u k i... r - ~l\ o 8‘9
w 14;
w A l. k AGAZ'E'T
A llllt-liliE VICTORY.
Denton sat at his desk in one of‘the
inner offices of the editorial rooms of
the Morning Clarion, idly drumming
with his pencil upon the loose papers
that lay scattered in front of him, his
.‘eyes indolenzly fixed on the big clock-
dial in the tower, opposite his window.
He sat this for nearly an hour, deep
in though , and totallybblivious to all
about him. It had been his intention
when he took his seat to polish up his
’ four-column Thanksgiving article pre-
paratory to its being set up on the
“sorrow, but the manuscript still lay
itinfouched t‘pon his desk.
ln l;is thoughts he was again living
«over the delicious days of his August
va/‘azion at Cape May. It was during
thus-3 days that he had met and fallen
in. love with Laura Gilday, and the
yti'ug lady, much to her mother’s
anxiety, had been prompt to return his
offer-lion. Denton managed to return
to the city on the same train with the
ladies, and before their destination was
reached he had communicated ways to
Laura which would enable them to still
.meet occasionally in spite of the an—
ticipated objection of her father, who
had more than once plainly asserted
.his ideas respecting his daughter’s
matrimonial future. He had often de—
clared that his daughter would wed
none but a wealthy man, who could
well afiord her the luxurious surround~
lugs to which she had been accustom-
ed, and that when the proper time
came, why—“He considered himself as,
being perfectly capable of selecting his
own son-in-law!” .
Boom! Boom! Boom! The clock in
the tower was striking the noon hour.
Denton threw down his pencil and
arose. “Miss Forsythe,” he said to the
busy stenographer near him, “if
Thompson comes in, tell him I’ve gone
to'lunch, please.” fl
It was half past twelve when Den-
ton joined Laura at their usual tryst-
ing place, the cafe where Denton par-
took of his noon-day luncheon, and
where Laura could drop in for a-light
repast after the fatigues of shopping.
Seating himself opposite her and hur-
riedly giving his order to the attend-
ant, he turned to Laura and eagerly
asked: “Well, did he receive my lot—
fer?”
"‘ HERE\HE Is LAURA."
“Y-e-s,” answered Laura, slowly, “I
belieVe he did.”
“Yes? And what did he say?” ,
“Well,” said Laura reldctantly, “he
said he had received a letter from that
“that—oh, George, I cannot tell you
qub-J’
“Never mind; go on; I can stand it!”
“Well, I won’t' repeat his exact
words; but he said that he had re-
ceived a letter from that ‘confounded
neWspaper scribbler' asking permission
to cal-1 come, and then he—oh—oh—it
was just dreadful the way he carried
you! You know I cannot tell you all
fhe—J’ .
“You need not try,” interrupted Den-
ton, gloomily. “I understand. Well,
I see he cannot be approached by the
epistolary route at any rate. Does he
still talk about our friend Knight,
whom he has so thoughtfully salt-ted
for your future husband?”
“Continually! The idea of him w sh
ing-me to marry a man I have ;.1- -
eveifiseen! Why, it's—it's—preposter-
one, that’s what it is!"
“That is not the word for it, dearest,
ibis utterly idiotic! And it seems that
your father also has never met young
linight, isn't that so?"
“Not since Mr. Knight was a little
boy,” answered Laura, “but I believe
papa and the elder Mr. Knight had
talked of such a union even before
that!” .
“Why the old—I beg your pardon—-
but really, Laura, it does seem so im-
becile of your father. Simply because
the elder Knight was your father’s col—
lege churn, and is now his New York
broker and a wealthy and intimate
friend, he cooly proposed a unity of the
families without consulting you, who
should be the most deeply concerned
of all!” -
"‘I know, George," sighed Laura, “but
‘thére is no convincing papa that he is
ever wrong. In his eyes you are prac—
tically penniless, and Mr. Knight, you
‘ know, is very rich. But if papa could
only see you, I’m sure he would like
you.”
“Possibly,
and what about your
mother?” '
“You know she likes you, George—'
oh, I almost forgot—papa received a
letter frOm Mr. Knight’s father saying
that George would—”‘ " ,
“George?” exclaimed Denton in sur-
prise.
“Why, yes, didn‘t you know
name was George, too?”
“How should I? You never men-
tioned it,” answered Denton, morosely.
