Year: 1875

IT had been hard day Tor Lettle Nor
ris-a hard, cherries day. All the long,
warm forenoon she had been standing at
the ironing-tablc in the little, low, dingy
kitchen, until her head ached and her
back ached, and the round, plump face,
which was always rosy, was ten times
roster than ever And | doubt if you
would have even called her pretty could
you have peeped through the morning.
glory vines that Letties own little brown
hands had planted and trained over the
window, that she mi ght have at least one
thing to look at while at work that seemed
fresh and glad-one thing she might call
her own to lovc-tor Lettie was an orphan.
She had pleasant home and kind
father and loving mother once, but for
three years the daisies had blossomed on
their graves in far-away city of the dead,
where Lettle had not even the satisfaction
of weeping over them. She tried to be
thankful that she had a home, or at least
a place to stay, with her widowed aunt,
but though Mrs. St. John was naturally
good sort of woman, her daughter, Miss
Arabella, was the lady Of the house and
its supreme ruler, and hermother was too
weak and indolent to look into matters, or
know or care how things were managed,
so she was blind to the looks of hatred
and deaf to the tones Of insulting super-
ority which that young lady bestowed
upon poor little Lettie.


No wonder, then, that Letties heart
often ached with a sad feeling of loneh-
ness, and longing for somebody to love
her and say kind words to her. She was
almost seventeen, but she had never been
into society since she came to live with her
aunt, and the few young gentlemen who
visited Arabella never saw the little
kitchen-maid, of course. Only once Clar-
ence Lee, the bankers son. and himself a
young lawyer of high rcpute, heard her
SINGING a low, sweet song, and could not
not help asking who had such sweet
voice. Arabella felt more indignant than
She cared to show at this outburst OF en-
thusiasm from lips that had never uttered
single praise for herown singing, though
she Invariably sent her voice up to the
highest notch she was capable of reach
ing and trilled her most intricate passages
solely for his benefit. All the satisfaction
he derived from this voluntary entertain
ment, however, was the inward Consola'
ton he gave himself by thinking he was
glad he wasn't that piano to undergo such
a humping and whacking and pounding
as that received from the jeweled hands
of Arabella St. John So, when he
spoke so warmly Of the voice he heard
from the kitchen and seemed all absorbed
in listening to it, she was so enraged as to
forget the sweet expression she assumed
for her gentlemen callers, and this one in
particular, and allowed an ugly frown to
deepen the wrinkle between her browS
that she had spent whole quarter of an
hour trying to smooth out that very even
ing.


Its nobody but our kitchen-grl," she
said. ''Probably practicing one of her
Irish songs"


But the quick ear of Clarence knew it
was no "Irish songn that. SO cntranced
him, for even as they spoke the clear
sweet notes of Annie Laurie" floated up
from the dingy room below. Clarence
noticed the frown on Arabellas brow and
her evident air Of dissatisfaction and was
rather disenchanted with the fair lady,
whom he had heretofore thought was SO
angelic in disposition and amiable in man
ner, so well had she played her game, for
she had boasted she meant to win Clarence
Lee and live on his fathers property.


As the song still continued and Clarence
seemed to have one ear for that and
one for her, she asked to be excused for a
moment and left the room. AS she went
out, the door, which she thought she
| latched, swung open again and Clarence
became an yinvoluntary, but much inter
ested, listener to choice bit of converse,
ton which came up from the kitchen
| quarter. "You little, noisy hussy what
are you about? Take that" followed by
cuff on the ear; :" disturbing everybody
with your bawling songs Go to work
now and don't let me hear any more out
of your head"


"Why, Cousin Arabella," began asweet,
small voice, full of tears.


"Don't Cousin mer' broke in that
young lady. "Quit your blubber-
ing and go to workp'--and giving the
door a slam, as if to add part
ing emphasis to her commands, she glided
upstairs again, and, stopping long enough
to look in the mirror on the hat-stand in
the hall, wreathed her distorted face in
the blandest of smiles, opened the parlor
door, which Clarence had again closed,
and was all sunshine to him who still sat
there as if spell-bound. His first impulse
had been to seize his hat and. rush
into the street; but he was arrest
ed by the pleading eloquence OF that
same sweet voice he had listened
to while singing his favorite song,
| and so he closed the door and again seated
| himself to await Arabella's return.


"You really must think me rude and
unlady like, Mr.. Lee, for leaving you SO
long to yourself; but only went down to
tell Bridget to give us another of those
droll songs of hers They seem to interest