VOL. 42—No. 30,

 

 

 

A FRIEND’S HAND IN MINE, LADS.
BY FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE.

Sometimes ’tis May, lads,
The sky soft and bright ;
We sing on our way, lads,
With brave hearts and light.
But May cannot last, lads ;
With great clouds rolled,
The skies are o’ercast, lads,
The world turns cold.

A friend’s hand in mine, lads,
A kind hand and true,

In rough ways and dark days,
It helps a man through.

We've small gifts to give, lads,
A poor purse to show,
But what man can live, lads,
With naught to bestow?
A word of brave cheer, lads,
A warm grasp and strong,
Beats all your gear, lads,
To help hearts along.

A friend’s hand in mine, lads,
A kind hand and true,

In rough ways and dark days,
It helps a man through.

Do what you can, lads,
And do it with might;
God isn’t man, lads,

To judge by the sight.
Pence pounds outweigh, lads,
When wills are right good,
And, oh! to hear one say, lads,

“He’s done what he could.”

A friend’s hand in mine, lads,
A kind hand and true,

In rough ways and dark days,
It helps a friend through.

SE rnnnnnanEnEInneee dine conse

[THIS STORY WILL NOT BE PUBLISHED IN BOOK-FORM. |

Marrying for a Home:

?

‘AN OLD MAN'S DARLING.

By Mrs. M. V. VICTOR,

Author of “‘ A Father’s Sin,” “‘ Back to Life,” ‘‘ The
Forger’s Sister,” etc.

(“MARRYING FOR A HOME” was commenced in No. 26.
Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents. ]

CHAPTER X.—(CONTINUED.)
EEING the beauty of the day,
Mr. Brooks had returned to
take his young wife out for a
drive, and coming unexpect-
edly upon her, had heard the
whole of her lady-like speech.
Even the model wife, heart-
less and selfish as she had

proved herself, stood. abashed

and guilty for a moment.

“«Favesdroppers never hear |
any good of themselves,” she |

said, after an embarrassed pause, trying to laugh off
the matter.
the spy, dearie.
won’t stand it. I despise a jealous husband.
IT know enough to take care of myself.”
“That is neither here nor there.

jealous or an exacting husband. I know perfectly

wife, and they would have to pull along together
under the unequal, galling yoke.

But Grace! Here, indeed, was something she did
not understand. Her dead sister’s daughter was
very dear to her. Her womanly heart was filled with
doubt and alarm.

“As you say, Augustus, there is a mystery ?
wonder that we have not realized it sooner.
thing must be done at once!”

She advised him to call at Mrs. Dennison’s at some
unexpected hour, thus taking the family by surprise,
and perhaps discovering Sam or his whereabouts.

It was about four in the afternoon when Mr.

I only
Some-

Mrs. Dennison’s, and was admitted by Effie, who was
the only one at home. He told her that he had come
to inquire after Grace.

“They haven’t got back yet.”

‘“‘Where did they go?”

“I’m pretty sure they went to Washington. Maybe
they are visiting in Philadelphia, on their way home;
we have relatives there,”

“Have you not heard from your brother ?”’

“Oh, yes, once or twice, but not lately.”

‘‘May I see his letters ?”’

“They’re locked up in ma’s drawer, and she’s out.”

Effiie was very nervous. She expected Sam in
every moment, and was, as she said
“dying to get the old goose out of the house.”

into the hall.
there was a whispered consultation, and the person
went on up stairs.

“T thought I recognized your brother’s voice,” said
her visitor, when she re-entered the sitting-room,
flushed and excited.

in no condition to be seen, and I sent him to bed.
You know his weakness.”

“Tf I donot hear from my daughter in a day or
two, I shall take steps to ascertain her whereabouts,
if I have to set the police to work,”

“TI dare say they’ll be home by Saturday.”

Her manner convinced Mr. Brooks that Effie was
telling a string of falsehoods, and he went home more
uneasy than before.

Arrived at his own house, he found company in the
parlor.
relief; but these people were some girls and young
men—the same set who had been at the dance the

cially requested his wife should drop. She had in-
vited them to dinner on purpose to provoke and an-
noy him, as wellas to prevent his saying anything
about the little scene of the morning.

him.
her girl friends.

shawl like that,’ exclaimed one of the Misses Tweed,
effusively.
you! I believe in marrying for a home, I do.
some rich widower would make up to me.”

“T have everything heart can crave,’’ boasted the
young wife.
a single thing.”

Yet not one feeling of gratitude warmed her bosom

for the man who had lavished all this upon her. She
could boast of it to those she wanted to envy her,

black ingratitude.

CHAPTER XI.
AN ADVENTURE WHICH GROWS INTERESTING.