“I’ll have mine changed at once!"
“You foolish boy! But, as I was
saying, Mr. Knight wrote, that his son
would be here Thanksgiving day; th:t
he was'a member of the Apollo Foot
Ball Club, and—” .
“What!” -
“My goodness, what is the matter?”
“Never mind, go on—go. on—-” er;-
claimed Denton excitedly.
member of the Apollo hoot Ball Club
-—what next?"
“Well, " nothing
his
much," answered
.aurc, “Except that Mr. Knight said,
idle no red papa would meet his-son, and
”wentu ed theibe’l‘ieftbai papa Would, be
.15“. .’il‘->""-'
, .
.‘i,’.‘ r
“He is a _
l
greatly surprised to 'find how much
(Teorge had changed in the last fifteen
years. The idea! I should think he
Would be considerably changed. He
was only ten years old, I think, when
papa saw him last—George!” ..
This last interjection was caused by
her suddenly noticing that Denton was
staring stupidly at an inoffensive water
bottle and muttering unintelligibly to
himself.
“George!
viith you?”
Denton ’roused up. “Matter?” he re-
peated, excitedly, “Just this. The
Apollo men are to play the Olympia
Athletic Association eleven here
Thanksgiving day, and—”
“The Olympia!” interrupted Laura,
“Why, that is the association you be—
long to, isn’t it?” ,
“Yes; ,but listen. Last night I met
I-Farry Langel, the manager of the O.
I
what ever is the matter
“ DID HE RECEIVE MY LETTER."
receipt of a telegram from Furlong, the
captain of the Apollo eleven, saying
that Jennings and Seabury, two of
their crack men had been disabled and
that they would be obliged to appear
with a patched-up team, and possibly
would be forced to take in a local man.
Well, if they do, Langel intends to
speak for me, and if he~—”
“Jut you don’t play foot ball," sud-’
denly interrupted Laura, who had been
listening with interest to this recital,
“How could you—”
“I know I don’t, but I can!” warmly
interposed Denton. “I played full-back
on the college team for two seasons
and I gttess I haven’t forgotten how
during the last two years.” _
“But the training, and the signals?"
persisted Laura.
“I'm always in training, little girl,
and as for their‘signals, it is only the
matter of a few hours’
them."
"But George, doesn’t it seem odd that
you should be playing against your
friends? Some people might think that
you—” 7
“That I would be liable to ‘tlirow’
the game, eh?” laughed Denton. “Vt/'ell,
[am simply a member of the associa-
tion, not of the foot ball club. My
only desire to get into a game, aside
from the glory that lies in being on
the winning side, is because I feel that
the shaking up will do me good after
my long inactivity, and as for ‘throw-
ing the game—well, we’ll see if my
playing will warrant such a suspicion.
By Jove! I'm just dying to get back
on the gridiron for one more game, and
something tells me that the game
Thursday will be a. memorable one.”
“But you might not play,” exclaimed
Laura, who was rapidly becoming
swayed by Denton’s enthusiasm.
“Oh, I’m certain I will, from what
Langel tells me.”
“And, just think, you will be play-
ing with George Knight!” ‘.
“Well, there will be plenty of room
and work for us both. You intend to
be present, I suppose; you know the
season.”
“Yes; all our set will be there. Papa
that he understands Mr. Knight is to
play, he is more than anxious to go,
and says mamma and I must accomé
pany him. He was once considered
juite a‘player himself, I believe, dur-
ng his college days.” ,1
“So? Butyou did not answer my
Jt‘estion; are you going?”
“Well, I didn’t intend tovat first,,but
i will now, of course."
“’l hen I shall look for you; and by
recognize me on the field do not‘let her
acquaint your father of the fact, if pos-
iible."
“Oh, she won't; she likes you too
well to do or say anything that would
mime your cause. You know she does
not uphold papa in his designs, she
:imply respects his wishes.”
During the conversation they had
finished their luncheon, and now Den-
ton arose and said, “And now if you
wish, I will walk over to the elevated
‘:;;tion with you. I have much to tell
you on the way over.”
Laura hastily collected her belong-
ings and the two left the cafe.
3!: | * t t
Thanksgiving day dawned bright and
:ie.-r. The foot ball field and its vic-
zuity presents a. most grand and awe-
tuspiriig sight as the time draws near
.Vr the commencement of the great
game; the nearest approach we can.
make in these modern days to the glad-
iatorial combats of glorious old Rome.
