The watchman and southron. (Sumter, S.C.) 1881-1930, May 20, 1891, Image 1

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ATCHHAN, Established April, 1850. kBe Just and Fear not-Let all the Ends thon Aims't at. be thy Country's, thy God's and Truth's M T?K TXVK SOiTHKON, Ee*a*Msh?* Jao?r IZtB SUMTER, S. C., WEDNESDAY. MAY 20, 1891 Xew Series-Tel. X. Ko. 42. C$t Ittjjmatt w? Sou? Jpn. ??Kljfr>a ?TOT qjnilaw^ty, N. *Gk OSTEEN, SUMTER, S. ?. reties -: - . Tiro Dollars per annum-in advance. i D T I RT !fi??lMTS . On? Square, Stat insertion..,.$1 00 Stacy subsequent inserci?n.................. 50 Contracts for three months, or longer will im sand* at reduced rates. All rn-na?eationa which subserve private faHar rat! will be charged tor as advertisements. Obituaries aad tributes of respect will be taejgsdSar.^ . _ mt mum MTWML BIS*, OF SUMTER. 8TATE, CITY AND COUNTY DEPOSI? TORY, SUMTER, S. C. M^C^il ..... 375,000 00 8?i*!?a Fend . . . . 9,250 OG ^TjieaSrtta G?nerai Bankjag Boniness. ?are/fe? ?ttenttoo gtveh to collections. ?Arares DEPARTMENT. Deffoeta 3ft? *ad a?wards received. In? terest allowed lt the rate of 4 per cent, per an nona. Payable quarterly, on first da YB of Jax ?arr, April, July and October. R. M. WALLACE, Yke Presideat. US. CASSO?, Bj ' Any. T Cashier._, . - m Mi V SM, ^f jo ^W^SR S G. %TT AND COUNTY DEPOSITORY. Ttl aaa itt a geaeral Banking business. Alto bsa A Saviags Sank Department, Deposits of $1.00 aad upwards received. Interest calculated at the rate ef 4 per ce o.t. per amasa, payable quarterly. W. P. B. HAYNSWORTH, A. WK TE, Ja., President. Wif? MONEY. pilla win waaay - MOO. Tfcey ara Family Medicine, ?at aaqpsttaa*warn? low? felt- They ra? Mara ?nfeMtUfcy a*eamulatlo?* iront SSM *e4r. wltteawt i??a?e* <wr ur rip aa". jL?apt sits 3-r-~ Pnee, 25a? fiOLDKY?RYWH?S?. (piena For TiifeiiliT sad Children. - orerootnes hainJency, Constiparon, Sour t&osnacfe, * Ifcarrncea,. and Feverishness. Thus the childis renc lered healthy and its slsep^ssatxrait ? G?mm la>contains no Morphine or otter, narcotic property, f- - "Castorioiaao ??R adapted to children that 1 recommend it aaanperior to any prescription kaova to ukc: > H. A. ABCHER, IL D 111 S?nth Oxford StL, Brooklyn, N. Y. **i ?J5I^OMof^?dicu/^ * ^^?BPJd Ave., Kew York. " Lowell? Kass. TMi ^-^ntt^inri ^ ^urf*T Street, N. Y. ria- -?a SOLOMONS, CHEMIST. OVSR . BfiQ^&^ PURDY'S STORE. Eattao?roft Kain Street, Between Brown?A ?nd Durant A Son. - * to;*i30 ; 2F to 5 o'clock. Sumter, S.O:?Apr? 39. ?gp* SUMTER, S. C. OfficeHoars.-9 to 130; 230 to 5. 8eot 8_ Ihr. T. W. BOOKHART? DENTAL SURGEON. Office over Ba tman A Bro.'s Shoe Store X?TRANCK ON MAIN 8TRKXT. SUMTER, S. C. v Office Hours-? to 1:30 ; 2:30 to 5. April 17-o _ ?TY LOTS AND FARMING LANDS FOR SALL WS HAYE ON HAND'more than 200 business, and residence lots, many of tba latter improved, for sale on easy terms. Those wanting lots would do well to consult va before baying, and those having property in city or country lor sale are requested to place same in oar bands and we will find purchasers. W. A BOWMAN, A W.H. INGRAM, May 21 Real Estate Brokers A A eeo ts. , FOR SALE? CHEAP. O EY ERAL FINK BUILDING LOTS ON ^ Calhoun and Republican Streets, near ary residence cad resido nco of Capt. John R?d^_A. jrftre dwnj?.to..hnjLA heme. ??My ?n<* vev7 desirable. ?on given. >r address 3>. J. WINN. tjassfefe^W**0*-2jM?fe-_ " HOTEL, C?tUMBlAi'?, O. --?-tr IIS NEW: AND ELEGANT HOUSE with all inodern impl^vpmeats, is now ?for the reception of guests. Si %. WRIGHT A SON, ? ProDrietorfl. UBBER STAMPST SI AMPS FOR MAftXJNG CLOTHING indelible ink, or for flinting visiting an<? MPS ORAKY KIND nTB?'