When John Halliday left the presence of his false
love so suddenly that evening he was like a person

 

who had fallen froma height; he was stunned. It

is true that he moved mechanically along the street,
| but his brain and heart were half paralyzed; he was |

of where he was going, cared not what would be
the end. The woman he loved was not the weman
| he had imagined her. The beauty he worshiped was
there, more delicate and sparkling than ever, but
| the soul

Ag =
/

 

“Thope you’re not beginning to play |
If you are, I shall let you know [I |
I guess

I have not been a|—

well—for you have not taken even decent pains to |

conceal it—that you married me for my money er

“Of course,” she interrupted him, rudely. ‘Did you |
You had better |
What does a}
You knew |

fancy I married you for love?—you?
take a look at yourself in the glass.
young, pretty girl marry an old man for?

it before you took me, so you needn’t complain now.” |
“T thought you at least respected me, and had a|

certain amount of affection for me.
“kindness and indulgence to you and yours, to win
your gratitude and esteem. 1 gave you a handsome

ouse, which 1 expected you to keepin fit order. I
gave you servants, expecting you would oversee and
control them.
ing you were a lady, and would at least be neat and
orderly in your person. I am bitterly disappointed
in each and all of my anticipations. I find that my
wife is indolent, untruthful, untidy—that, in return
for the generosity I have lavished on her and her
family, I am an object of ‘ridicule to her and them,
and I tell youlam sick, sick of it! Take what you
want and go!”

“Don’t you let him frighten you, Lillie dear,” ob-
served Mrs. Dennison, impertinently. ‘‘A man can’t
get rid of a wife so easily as all that. As long as you
do nothing criminal, he cannot shake you off. You
just have your own way, daughter; he’ll soon find

e can’t help himself. Come, are you going out shop-
ping with me?’

“*Yes, indeed, ma.. We will go out and have a nice
time. Maybe Graybeard will be in better humor
when we get back.
hair shaw] this morning. We will goover to Arnold &
Constable’s for that.”

The unhappy man, whose first wife had been the

contend with heartlessness and vulgarity like this.
His heart was chilled, his dignity insulted, his kind-
ness outraged, yet, as his mother-in-law had remind-
ed him, he had no redress.

However, a still deeper trouble than his own dis-
appointment urged him to speak on another subject.
He was just beginning to realize that there was some-
thing mysterious about Grace’s absence and silence.

“Before you go out, madam, I must ask where

Grace is. It seems strange to me the manner of her
marriage, and her remaining away so long, without
even sending me a message.”

ae returned his anxious look with a hateful
smile.

“Sam Dennison can take care of his own wife, I
think, Mr. Brooks.”

: oe you refuse to let her father know where she
is

“Perhaps I would tell you if I knew.”

“Do you not know ?”

“No, I don’t.”

“TItis very strange. I do not understand it.”

“She willlet you hear from her when she gets
ready, I dare say.”

“It isso unlike my child. She was always so de-
voted to me, so fond of her brothers; her conduct is
inexplicable.”

“That isn’t my fault.’

“T hardly believe she was really married to your
brother.”

“There is proof of that. There were at least a dozen
present.”

“Give me their names.”

Lillie ran over a few of the names of the young
people present in the library when the mock mar-
riage took place.

“T wish you would get out of that door,’ she added.
Ma and I want to be off. It’s after ten.”

He stepped back, and thetwo women walked past
him with affected carelessness, and left the house.

Mr. Brooks entered the pleasant chamber and lock-
edthe door The sun shone in the windows, but all
was dark before his mental vision. He threw him-
self down on the lounge in an agony of grief and re-
pentance of the folly of his choice, which had placed
such a person over his household. He grew more
and more troubled, too, about Grace. When he re-
ealled her shrinking delicacy it appeared to him im-

ossible that she could have married a coarse fellow
ike his wife’s brother, whose only recommendation
was a sort of ruddy good looks. He wanted to in-
quire about the mariage of some of the young ladies
whom, according to Lillie’s story. had witnessed the
ceremony. Yet he dreaded to create ascandal by
confessing himself ignorant of his own daughter’s
whereabonts. Altogether he was more miserable
than he had ever thought to be. His pride, wounded
to the quick, his affection thrown back with scorn,
he was to be poets

He tinally decided to go over to New York and con-
sult Grace’s aunt. It would be bitter to acknowledge
to her the situation in which he was placed; yet he
must have her advice. All thoughts of a pleasant
drive had taken flight. He sat in the cars and on the
ferry, with bowed head, brooding over his troubles.

“My dear brother, what is the matter with you?’

exclaimed Mrs. Courtenay, when she entered her
parlor to greet him.