'1 he first half had just been finished
without either side scoring, when WLI-
son Gilday and his family entered the
box and took their seats. 0w.ng to
Laura’s efforts, Mr. 'Gilday had tale'
to secure a. programme during their
hasty entrance, and just as she was
congratulating herself on her success
thus far, she was startled to see her
father lean" over to one of the gende-
men in the adjoining box and request
a glance at the programme the man
held in his hand. ~
“Certainly,” politely answered
man as he passed'ovcr the she-ct.
I understand that—’.’ "
"Thank you, thank you, interrupted
"Gilday in his brus‘que manner, as be
rapidly turned the pages of the pamph-
let, “Ah, here he is, Laura, ‘Knightv-
right "half back,’ that‘s him.-and,;liy
GeorgeIthat is just the position, I used
the
"Eu:
tojplay‘, and I’ll—4”
A. A. club, and he told me he was in .
study to master .
game is to be the society event of the 1
bought a box some time ago, and now .5
the way Laura, should your mother -
“I’ar'don me, sir; but there has—”
The man in the next box touched Gil-
day on; the arm as he spoke, and was
about to finishKhis sentence when the
vigilant Laura. suddenly pulled her
father back into his seat and called
his attention to- the field.
The time had arrived for the opening
of the second half, and as the} teams
lined up fora final struggle with the
ball on Olympia’s thirty-yard line,
great swells of cheering roll back and
across the field, increasing like the.
waves which tell of‘ a storm coming
from the sea. “Grim determination is
imprinted upon the visage of every
man in that little group crouching
above the ball over' there towards
Olympia’s goal pests; every man feel-
ing that fierce as had been the mag-
nificent struggle of the first half, a still
more desperate fight was to come.
’
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lore '
HE STILL RETIAHED THE BALL. i.
“They’re off!” rings from thirty
:housand throats as the signal is given
and the ball started. With a savagery'
I unparalleled the Apollo men hurl
themselves upon their opponents; back
and forth surge the trained and har-z’
iened athletes, and then suddenly the}
.l :eams are mingled in a writhing mass
l of arms and legs. Suddenly, from the,
lump of muscular humanity. like a
’seed frOm a squeezed lemon, springs
out a lithe form clad in the black and
yellow of the Olympia’s. Breaking
through the tackle 'of an Opposing
3 Apolloian, he tucks the ball more snug-
' ly under his arm and breaks across the
:field towards the Apollo’s goal. But
gthe daring run is of short duration.,
‘ , He is downed after a gain of ten yards
and thelball passes into the possession
of the Apollo men. For fifteen minutes
the battle wages without an apparent
gain for either side. In the stand the
spectators are standing in their seats
and yelling like fiends. Mr. Gilday
is mounted upon his chair, and, hat
in hand, is madly cheering in a man—
ner that renders his wife and daughter
_ dumb with amazement. Laura has
recognized'Denton’s familiar form ear-
: ly in the contest and her eager eyes in-
tently follow his every move; she hard-
ly notices the twenty-one other strug-
gling men, so earnestly is she watch-
ing her lover.
But five minutes more remain of' the
I playing. By stubborn fighting Apollo
' has brought the ball to Olympia’s ten-
‘yard line, and it is now buried in a
scrimmage, following a down. ‘Now
the ball is secured by Capt. Sheldon, of
l
to Knight, who is playing in the dis-
, abled Jenning’s position at full back.
' “ Four — three — seven!” Sheldon
, quickly passes the ball to a burly mem-
i ber of the Apollo’s, who in turn snaps
' it to Knight. But that youth clumsily
fumbles the ball for a moment in his
big, beefy hands, and then—drops it,
while the multitude groans in anguish.
Wilson Gilday’s face becomes purple
with rage as he shakes his hat in the
air and mingles his voice with the
“ nan l/mm ! min i”
I others. “Oh-oh, the confounded idiot!
g Well—that chump has lost the—look——
;look at. him—look at Knight—wow—
’ good boy—he’s got the ball—whoopee—
; see him run—by jove, they’ve downed
him! No, he's up again—good boy,
George—only five yards now—see them
fellows hanging on his'back—wow—
~0h, too bad, too bad, they’ve brought
1 him down at last. It’s all over now!"
and Gilday dropped back breathless
with excitement, just as Mrs. Gilday
iexclaimed, “Why, that is George—"
but a shake of Laura’s head halted
. her.