^n?S? C?DS, ENVEL oc ao j thing ?lp?. " 'Spedttiens of various aa.kaod. which ni\\ be ?ifown with pleas The-LOWEST'PK1CSS possible, and AUfetf promptly. ow N. O. OSTEEN, Jnr the Watch mun and JSojtbron Office "Sumter S. G MISS AS??TOI ?By MAEY KILE DALLAS. [Copyright, 1891, by American Press Associa? tion.] CHAPTER L "Save me!" cried she. When Eugenie Ashton came to New York to visit her aunt that lady was de? lighted to see how pretty she had grown in the ten years of absence. Eugenie had been studying music as they only study it in Germany, and her voice was said to be phenomenal For a long while Eugenie's mother, in miling to Mrs. Morgan, had quoted what Herr Schelling, an old friend of the family and a composer of note, had said of it Mrs.-Morgan always skipped these passages, which conveyed no ideas whatever to her except that the German ?ei?tlem;tn admired Eugenie's voice. Now, as she looked at her critically, and with the eye of a woman who lia*', her? self been ? beauty, she saw that if she chose she could win hearts as well as fame. "Eugenie,'*, she tried f suddenly, "tell me all about your conquests. Tell me who is to be the happy man. rm sure that at twenty something more interest? ing chan music must have come into your life, you charming thing." Eugenie opened her great eyes widely and gave a little laugh. "Oh, no, auntie," she cried. UI have made no conquests, i have only a few dear friends. And there is nothing more interesting than music to me. You know, I hope to make my fortune by my voice, and to do so much for mamma and the girls." - "And who are the friends you are fond? est of?" Mrs. Morgan asked, hoping to discover a pretty secret by strategy. "Herr Schelling is the most intimate," said Eugenie. ""The family friend your mother speaks cfc" asked her aunt. "Yes. Uh, how good he was when poor dear papa died," said Eugenie. "Like a brother to us all And never has he missel coming to us for a day. Oh, my dear aunt; you haye no idea what friend "ship is with the. German people. And it lasts for life, -ft means something that no other nation comprehends." "I believe the men hug each other; or is it the French who do that?" asked Mrs. Morgan, with a toss of her delicate little head. "Your uncle said it made him quite sick to see them do it abroad." Eugenie said no more just then, but she opened her desk and took forth a photograph, which she handed to her aunt "That is Herr Schelling," she said softly. "Oh," said Mrs. Morgan, "that is the family friend, eh? Well, he is hand? some. He is like Goethe, isn't he, or what is his name? But he wears his hair very long." "It is the custom in professional cir? cles in Germany," said Eugenie. "It is beautiful ha?r, Herr Schelling's." "All geniuses used to wear long hair once," said Mrs. Morgan, "and big col? lars, but they've left that off. You couldn't tell them from other persons at receptions and teas nowadays." Eugenie took the photograph from her aunt's hand and placed it on the mantel? piece. "You dear, good friend," she said. Just now, no doubt, you are sitting be? side mamma and comforting her, hold? ing her 'hand. He always kisses mamma's hand when he leaves us. It is so beautiful to see him." "Gracious! Eliza is not going to marry again, is she? Herr Schelling is not going to become your stepfather?" cried Mrs Morgan. "Aunt Helen!" sighed Eugenie re? proachfully. "Mamma! What an idea! She is a widow, indeed. Besides, Herr Schelling is too young. Mamma is fifty. Oh, n?, it is friendship that he feels for her, as for all of us." "German friendship," said Mrs. Mor? osa sarcastically. "Exactly," replied Eugenie honestly. If the girl had any pretty secrets she kept them to herself. This devoted fam? ily friend: was the only man she talked about. Shortly she bought a beautiful frame for his photograph, and he wrote her long letters, fourteen sheets in length, some of them, principally, as it seemed to her aunt, about Wagner's music. In fact Mrs. Morgan soon discovered to her surprise thai music occupied Eu? genie's whole soul, and that she asked nothing better than to practice all day upon the piano that her uncle had. placed in her own room, disregarding the invitations to afternoon teas and re? ceptions and evening parties, and even more delightful social affairs which poured in upon her. "You are such a success," said Mrs. Morgan, "and you don't seem to appre? ciate