“Nothing, nothing, sister; only I am what my
model wife calls me, an old fool,” and he tried to

smile, but there were tears in his eyes.

_ She took his hand and seated herself beside him,
easily pueeeing at the nature of his sorrows; yet
‘astonished, after all, to hear how plainly the vul-

I thought, by |

I gave you beautiful clothes, believ- |

I guess ll purchase a camel’s- |

“REMAIN OUTSIDE
CLOSES.

THE DOOR UNTIL THE STORE
I NEED YOUR PROTECTION.”

plainly now, as it really was, for the first time—vain,
shallow, tricky, selfish. He

hid from him Lillie’s true character.

 

rible.

eration now. _ 3
He hurried blindly on, not heeding what course he
took. His eyes were blinded by hot tears, his head

3 N | swam.
embodiment of gentleness and refinement, could not

Suddenly there was alow cry of intense fear and
alarm very near him; some one grasped him by the
arm, and with desperate efforts dragged at it until
he staggered back a step ortwo. He put his hand to
his forehead and tried to think. A huge, dark object
whizzed by close to him.

“Thank Heaven!” cried a sweet, thrilling voice,
still sharp with terror. “If I had not been in time,
you would have been run over, sir.”

He looked about him in confusion. He perceived
that he had wandered on to Atlantic avenue, nor
could he suppress a shudder when he became aware
that he had barely escaped being crushed to death
by a locomotive in whose path he had been walking.

Some one had seen him and pulled him from the
track, not a second too soon. Who was his rescuer?’

He glanced quickly at the speaker, who remained
by his side, trembling and unable to move, from the
fright she had experienced, and the strength she had
exerted to pull him from the track. The light of a
street lamp fell on her slender figure and pale face.
A girl had saved the life which another girl had
made wretched! What a young slip of a creature
she was, too! It appeared incredible that she could
have rushed to his rescue; periled her own safety
for that of astranger; dragged him from before the
inanimate monster with a grasp of steel! Now she
was pale enough; now she quivered all over; and a
gush of silver tears streamed down her cheeks; for
the crisis was over: and, having proved herself a
heroine, her woman’s nerves asserted themselves.
He stared at her in dazed wonder; then a flush crept
over his face.

‘You have saved my life!’ he stammered. “TI have
had a blow to-night. I did not know where I was
going—what doing.”

“A blow ?’ she murmured, looking earnestly into
the grave countenance.

“Yes; not from the cudgel of an assassin—a worse
blow than that—a blow on my heart, dealtme by a
fair, false girl. I was blind and stupid with the
pain of it. Why did you not let me die? Why, great
Heaven! it is frightful to think of the risk you must
have run! You are so delicate—so slender—you
ought not to have periled yourself! To think of a
beautiful girl doing so bravea deed! It seems in-
eredible! I thought all women were selfish and
sordid !””

She smiled sadly through her tears.

“Because one has proved so? That would be a
sweeping jndgment, sir. You will outgrow this pain
sometime, sir, and then you will think of the un-
known girl who saved your life with thankfulness
that you are still alive to enjoy this bright world
bright, in spite of dark hours, of deep suffering.
Good-night, and pray, be more careful of yourself.”

“We must not part strangers,” he said, quickly.
“Believe me, lam not, even now, ungrateful. The
shock has been severe to you. You tremble. Take
Hed arin, and allow me to conduct you safely to your
10ome.

“There is a car coming,” she responded, rather
anxiously. ‘‘You may assist me into it; after that I
shall get along very well. I am going to cross the
Bridge. My—home—is in New York.”

The car came before he could say more; he helped
her in; but he was unwilling to part from her thus,
and gotin after her, and took a seat by her side,
saying:

“T must at least see you to the Bridge. Is it not
rather late for a young lady te be out alone ?’ and he
regarded her earnestly, but respectfully.

Lady she certainly was, although plainly dressed,

 

 

gar young beauty had betrayed her true character.

Children Cry for Pitcher’s Castoria,

What could she say? The girl was her brother's

Brooks returned to Brooklyn; he went directly to }

 

afterward, }

Presently some one with a latch-key came noisily |
She rushed out to meet the. person; |

“Oh, that was pa. The truth is, Mr. Brooks, he was |

 

Good company would have been a welcome |

previous evening—whose acquaintance he had espe- |

1 When he saw |
who they were he withdrew to the library, where |
the sound of their loud laughter occasionally reached |

Lillie displayed her purchases of the morning to
“Td marry aman twice as old for a camels’-hair |
“Goodness gracious, Lillie, but I envy |
Iwish| * ; : é hi
| with an arch smile, which lighted up her beautiful,

. ‘My horse and carriage, my diamonds, |
my professional cook, and I don’t lift my finger to do |

while she repaid him with meanness, and malice, and |

behind that vail of loveliness—he saw it |

| Fulton street.

| West.
| pose.
| gled under that engine.