“Course it,_is," snorted her husband,
I“and he’d have'won the game too, if
>—wow, wow, look at him crawl—look—
Whoopee—Z" Denton had been thrown
within two feet of the goal line with
a dozen men on top of him. He still
retained the ball and now he began
Ito wriggle out from under the strug-
gling mass of forms towards the line
so near him, and yet so infinitely dis-
tant. With painful slowness he draws
nearer and nearer the goal line. The
,cheering has become deafening, and
’high abovevthe cries about him, rings
‘out Wilson Gilday’s heavy voice:
“Wow! wow! wo-wl—see that boy——
l only a foot now, George—and a. minute
ito play—damn that referee if he rings
,the ‘gong—now—whoopee-e another
'plunge—now—whoop—he’s over, he’s
over! A touchdown—Rah for Knight
- :thhere ggesvthe bell—let ’er ring now.
Rah! rah! rah! Four to nothing-—
whoopeese—here they come with him
I
on, their. shoulders, we must speak to l
5 him if possible, Laurapwhen they bring l'
l. 3 , u
‘_~'¢ ; . - z-
: the Apollo’s and he prepares for a. pass
\
him around here. By George, isn’t he!
a handsome, splendidly-built fellbw!
Just what I imagined him to be. ”Rab
for Knight!"
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the
man in the nait box, leaning over and
grasping Gilday by the arm, “but you
appear not to be aware of the change .
made in the Apollo club shortly before
the game; you see—”
“Change; what change?” demanded
Gilday impatiently, turning upon his
adviser.
“Why, Jennings, their full back, was
disabled in the east, and Knight was
obliged to’ play the position to-day
while George Denton-” '
“What?”
“I say, Denton, a local man, played
Knight’s position and won the game.
That red-headed fellow, who dropped
the ball, was Knight.”
Mr. Gilday dropped back helplessly
in the seat and looked at his daughter
who had been demurely listening to the
disclosure. . .
”Did you know this? lls this your
Denton?"
“Yes, papa,” softly answered Laura
to both questions. ‘
Mr. Gilday turned to his adviser, but
the man had left the box. Then he
turned slowly-about and'faced his wife.
“And you, did you know this?”
“Why, I—er—yes, .I recognized Mr.
Denton, but—” ' “ .
“But you remained silent and let me
make a fool of myself, eh?”
Mrs. Gilday vouchsafed no reply, and
her husband arose and looked towards
the group of brawny players who were
bearing Denton aloft on their shoul-
ders and, surrounded by a shrieking
mob of Wildly enthusiastic admirers,
were nearing the boxes. Laura, trem—
bling with trepidation, arose and stood
by her father’s side, anxiously wonder-
ing what would be the outcome of this
most dramatic scene. As the group ap—
proach the box, Gilday leans over and
beckons the men towards him. As
they bring him nearer, Denton for the
first time perceives the family, and as
he rises up and waves a sulutation to
Laura, Mr. Gilday reaches out and .
grasps his hand. i
“Mi. Denton, I am pleased to meet i
you, sir; and—erT—we shall be delight-
cd to have your company a: dinner to-
morrow evening, if possible, if you will
kindly favor—~” but his utterances are
drowned in the cheers of the crowd , - , . ,
‘ turned Aunt Nabby, ‘the Widows old;
,\ l
a neat I
surrounding them, and with
pressure upon the brawl-y hand clasp-
iug his, he sinks back into his seat,
while the cheering men, bearing their
hero, pass on in their triumphant
march.
Extract from the Morning Clarion’s
write-up of the game, on the following
day!
“The game thro’hghout, and’thc sec-
ond half in particular, was marked by
a series of the most daring and bril—
liant plays ever seen on the local field,
and the scene at the close of the second
half, when Apollo scored a touchdown
just as the bell rang, will ever be fresh
in the memory of the thirty thousand:
spectators who witnessed it. With but
three minutes to play, andthe ball on-
Olympia's ten-yard line, Knight. of the!
Apollos, fumbled an easy pass. and
for one brief moment it appeared that
the game would end without either side
scoring. But this clumsy fumble of
Knight’s was followcdpby a most bril~
liant play of the entire game. As the
ball dropped through the full back‘s
hands, it was snatched up by George
Denton, the local man filling Knight's *
regular position of right halfback.
