independence and I'm just what I
am, and the Lord don't expect us to do
more than we can As to this sewing,
it's driving knives into my eyes, and
I've got to give it up. Now, you can't





do? I'm not an old woman yet, if /
am past forty"


ssIf we could get out in the country, ,
T said half to myself. She caught at
me with both hands.


'tDo you know I feel as if had been
cheated out of my Inheritance all my
life long - she cried. "WhY, don't I
love the very spears of grass that grow
up, one at a time, here and there be-
tween the paving-stones And a
6ower-a little, living thing, full of
fragrance and color? Oh, Netty, child,
/ feel a new strength in my heart, Just
speaking of them. know this is not
and walking back and forth. 1 can see
her slim, spare figure now. 81 don't
believe God ever Intended it. We have
only our two selves, to besure; but see
what two men would do. IF they can
handle the hoe and the shovel, so can
I. was not made a weak thing to be
taken care of. Netty, wen go in the
country, child"


'tWhere 7'' I asked, timidly.


''No matter now let me take COM
fort in the thought for a time. Some
where on this broad earth there's a
spot for us. know there is, Oh, Net
ty, a spot that we can call our O1C71,
perhaps-we two poor, lone women, as
the world terms us. Pshawl We two
young, strong, self-reliant, able bodied
human beings"


Hooked round upon the meager fur
niture, and wondered where the money
was coming from. A home in the
country, ever so humble, involved the
expenses of a journey the care of a
new start in life and where were the
means for these expenses? I had a
vague trust in Providence, and she a
strong trust in herself, as well as in a
higher power; but the future looked
dark for all that.


We took a daily paper for a week
but saw nothing that suited US, or that
would accommodate itself to our
means. But good news came from q
quarter we little dreamed of. The sis
ter of our Iandlady, one of the better
class of Irish women, talked in our
hearing of moving from her bit of a
place in the country.


HIf John could only get somebody to
take it off our hands, we'd come TO the
city" she said for there's no school
for the children, and they're growing
too big intirely to do without learning.
You see, we leased the place for ten
wears, and there four to run"


Aunt Nancy put her head into the
room hreathless.


At beg your pardon . she said 'sbut
I made bold to come in. hearing you
speak of moving to the city. You've


ttYes y


tWhere is itF"


"Ten miles beyond; they call It
Lncksville. Not much of a village,
ma'am; but an illigant chance for


''..And how do you get in9'f


so, in our own cart; John brings in
truck, now and then"


who works the farm 2"


John, Miss. Not that it's much OF