 

| ed, and her
| only vulnerable part.

| time hung heavily on his hands.
| hardly conscious how it came about, but one dreamy |
| Indian summer afternoon, he found himself wander-

| store

had dreamed of her as |
fond, pure, and faithful, but the fair mask no longer |

The disappointment to his earnest nature was ter- |
The wealth which he had won, and which he |
had prized for her sake, turned to dust in his consid- |

 

There was elegance in every movement; the sweet, |

low voice was cultured; the high-bred, delicate face
was one of the purest, noblest he had ever seen.

Her clear, grave eyes met his without faltering as |
he made this remark about her being unattended, but |

the rose-color came slowly into her cheeks.

“Tt is a matter of necessity with me,”
“T am only a shop-girl
store.
only visit them after the store is closed.”

“Pardon me. I did not. seek to intrude on your
motives. ButIdodesire and pray that you will fa-
vor me with your name and address. Here is my
-ard,’”’ and he handed her one, which she accepted.

“My name is Clara Nugent,” she said.

a clerk in a Sixth avenue

a stranger to me.”
“T know it.

again—never to know more of one to whom I owe ny

life—never to be allowed to express my gratitude, or |

serve you in any way.”

yp ‘

iD

ae C4

pa HWA 4 HNL fol
\

IK AO

lit

§

NO

MACKAY WAS NOT SO QUICK AS HALLIDAY, WHO HAD
ALREADY OFFERED HIS ARM.

“T am already fully repaid,’ she answered him,
serious countenance wonderfully. “I do not believe

there is any further danger of your committing sui-
cide. You look less despairing already.”

| In truth, the fair stranger had already excited an |
| interest in John Halliday.

, He colored with shame
to think he had judged all women by Lillie, when

here was one so different—brave, self-reliant, digni- |

fied, yet lovely.

‘At least promise me,” he urged, as they reached |
the Bridge and got out of the street car, ‘‘that you |

will keep my card, and remember that I am your
friend, if you ever need one—a friend who would do
you any service in his power.”

“If Lever need one! Oh. how much I need one
now !” thought the girl, glancing up at the broad

| shoulders, at the grave face and kindly eyes of this

handsome young fellow. But she only murmured:
“Thank you, Mr. Halliday. I will not forget your

i ay
scarcely conscious of his movements, thought not | offer.

“Do give me your address !’”’ he pleaded.

But she still refused, and he was obliged to bid her
good-evening as she passed through the Bridge gate
leading to the cars, without any hint from her that a
future acquaintance was desired.

“T admire and respect her all the more for her pru- |

dence,” thought John, as he retraced his steps up

risk when she dragged me from the track. Ah, I am
not worth her risking one of her little fingers for!
What am I but a wreck? No motive to make the
most of myself. No use for the money I was so glad
to have for Lillie’s sake.
I must struggle on, for mother’s sake, I sup-

the wilds of the West. Oh, Lillie!
have wrecked my plans!”

Lillie! how

she replied ; |

My few friends reside in Brooklyn, and I can |

e L “You will |
excuse me if I do not give you my address; you are |

: You are right, of course, Miss Nugent; |
but it does seem hard that I am never to thank you |

“She must herself have run a terrible |

“*T have been none the worse for it.
of locomotives.”

other. He thought to himself how lovely her eyes
were; while she reflected that it was rarely one saw
a young man with such a candid expression; surely
he was one of the few a woman might safely trust.

‘You are not angry with me for coming?” he asked.

“To buy gloves?’ she answered him.

“T do not wish to force my acquaintance upon you
against your wish,” he went on, in a low voice, while
he affected to examine one pair after another, “but I
| do ask you to inquire into my credentials.
give you my references if you will only feel enough
interest in my offer of friendship to look them up.
You saved my life; you can never be to me astranger
after that.”

She looked up at him earnestly with those lovely,
| Searching eyes.

“T should be glad to have you for a friend; but, in-
deed, Mr. Halliday, Iam not situated so that I can
receive visitors at present.”

“Can you not come to see my mother sometimes ?”’

“That would seem strange.”

“Not to her.

life to snatch me from a horrible death. She would

| ee it the greatest favor if you would call upon
er.