Clasping the ball to his breast he broke
through the opposing tackles, but was
thrown almost on the goal line. Then,
in spite of the crushing weight of the
men over him. he slowly but surely
worked his way out, and scored the
only point made during the game.
"Mr.’Denton (who, by the way, will
take charge of the Clarion city depart-
ment next week) is well known in
newspaper and athletic circles. and he
may justly feel proud of the ovation
tendered him at the close of yesterday‘s
game."
From the Morning Clarion's society
column a. few weeks later:
“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson Gilday an-
nounce the engagement of their daugh-
ter, Laura W., to Mr. George H. Den—
ton. At home Wednesdays.”
"-—Harry J .‘ Smalley.
British Admiralty’u Red Tape.
Every one who has to do with the
Admiralty is familiar with amusing
tales of the glorification of red tape
Here is the very latest. Some time
ago a. workman in one of the dockyarrl:
:lost a government candlestick, val
ued at a few pence. This was con-
sidered sufficient excuse for a. re
port by the local officials to White
hall. A long correspondence 0]
the approved government office typt
ensued, and it is estimated that not
less than £5 was spent in the officials
time, ink, and paper.. After every as
pect of the case had been weighed, the
workman was directed to pay the local
officials the sum of 5 pence, being the
value set upon this particular candle
stick. Of course, if the man had beer.-
‘ in private employment, little or no no-
tice wOuld have been taken of such a
triviality, or, at most, he. would have
paid his foreman the value without any
rtd-tapeism. ~
.Murderer (just captured to his com-
panion)——-Good-by, pard; we shall
meet again in the wax-figure museum
~--I-‘liegende Blaetter.
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. looked toward the
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;
m stone’s CHOI 7r.
Greenwood was in a flutter or c
citement, and any one at all acquaint-
ed with the quiet town would not 1hav<
wondered at it. The little white
church, with its green blinds and tall
belfry, had been closed for more than
a year, except on rare occasions when
old Deacon Ramsey conducted a meet-
ing, or a few devoted members joined
in holding an evening service. Since
good Elder Damson had pacts-’1 to 111:
reward no-one had been tilled to fill
his place. But now-the re 2' min's':r
Elder Pottle, had cone, and this wr:
his first Sabbath amongr the people oi
Greenwood since his installation.
The congregation had listened de-
voutly to the sermon, and as the pec-
ple wended their way homewerd, the
theme of their conversation was {ht
ladies’ sewing circle, which, as the new
minister had announced, would meet
the, following Tuesday wth Miss Abby
Brown.
Miss Abby Brown, or “Aunt Nabby,’
as she was familiarly known, lived in
an old farmhouse not far from the
center of the town; many a sewing cir-
cle, husking bee and quilting party
had been held there, and it was with
great delight that the people antici-
pated a renewal of these festivities.
The following day was a. busy one
for Greenwood. Hurried calls, savored
with bits of gossip, were in order, and
kitchens steamed with the fragrance
of pies and cake. The season of sew~
ing bees was to be inaugurated in a
bounteous manner, and Aunt Nabby
declared that she would do her share
if she had to sit up all night to dc
it. ‘
“But I tell you what, Aunt Nabby,"
remarked Sister Simpkins, who had
just stepped in to rest a minute on her
'way to the village store, “the new
minister preached a'powerful sermon
last Sunday. Some folks say they
don’t believe he can be beat in this
part of the country. I thought his scr-
Imon was real smart nyself, but 1
' couldn’t help noticin’ how often
“Widder Hopkins
pew. It seems to me she's pretty pert
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l
,
he I
for a woman of her years, and Elder;
Pottlc ain’t the first man she‘s set her
cap for since the deacon diet.”
“Mercy sakes, Sister Simpkins,” rc
enough to he the clder’s mother, al-
lowing he is a widower; and then
again, just as if he had any such
thoughts, and his wife not dead 2
year!”
“Well, mobbe ’m mistaken, but
stranger things than that have hap-
pened. I, for one, am sorry the eld-
er’s wife couldn’t have lived to come tc
Greenwood with him.” -
“Sakes alive!” repeated Aunt Nabby
when his visitor had departed. “Just
as if the new minister was thinking 01
Mis’ Deacon HOpkins when he preach-
ed that beautiful sermon! I do hope
Sister Simpkins won’t tell it anywhere
else; She always was dreadful newsy.’