your advantages." "Oh, all these people have been very kind," Eugenie would answer. "But after all you only seem to go to be asked if you have been to other places, and if the hostess is not charming, by a num? ber of-people, one after the other. Ido not meet any one who really has some? thing to say. Oh, auntie! if you could only hear Herr Schelling talk!" "About Wagnersr" asked Mrs. Morgan, in a mit voice. "About anything," said Eugenie. "He has always an opinion of his own." '?My dear, it will not do to be eccen? tric in New York," said Mrs. Morgan. "Opinions of your own are not fashion? able?, and you must accept your invi? tations." Eugenie obeyed. She always sung whenever she was asked, and always looked well, and her aunt was satisfied. It was her hope to make a great match for her, and keep her from returning to Germany and rausic. What might have happened no one can say, but one day a witch, who had it in her mind to change the course of events utterly for two young women who had done her no barm, whistled up a wild north wind, and mounting it rode through New York, sending every? thing flying-men's hats, newspapers, loose signboards, figures on which cos , turnes were displayed, the stock of tl corner fruit stands, sometimes the o' women who watched them. Eugeui who h;*d just entered Broadway, heir, compactly dressed in cloth and wearir, a little toque that fitted closely to h( head, fared better than many of her st who were abroad that day. But as si braced herself against a,second gust si became aware of a little woman in gre: cistress, like some frail boat tossed upc the ocean in a gale-a woman wit whom the wind was doing what would, since it had first twisted h( drapery about her in a way which, whi! -it exhibited an unfashionable quantit ;of red and white stockings on two littl limbs, thus reminding one of sticks ( peppermint candy, rendered them pe: fectly useless. "Save mer cried this little being, s she clutched Eugenie's arm. "Save m< or I shall be blown over the housetops) It seemed possible. But Eugenie di her best to prevent the catastrophe The fair sufferer by her aid remained o terra firma and found shelter in the ope hallway of a building devoted to office* where Eugenie smoothed down th flounces, untangled the ribbons, ad juste all the fluttering finery, and came at las to a little woman with'a tiny body, large head, with a round, red and whit face, like a Holland doll's, and a quan tity of light hair, now wildly blow about and mixed with the trimmings o the most elaborate bonnet possible. A she looked at her, memories of Germa: folklore rushed upon Eugenie's mind and she asked herself if she had caugh a gnome, and if it would grant her ? wish if she refused to let it go otherwise "You are so good," said this littl being, "I shall never, never forget it What I looked like I don't know, o what people thought of me. It was Ilk an angel coming to me out of heavei when you caught me." She was holding her bonnet now whil* Eugenie twisted up her hair, which wa so plentiful as to overload her immenst head. Curious memories were coming into Eugenie's mind. This was a familia face and figure. Where had she seen i before? "You are weaily angelic," said the lit tie woman. Eugenie laughed; '. "There comes the rain," she said, as 4 shower of drops fell on the pavement "Oh, it pours! and you have no um bwella either," said the little woman "But though you may sh wink you won" spot, for you are all wool. But I am en tirely silk and satin and shall be utterh wuined. Mrs. Bunny told me to take ai umbwella and a waterpwoof. 'It wil surely storm, Maisie,' she said; but '. was naughty and would not. I am wei punished for it." The right chord was touched at last Eugenie remembered where she kat" seen this little gnome before. It wa* when she was ten years old that Mr Bunny, a man with whom her unch was connected in business, and who, sh< had heard, came from England in the steerage, a poor boy with his wardrobe in a handkerchief, to become a million? aire in the course of thirty years, had come to take her to see a Fourth of Juk procession that passed the balcony oi the old fashioned house in Bond street where he still lived, though it was al? most given over to business even then. Mrs. Bunny in a wonderful cap had been very kind. . 