“Well, perhaps, some time. You had better pay for

| your gloves and go; they are wondering why you talk |

| to me so long.”
He laid a bill on the counter; she summoned the
cash-boy; John watched her while they waited for
| the change. How sweetly the roses went and came
| ed her cheeks! Whata modest and yet stately way
| She
| Ah! even as he observed her, she, glancing toward
| the door, became deathly pale, and shrank as with
| unspeakable terror at something or somebody she
| Saw there. It seemed as if she might faint and fall in
the excess of her fear.
‘‘Miss Nugent, are you ill?”
For a moment she struggled as with pride and
| Shame. Then, quickly leaning forward, she whis-
| pered, hurriedly :
| ‘You once offered to serve meif I needed you. I
need your friendship now. If you are in earnest—if
you are really willing to do so much for me—remain

in less than half an hour. I need your protection on
my way to my boarding-house.”

his parcel, he walked out of the store, but remained
in the vicinity until the half-hour had expired, when
he took up his station in front of the shop, and wait-
ed for the clerks to come out.

He soon perceived that he was not the only one
who waited, A thickset, showily dressed fellow of
about thirty—whom, it occurred to John, he must
have seen before, though he failed to recall where
stood by the step, with a self-satisfied smile on his
lips, coolly scrutinizing the girls as they came out.
Once or twice he looked at John, as if asking him
what he was doing there, but he did not speak.

Halliday felt certain .tbat this person was waiting
for Miss Nugent; equally certain that she feared
him, and wished protection from him. He longed
| for the privilege of knocking down this impertinent
fellow, with the easy air and the cool smile of
success.

Watching the door closely the instant that Miss
Nugent appeared, casting an appealing glance about
| her, he stepped to her side and offered her his arm;
but, quick as he was, he was not so quick as the
other watcher, who had already offered his.

 

CHAPTER XII.
ONLY IN FUN.

Mr. Brooks, coming drearily home to dinner in a
| house which no longer seemed to him his own, a few
| days after the coarse and heartless flouting which
| his young wife had given him, when she had de-

clared to her mother she was waiting for him to
| ‘‘kick the bucket,” was surprised to find Lillie in
| tears. After all her abuse of him and his, he still
| had some affection for the handsome girl whose
| beauty he had mistaken for a sign of nobler quali-
| ties; he could not see her in tears without a softening

:

wish I were back in the |

For mother’s sake, [am glad I was not man- |
I will buy her a little home, |
| fix her comfortably in it,and then I will off again to

you |

In a week or ten days from that night John Halli- |

| day had settled his mother and sister in a pretty lit- |

tle house of their own, and would already have left |
them to try and wear out his restlessness by an ex- |
citing life in the mines had they not begged so |

| piteously that he would not go so soon. Not once had

¢} he
| Lillie’s note inviting him to call on her at her own
| home.
| power over him had failed completely; John was

who }

gone to the Dennisons’, nor had he answered
He despised her for writing sugh-a note; ,her
not the man to hang about a marmed

had deserted him to ‘‘marry for money.”
Lillie would have liked a sentimental flirtation im-

woman

| mensely; she was mortified and angry that he did

not respond to her advances ; her vanity was wound-
vanity was like the heel of Achilles, her

_After he had settled his mother in her comfortable |
little home, John knew not what to do with hiinself; |

He was himself

ing along Sixth avenue, New York, going into shop |

| after shop, inquiring for gloves, handkerchiefs, neck-

ties, whatever it came into his head to make an ex-
cuse for entering.

Miss Nugent had said that she was employed ina
on Sixth avenue. He hardly asked himself
whether he was or was not in search of her; yet, as
it drew toward dusk he was conscious of a feeling of
disappointment; crowds of pretty girls had waited
upon him assiduously, but he had obtained

seemed to come out more distinctly in his memory
every day.

His pockets were stuffed with small parcels, and
he was beginning to consider that he should not need
so many pairs of gloves in the West, when he sinally

entered a narrow, old-fashioned, but very busy place |

where trimmings, laces, and gloves were for sale.
Passing along down the counters, he looked sharply
at the fair clerks.

Ah, there she was! He had only seen her at night,
with her hat on, but he could not mistake. She was
even lovelier than he had believed her.
black dress, with linen collar aud
looked like a princess, her beautiful hair glittering in
acoronal above her dainty head, her serene eyes
shining with some inward splendor of thought,

She was busy putting away some boxes, and did
not observe him until he stood directly before her
and spoke her name.

“Good-atternoon, Miss Nugent.”

es ihiitecs poner ier
a —————_—— - sd

i

“MA WOULDN’T SUPPORT ME ANY LONGER,
UP WITH YOU, FOR YOUR MONEY,

sO I TOOK

ye

She started atthe sound of his voice, and as her
eyes met his smiling ones she blushed. John Halli-
day had never seen a girl blush like that before; it
seemed a personal compliment to himself; it made
his own color rise, and his heart beat a little faster.

“Good-afternoon, Mr. Halliday.”

“T am looking for gloves,” he stammered, laughing
in spite of himself at the consciousness of eleven
pairs already in his pocket.