The eventful Tuesday dawned bright
and clear, a typical New England au
tumn day. The early frost had tinted
lthe leaves of the maple trees in front
of the old farmhouse, and in a. blaze 0)
yellow and gold they rustled musically
over the heads of merry maids and so
date matrons as they wended their way
to Aunt Nabby’s hospitable door.
Within the large and homelike
rooms Aunt Nabby hustled about greet
ing her guests with a. kindly smile and
the injunction to “put your cake “and
pies right in on the pantry shelves,’
which they did, until the shelves fair-
ly groaned with their weight.
Truly the sewing circle had opened
auspiciously. Nimble fingers kept
time with busy tongues as the women
plied their needles and thread.
“I declare‘it does beat all, the way
some people act,” exclaimed Miss
Simpkins, bending over her sewing
“Making so bold to attract attention
and they old enough to know better!"
“Why, what do you mean, Sister
Simpkins?” inquired Aunt Nabby in
surprise. .
“I mean just what I say. Are yor.
stone blind that you don’t see the way
Widder Hopkins is carrying on? ’Twas
only this morning that I saw her go way
across the street to speak to our new
minister, and here’s the afternoot
pretty nigh gone, and she ain’t been
here to set a. stitch yet, and she a
church member.” ,
“0h, probably s'omething’s hindered
her. I’ve no doubt she’ll come by-and
by.” ‘
“Yes, this evenin’, mobbe, about tht
time he gets here.”
“Oh, well, Sister Simpkins, I real’)
think it will turn out all right, and l
wouldn’t mind if I were you.”
“Wouldn’t mind!” exclaimed Misr
Simpkins, indignantly. “Why, Abby
Brown, I hope you don’t think I care!
No, indeed, not I! It’s nothin’s to me
or course; but as a. member of the
church I can’t approve of all I see.’
And the speaker bent to her Work witl:
so much energy that she put tht
needle through her finger instead 0;
the cloth, and-broke the thread with 2
snap, while poor Aunt Nabby lookec
distressed as she s-aw’how vain hat.
been her effort to soothe" 'her troublec
spirit.
Meanwhile the Widow Hopkins wa:
in a distant part of the to'wn,'kindl)
ministering to poor old Mrs. Smith
who had been confined to her bed for
months. Indeed, it was in her behal’.
that Mrs. Hopkins had crossed
street that morning to speak to the
minister. And now, as he entered tht
Smith’s cottage, bringing the medi-
cine which she had asked him to pro
cure, a bright smile lighted up her
face.
“So very kind of you, Elder Pottle
to get this for us, and saving me ,sttcl
a long walk.” . ~
“Yes. Elder Pottie," fa'ntly adder
poor M/rs. Smith, “besidb giving fills
Hopkins so much extra time with me
Oh, [know the Lord will be good u
thq'
her, for she hasgbeen good. to me. ' All
day she hasstaid here, and this the
afternoon of the sewing circle, too,
and I'm sure. they are looking for her
there.this very minute?”
“ The conversation then turned to the
sewing circle, Elder Pottle remarking.
that he did not remember having met
Miss Abby Brown, although her name
sounded very familiar to him.
“I have heard my .sister say,” said
he, “that several years ago, when she
was teaching school in some New
England town, she fell ill at
the house of a Mrs. Brown, with
whom she ,was boarding; and .to
the untiring care of Mrs. Brown and
her daughter Abby, to whom she be-
came very"mtrch attached, she owed!
her recovery. The friendship was
continued, I think, until the death of
my sister in the West, two years ago.
I have been thinking that the Miss
Brown who lives here may be the
same ‘Abby’ for whom my sister en-
tertained such strong regard.”
“Several of our village school teach-
ers boarded with Mrs. Browu previous
to her death,” said Mrs. Hopkins, “and
I have no doubt that ‘Aunt Nabby" as
we have all learned to‘ call her, is the
lady of whom you speak. Are you go-.
ing to her house to tea?”
“Yes, such is my intention, for I am
desirous of making her acquaintrnce.”
“Then I’ll ,‘introduce you tins very
evening,” exclaimed Mrs. Hopkins.
