Year: 1870




in their early childhood-all died bat her
and little Joc-Sybil's father.


Here was coat Of his. Poor little
Joe She remembered Just how he looked
when he wore that little coat-when thew
were boy and girl, aud went to the old
red schoolhouse together.


No one knew how deep in her heart
this cold stern woman treasured the mem
ory Of her one brother.


But he had married-young and un-
happily. He had died-poor and heart
broken. All that was left Of the light
hearted boy she remembered was lone
grave in far-off town, his child Sybil,
and this little worn coat, to remind her
Of their childhood. - .....


Yes, there was something more. She
found it at the bottom Of the drawer-a
letter written in his dying hand to her
his sister. ...


1t had laid there where she placed it
after the first shock cf his death was over,
ten years ago. She opened it now with a
trembling hand.


Sister," it read, "for the sake of the
old times, and for our mothers sake, take
care of my little girl. Be mother tc
my motherless child-my little Sybil."


Had she not been kind to her? Wa,
she not acting for the chiId's good? But
" be m tier to my child" this voice
from the dead said to her. 1t was hard
y mother-love that had driven her away
weeping and distressed, for an angr,
word. Nancy Price, with all her faults
was just woman, and she acknowledged
that.


She put the letter back slowly, anC
closed the drawer.


Then she paused long before. the othel
"A drawer that had never been openeC
for twenty years.


The lock was rusty from long disuse
the key turned slowly and compIainingly
and Nancy Price. the faded, wrinkled
lonely "old maid" looked at last into The
long-closed drawer as into an open grave


Aud only those woo live to stand, likC
her, before some drawer, some chamber
or some secret nook, wherein are burieC
the hopes Of a lonely lifetime, the dreams
Of vanished youth, and the memory o
a wasted love, can know what that draw
er snid to her.


The sun glinted in through the littlc
window upon the guant figure kneelins
upon the floor, showing every white threac
in her thin hair, every wrinkle in her fur
rowed face, every line that time, and carr
and trouble had made.


But the dusty garret had faded away
Ito Nancy's eyes; the long years rolled
backward aud brought her face to face will
the dead past.


She was no longer the grim old maid
but fair, laughing-eyed girl, with thu
gleam of summer sunshine in her hair
the music of laughter in her voice, anc
the dimples Of youth in her cheeks.


Here was the soft, Aeecy dress she wor'
that last happy night when she went trip
ping down the grassy lane to meet tn
one who never came again these wer
the books they used to read together
there was the wreath he made for he
hair when it was fair and silken. witheret
and faded now like the head it crowned
and there, yellow with age, was a lette
the only one left Of those she had give
to the flames long ago. She thought thi
had Leen burned, too. But, after thes
long years, it came to her to speak witt
gentle pleading for the fair young cir
who was now what she herself had ono
BEEN


"My dear little Nannie,' it began, ar
it was signed, "Your true lover, William
Gray"


Who would believe that she was ono
any ones dear Mamie? Who could be
lieve that Nancy Price and the girl sh
remembered were the same?


"Her true lover, William Gray" An
they had parted at the gardeu-gate, an
she had come back to her home life, an
he had gone to make home and fortun
for the girl who was to be his bride.


And she worked with her mother, an
sang to her father, and played with he
brother, and this letter was one Of q scor
that she knew by heart, that she lingere
over fondly, that she pressed to her lip
every night before she kneIt down topra
for her "true lover, William Gray"


And a year passed away. @ .i.


Then the package Of letters ceased
grow larger, and the dimplos in her ehee
grew fainter, and her eyes were somC
times dim with lonely weeping when th
house was still, ana no Que was BY S
she sang less, and never played with he
brother any more.