“Certainly. What material, color, number, and so
forth, Mr. Halliday?’ and she, too, smiled faintly,
knowing perfectly well what he had been looking
for, and that the question of gloves was a ruse.

She produced a box of the desired articles. The
purchaser appeared as hard to suit as one of the
softer sx. He was a long time making a choice.
Meantime, he made a little conversation.

“T hope you were none the worse, Miss Nugent, for
the shock [ gave you that night. Believe me, I have
eet very uneasy lest you might have made your-
se. ;

no}
glimpse of the one whose face, figure, and voice |

In her plain |
cuffs, she still |

“IT IS MY OPINION THAT YOU ARE A SCOUNDREL!”’
BURST FORTH MR. BROOKS, HOTLY.

| of that virtuous indignation he felt. For the first

time in days he spoke to her:

“What is the matter? Are you in trouble ?”

Lillie turned sullenly away without answering
him. Her trouble was of the usual selfish nature.
Because John Halliday had scorned to answer her
note, or accept her invitation to call, she thought
that her heart was wounded, when it was only her
vanity. She had made a “splendid” toilet every af-
ternoon, expecting him, and he had not come. To-
day her.disappointment had culminated in tears.

“Ts it anything I can do for you?’ Mr. Brooks
asked again.

“You 2” flashing on him a look of scorn from under
the curling lashes of the blue eyes. ‘I’ve half a
mind to tell you what it is, Brooks. Maybe you will
| allow that I have some reason for crying. When ma
began to talk to me about marrying you I was en-
gaged toa young man. Oh, he was awfully nice—
handsome as a picture—but he was poor. We had
been engaged two years; but ma said she wouldn’t
support me any longer; that John would not be able
toin many years; and so, I listened to what she
said, and took up with you, for your money rf

“Oh, girl! girl!’ half groaned her persecuted lis-
tener.

“He went to Montana, and afterward to Colorado,
and chanced on a rich mine, which he sold shares in
and got lots of money; and now he comes back, all
eager to marry me, handsomer than ever, his pockets
full of gold. Don’t you think that’s enough to make
a girl ery, Brooks ?’”’

“Cruel! cruel! shameless! shameless!’ muttered
the husband to himself, walking about the room in
an aimless way. ‘You never told me you were en-
gaged when I asked you to marry me,” he added,
presently.

“Why, of course not,’ she sneered.
never have done.
about it.”

‘Lillie, if you want to marry this young lover of
yours, I will do my best to help you. What can Ido
to give you legal cause for a divorce ?”’

“Beat me,’ she laughed, wiping away her tears,
‘pull my hair out, scratch my eyes out, commit a
crime and go to State prison !”

“T can think of but one way—to leave you, without
support, for two years. I might do that.”

“Two years! Without support!’ cried the model
wife,in dismay. ‘‘What nonsense are you talking
about, Augustus Brooks! You need not go to all
that trouble,” she added, bitterly. ‘‘John would not
look at me now. He despises me. He will not even
make me a friendly call.”

“Then there is still some honor left in this wretched
world ?”’

“Honor? Lots of it, no doubt, for those who care
for it. John was always dreadfully sensitive about
his honor. Well, let him go. Isha’n’t ery for him
again. And, look here, Brooks, just you stop that
gabble about ‘divoree.’ I’ve taken up with you, and
I’ve got to make the best of a bad bargain.”

“You have to make the best of a bad bargain!”

“Don’t try to quarrel, dearie. It isn’t becoming to
your years. All you have to do is to keep quiet and
allow me my own way, and we'll get along splendid-
ly, spite of our little ‘spats.’ ”

The truth was, Lillie was somewhat alarmed at the
earnestness with which ‘‘the old fool” seemed to seek
a way to release her. If John had been ready to
make up with her, such a course would have been
just what she desired; as it was, she considered ‘‘a
bird in the hand worth two in the bush’’—in short, a
rich husband, even if an old one, better than none at
all. She could not afford to have Brooks desert her;
she would torment him when she felt in the humor,
but she would keep him tied to her. Boldly as she
flirted with Mackay, that was only ‘‘for fun.” She
must have some one to flatter her and attend upon
her; neither she nor Mackay would ever think of
anything serious.

“Don’t go about in that style, dearie—like a hen
with its head cut off,’ she added, pleasantly. ‘The
bell has rung for dinner. We have mock-turtle soup
and a pair of canvas backs, dearie, with currant

“That would
Ma told meI must say nothing

 

 

Children Cry for Pitcher’s Castoria,

I hope you do |
not still go around, Mr. Halliday, getting in the way |

Both laughed a little, and felt friendly, each to the |

I have told her how you risked your |

**T will not fail you;” and, taking his change and | ore
for his proud, sensitive

 

jelly.” She slipped her hand into his arm, drawing

him toward the dining-room. “I asked dear pa to
come around. He’sin here now. The ducks will be
such a treat to him, you know.”