She is one of the dearest old maids
you ever saw, Elder Pottle, ‘and 1
know you’ll like her.”
It was late in the afternoon when
Mrs. Hopkins started in the direction
of Aunt Nabby's, accompanied ly the
minister, who remarked as he bade
her adieu at the village postlofiice,—
' “I will surely call this evening. Mrs.
Hopkins. Do not forget your prom-
isc."
“Oh, never fear!
Elder I’ottle.”
Hurrying on her way she met little
Elsie Jones, who greeted her with,—
“Mamma is real sick and I've just
been after the doctor, Mrs. Hopkins.
Won’t you come in and see her just a
minute?” .
Taking the child’s hand the kindly
widow went on- her errand of mercy,
little thinking that the words which
passed between her and Elder Pottle
had been overheard by one of the “so-
ciety,” and were now being carried
without delay to the sewing circle.
“What do you think?” breathlessly
exclaimed Mrs. Roberts, as she rushed
into the presence of the “sisters.” “As
I was on my way here I overtook Mrs.
Hopkins and our new minister, and
when she left him at the post-office I
heard him say he would call on her
to-night, and that she must not forget
her promise!” '
“There! I told you so!”
Miss Simpkins, while several
inquired,— ,
“What did she say, Mrs. Roberts?”
“Why, that she would surely keep
ner word, and ,she has gone off up Oak
Street with little Elsie Jones, and 1
came right over here. I shouldflh'ave
been earlier, but I have had company
all the afternoon. But I’m beat about
Widow Hopkins.”
1111 keep my word,
shrieked
women
“The pert thing! and she nigh on to-
fifty if she is a. day!” spitefully re-
marked Miss Simpkins.
An hour later Mrs. Hopkins, bright
and rosy, appeared at Aunt Nabby’s.
“There, I’m here at last!” she ex-
claimed, laughing. “Dear me! if only
time would wait for us poor mortals
to do all we would like to do!" .
“Why, what has kept you so late,
Sister Hopkins?” inquired Miss Simp-
kins, glancing significantly at the oth-
ers.
“Oh, I have been making sick calls,”
returned ,the widow; and then she
proceeded to relate "her day’s experi-
ence.
“Poor thing! You must be all tired
out,” said Aunt Nabby, sympathetic-
ally, while a. contemptuous sniff from
Miss Simpkins‘was plainly audible.
As darkness approached the sewing
was put aside, lights appeared,i and the
young people and some of the male
members of the society began to arrive
among them the new minister.
The widow kept her word and in-
troduced him to Aunt Nabby, and as
soon as the opportunity came she
brought them together in a corner and
related the story of Elder Pottle’s sis-
ter as told to her by him.
“Well, I declare!" exclaimed Aunt
Nabby, while her eyes dilated with. as-
tonishment. “Is it possible that you
are James Pott‘le? I have heard Har-
riet speak so many times of :her broth-
er James, who was studying rd! the
ministry, but I didn’t think you were
be. And poor, dear Harriet! I heard
of her death, but tell" me an about her,
Elder Pottle.” ~-.
then the evening. was. over Elder
4"!
/ x"
P5
Pottle declared that Aunt Nabby ._
Brown was really the dearest old maid.
he ever saw, and to show his grati-
tude to Mrs. Hopkins for her part in
the affair, he escorted her home, which
act so enraged Miss Simpkins thats’he
vowed vengeance on the widow, and
made up her mind that matters had
gone far enough, and that she would
tell the’ elder the Very next day just
what she thought of it.
Soon it was noticed that Elder Pottle
called very often on! Aunt Nabby—in
fact, as Miss Simpkins expressed it, a ‘
great deal oftener than he did on any-
body else. And indeed those were
happy evenings which he spent during
the winter at the old farmhouse. - And
when summer came,,and it was an-
nounced, that there would be' a wed-
ding at Miss Abby Brown’s Miss Simp-
kins declared that it was simply scan-
dalous, while the Widow Hopkins
lattghingly maintained that it was she
who made the match. .
Aunt Nabby’s step grew lighter and
her smile brighter, and one day, in"
conversation with the ‘VlddW Hopkins.
sl e. exclaimed:— -/
".-\l'.l’l to think that I should meet
.‘larrie: Bottle's brother .James. and
..:.ettie right down here invareen'wood!
‘1 aerial-é, we... ' ’ . '
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Norwalk Chronicler