Year: 1871

| in which his martial figure was
wrapped at all hours: his pale, sad


face, with wild eyes, and haggard
/ lines of care; his contempt of the


world, which he had not loved and


which had not loved him. Imagine
the kisses and blisses with which the
pages were embalmed; the impas-
stoned -tbou-declarations, the


stolen meetings, and grand climax !;
| the wedding of the hero and the blue


eyed sister, and the black convent


veil falling between the dark-eyed
one and the world.


! 1t was clear enough that any genius


which Miss Ruth Hastings possessed
/ lay in far different channel from the


writing of stories. The stuff-I spoke
of it with editorial contempt and in
| difference-was execrablei OF course


[ must return it.


And yet, poor little thing! she had
said it was of great importance to her,


and she had taken so much pains with


it! My good angel suggested that l


should buy it-for myself, of course,


not for the firm-and pay her for it at


our usual rates. L could make her


understand how much accepted man


uscript our safes contained, and that


she must not look Immediately for the


appearance of her story.


This plan settled, 1 felt great deal


better. [ took out my meerschaum,


one of my bachelor comforts, and tip


ping back my chair and putting up


my feel, like a born Yankee, as l was,


watched for an hour the blue smoke


curling so gracefully upward, and saw,


through or in it, a hazv vision of
l.


child,s, earnest and tender as a Wo-
mans. slaa. vr


1t was past seven O'Clock in the af-
ternoon of the next day that found
| myself at the locality indicated by the


card of my little contributor. The
| house was small, modest one, neat
and pleasant-looking, standing behind
two horse-chesnut trees, blazing with


their June wealth of blossoms. There


was no indication surely of destitu-
ton or discomfort-perhaps the twen-
| ty-tive dollars in my waistcoat pocket
were going to be thrown away after
all and my brown-eyed literary aspi-
| rant was only suffering from COM
monplace desire to be printed, OF, at


best, feminine attraction toward the.
shop windows. l7ar14. ~


went up the steps and rang the
bell, feeling little as if 1 had been
imposed upon, slightly cross and un-
amible. fa9fl tslt


The door was opened by boy some
twelve years old, perhaps, in whose
face L could trace family likeness to
my visitor of the day before. L in
quired for Miss Hastings. .HoE


'Sister is not in just now, but my
mother is. Won't you walk into the
parlor and speak to her ?" 81.


This was not exactly what I had
hoped. If must pay for matter
which l could not use, I felt at least
determined that / would be thanked
by those brown eyes. l went in, re-
solving, if possible, to lengthen my
stay until Miss Ruth's return.


A delicate, gentle-looking woman
rose to meet me as entered.


My name is Fraser" / said, an
swering her glance of inquiry 81 had
little matter of business which
wished to arrange with your daugh-
ter"


She smiled.


ssOh yes. Ruth was expecting you.
She would be sorry TO miss your visit.
She went out ON an errand for me,
and am sure she can not be gone
much longer. If you are not in too
great haste, perhaps you would sit
down and wait till her return


l explained that [ was in no haste
at all--could wait just as well as not
better, in fact, since it. would save me
the trouble of coming again.


So sat and talked for half an hour
with Mrs. Hastings. I do not think L
am an inquisitive person. 1 do not
ask many questions, and abhor above
all things the man who cross examines
his friends as if he were lawyer,
and they were on the witness stand. !
l certainly never knew how it was
that l contrived i'll that half hour, to
learn SO much of the personal history
of the hastings family. discovered
that Mrs. Hastings had been left a |
widow two years before, that she |
was not by any means in actual want,
though her income was so small since |
the death of her husband that there |
were many luXuries she must resign,
unless there were some way of in
creasing the family fund, Ruth had |
always been her fathers pet. She |
was not used to exertion of any kind. |
She had no vocation for teacher, and |
the only resource she had been able to !
think of was her pen. They had al
ways said at Rutgers that Ruth had
fine gift for composition, Mrs. Hast
ings remarked with little motherly
pride. 3e ffaf :


l would not for the world have
wounded her by suggesting the diff
ference between the elements required |
for a pretty school theme and those
necessary for the suceess of story /
in q popular magazine. / was be- |
coming every moment more interested |
in the Hastings family, and more a1lx-
ious to assist them, if possible, with
out wounding their pride. am not
of those who can not recognize any
destitution except the absence of bread |
and potatoes. l confess to yet keen
er sympathy for the genteel poor-for
delicate women, accustomed to being
sheltered from all the cares and wor-
ries of life, and then suddenly left to
confront the world alone, and turn
the thoughts which have hitherto
been tinged with no sadness, present I
or prophetic, TO the gloomy problem
of getting through the year ON an in
sufficient income. / understood now
why that poor little thing had taken so
much pains, md how truly the first
venture was very important to her.


Su0 IiGtlru
the door open, and a light, quick step
cross the hall. 7ca sH %


sob, mammal" cried the young,
CHEEKY voiee--a voice that sOoasid be
young, and CHEEKY, and hopeful, no
matter how dark the clouds were
which might encompass her life; and
then seeing me she paused in the door,
and | had an instant, before she spoke
again, to engrave on my heart another
picture of her simple, girlish lowell
ness, She wore the same dress, and
the same black silk mantle flung round 7
her shoulders with careless grace, but
she had pulled off her bonnet in the
hall, and was holding it by its strings,
could see The shape of her head, and
the outline of the hair waving away
from her face, and coiled heavily at
the back of her slender neck. had
not quite realized how pretty she was