“Am I neverto sit down with only my own fam-
ily ?’? murmured the patient gentleman, whose hos-
pltality was so shamefully abused.

Lillie affected not to hear him. She took her place
at the head of the table with a smiling countenance,
looking so anviable and so pretty, her hushand,
glancing at her in wonder, thought of the beautiful
fairy from whose mouth came toads and lizards. Old

| Dennison, bloated with drink, blear-eyed, had al-
I will }

ready placed himself in an arim-chair at the table.
The two boys came in, quietly, almost timidly, and
took their seats, not without an apprehensive glance
at the fair step-mother. Lillie chatted with her half-
tipsy father.

“Papa,” said Harry, in a low voice, after the soup
was passed, “this is Grace’s birthday. Have you
forgotten it?’

Mr. Brooks started; the tears rosein his wistful
eyes.

“T have been thinking of it all day, Harry. My
daughter is eighteen to-day. What would her dear
mother in heaven suffer if she knew how her own dar-
ling had slipped away from us! It is all wrong! I
am sure of it!’

These whispered words did not attract the atten-
tion of the others. The fine dinner which Lillie re-
commended to her “dear pa” had no charm for Mr.
Brooks. He tasted nothing but a cup of tea.

His own domestic embitterments, and his growing
uneasiness about his daughter, were making him ill.
However he concluded to act more decidedly than
he had done. He arose from the table while the
others lingered over their dessert.

“Tam going outforan hour,” he said, and going into
the hall put on his hat and overcoat, and left the
house.

Walking quickly around to Mrs. Dennison’s he pass-
ed the house, and returned again. The sitting-room
was lighted, but the shutters were closed. However,
one of the slats of the shutters was broken, and by com-
ingclose and peeping through Mr. Brooks obtained a
glimpse into the apartment, for the curtains had not
been drawn. He had never before been guilty of
spying or eavesdropping, and he blushed as he bent

! I | his head so as to bring his eyes on a level with the
outside the door until the store closes, which will be |

rift in the shutter, but there was too much at stake
for him to hesitate.

As he learned more of this scheming, selfish, ill-bred
family, he feared more and more, he knew not what,
darling, his well-beloved
Grace. Oh, how could she have been induced to
marry a coarse fellow like Sam Dennison ?

As he got a good view of the room he found there was
no one in it; but he did see one of his own earpets
on the floor, along with several handsome articles of

| furniture which had mysteriously disappeared from

one house to reappear in another. His thoughts
were too anxious to permit of this robbery arousing
more than a passing indignation.

He had scarcely taken an observation before some
one stepped into the parlor from an adjoining room.
It was Sam. He was handsomely dressed, in a showy
style; his ruddy face shore with broad smiles; he
slapped his hand on his breast-pocket. He was fol-
lowed into the room by Effie, who seemed also in ex-
cellent spirits.

“Tf I should ring the bell and ask for him, they
would deny that he was in,’’ murmured Mr. Brooks.

He listened, and distinctly heard what they said.

“You feel good, don’t you, Sam? It’s awfully jolly
to have so much money! I think you might give me
a hundred or two.”

“You get out!” elegantly responded the brother.

But he drew forth a bulging wallet, and counted
out ten ten-dollar greenbacks.

“Here’s a hundred, sis. Now, mind you don’t come
teasing for more. Yousee, I found out in old Brooks’
family Bible what day she would be of age. So, as
that happy occurrence took place to-day, I presented
myself at the bank where her $20,000 is deposited, and
I showed them the paper she signed making over the
whole cash to her husband, Samuel Dennison, to be
drawn at his discretion; and I took out the whole
sum and deposited most of it in another bank, in my
own name. It’s handier so; and it makes it mine,
you see, even if that duse of a girl tries to kick up a
row aboutit. Sheneedn’t try to hide from me any
longer. I don’t care so much for her, now I’ve got
her money. Let her come out of her hole, and go
home to her daddy, if she wants to. It’s my idea, the
quicker I spend the money the more fun I’ll have out
of it; for I don’t believe she will ever live with me,
confound her impudence! And her father may come
some legal dodge over me to get the cash away. Vl
have a good time while I can, anyhow. Hurrah for
a little sharp practice!” and he swung about the fat
pocket-book in high glee.

“She need not try to hide from me any longer.” “TI
don’t believe she will ever live with me.” Mr. Brooks
clutched the casement with failing fingers; his brain
whirled. What did such expressions mean? Was it
possible that Grace was the victim of some conspir-
acy? Far away, like the murmur of water in drown-
ing ears, came faint memories of playful remarks,
made the night of the party. about playing at a mock
marriage in the library. He could fix upon no dis-
tinct idea. But footsteps were approaching alon
the pavement; he must not be seen hovering abou
a window.

Burning indignation gave him a return of strength
—indignation at the way the young man had spoken
of Grace, and the manner in which he was squan-
dering her money. He mounted the steps, giving the
bell a vigorous pull. In response, Effie came to the
door.

“T wish to see your brother.”

“But my brother is notin,’ asserted the girl, not
attempting to admit him.

He pushed her aside, and entered the little parlor
without further ado.

Sam, who had thrown himself ona fine new sofa
in a lounging attitude, started up. For a moment he
looked abashed at confronting the gentleman who
appeared berore him; but he soon recovered his air
ot easy impudence.

“Where is my daughter? Where is Grace ?

“Yd tell you with pleasure if [ had the smallest
idea, sir. I’ve employed a smart detective to tell
me where she is, but even he can’t answer your
conundrum.”

“Ts she not your wife?’

“The minister pronounced us man and wife; the
ceremony was all right; the certificate legal and duly
signed; but the lady herself changed her mind
mighty soon after the ceremony. I have seen her
but once since the hour she married me; and then
she tooled me out of her company in no time. I’ve
done fretting about that.”

“Then she has never lived with you as your wife?”

“No, sir.”

And Sam began to whistle.

“Did she sign a paper putting her money in your
possession ?””

Sam looked at him keenly. :

“Ask her,’ he answered, after a moment’s hesita-
tion.

“Tt is my opinion that you are a scoundrel,” burst
forth Mr. Brooks, hotly. ‘Oh, my poor child! where
are you? What has happened to you? Dead, per-
haps—dead !” he repeated, in a voice of anguish.

“Not a bit of it,” said Sam, somewhat moved at the
evident distress of the old gentleman. ‘Mackay and
I discovered her, very well got up, in black hair and
a dark skin, playing seamstress in alittle shop. I
tried to bring her home, as I had a right to with my
own wife, but she got away from us. She’s as cute
as a weazel, that girlis. I admire her sharpness, I
moust say. She changed her quarters, and we have
not found her since.”

“Thank Heaven !’’

“What for, may I Ask ?’

“That she is your wife only inname. There has
been too much lying and treachery here for me to
think that all is fair about this marriage. There is
base trickery, I know; and I warn you to draw no
more of my daughter’s money. I shall see my law-
yer to-night aboutit. Look out, or you will render
yourself liable to legal penalties.”

“Perhaps you'd like to put your wife’s brother in
the penitentiary,” jeered Sam. ‘Look out yourself,
Mr. Brooks. ‘Curses come home to roost.’ You’d
better leave me alone. The marriage can’t be undone.
Remember, before you fly offin some plan to disgrace
me, that lam your son-in-law;” and he laughed in
the old man’s face.

“Don’t you draw another dollar of that money,”
repeated Mr. Brooks.

Just then some one burst into the room without
knocking, as if very familiar in the house. It was
Mackay.

“Hallo, Sam!” he cried, without perceiving Mr.
Brooks. ‘I’ve had a gay old time this afternoon.
Run her down at last! I never a

Here a warning gesture from Sam shut his mouth
and caused him to look about, and he added:

“T never saw such a yacht for fast sailing, but we
overhauled her to-day.”

“There was a good breeze,’ remarked Sam, care-
lessly.

“We had an exciting time,’ went onthe new ar-
rival. ‘I'll tell you more about it by and by.”

“Oh, very well. I’m not so wild about sailing as
you are.”

“Ts Miss Effie in ?”’

“T believe so; I will speak to her.”

Sam went out to find his sister.

Mr. Brooks regarded the visitor suspiciously; he
had noticed the sudden change of tone; but what
could he say or do here? Was not this the fellow
with whom his wife had gone riding? Certainly. He
moved to the door to go, resolved to at once visit his
friend and lawyer at his residence and ask his advice.
Before he touched the knob the door was opened by
some one else, and ashe stepped back it hid him
from view of the one who entered.

“Oh, Mack,” cried a gay voice, ‘‘you here? I’m de-
lighted. I’ve been awfully homesick and low-
spirited the last few days,” and Lillie rushed forward
and seized the detective’s hand, which she held be-
tween both of hers. “Old Brooks gets harder and
harder to live with. I hope he’ll have a stroke of
paralysis, or something, before long! I never feel
comfortable except when I’m here. All the people
who come to iiis house are as stiff as pokers! They
don’t know how to have fun. Vlispend the even-