'Tm so glad to see yen," she said, "and 'ow sweet you are in that white frock. Give me a kiss, my dear. Maisie love, 'ere is little Miss Eugenie Ashton.'' Then Maisie came skipping out of the balcony. "Oh. you dear!" she said. "So often Mrs. Bunny has told me I should see you, and now this is the first time. How st waight you are. and how nicely you cawy yourself. I always notice beauty. I admire it, though I never had any myself. Tm never envious. Kiss me, dear, and we will have just the loveliest time, won't we? Such a bwight day, and the music. Tra-la-la! How I love music!" And Maisie spread her skirts, which were very full, to their ?lvcsise width on both sides cf her and executed a sort of Spanish dance. "Music and the soldiers marching, and one can see evwything from Mrs. Bunnys beau? tiful balcony." At that time Maisie was perhaps twen? ty years of age. She was extremely short, her shoulders were slightly deformed, but she contrived to conceal her defects of figure very tolerably. Her good, smil? ing face had many changing expressions, ali of them good natured and amiable. Eugenie took quite a fancy to her at once. She thought Maisie very pretty, with the fluttering ribbons, the fxills of lace that adorned her costume, the strings of blue beads with which she bedecked her neck, the bracelets she wore upon her arms and the immense bouquet she carried in her hand. The sashes, the buckles, the adornments of all kinds she displayed upon her person. It all came back to Eugenie, as she stood watching the rain plash upon the pavement. Could this be Maisie, who had seemed to her so pretty and so charming! This little oddity with the impossible costume! Had timo wrought a subtle change, or was it that she now saw with the eyes of a cultured woman. Could ten years so utterly have altered a human being or her own taste? Yes, that curious diffi? culty with the letter R was a proof that it was so; there could not be so many coincidences. "I believe this is Miss Maisie, Mrs. Richard Bunny's friend," she said at last "I am Miss Maisie, certainly," said the j'oung woman; "and if I have a friend in the world it is Mrs. Bunny. But I oh, yes I do, I dp know you; you are lit? tle Miss Eugenie. No longer little, oh, dear mc-, by no means. How tall you havtt gwown and how handsome! This is weaily delightful. You were only ten when I saw you; you must be twenty now." "Just twenty," said Eugenie. "And I am past thiwty," said Maisie. "I am never ashamed of my age. I have gweat good sense. I am pwoud of that. Oh, do you wemember Fourth of July and the pwocession?" "And yon," said. Eugenie. "It is easy to wemember me," laughed Maisie, "I am so ve wy small, so |>ecnl iarly small. I know I am not handsome with my figuah, but if one cannot be beautiful one can be sensible and show tiste in dwess. That I have, ? am aware, wemarkable tiste in dwess, and I make all my things myself." "Is it possible?*' said Eugenie, in ord?-r to say som "thing. "Yon art- surpwised, but no one can I believe it. My bonnets stwike stwangers as imported," said Maisie, waving her j band toward lier miraculous head gear, j "And you an* not ma wi ed yet.'" Eugenie shook her bead. "Yon have years before yon and hosts of admiwas, no doubt." said Maisie; "but I thought ? should be a spin t wa ; befo wa my sweetheart was intwoduced I to me." "Ali!" cried Eugenie. "So you con- ? fess yon have a sweetheart?" "Yes. indeed; I am pwoud of bim," I said Maisie. "Oh, I have beeu vewy fawtunate. I am living with Mrs. Bu ny. She bas adopted me as a (laughta** and now I haveevewything lean dwea of, and also my handsome Woy. Ye must come and see Mrs. Bonny-it the same old house. "See, it is cleawing off just as wapi ly as it clouded over. Come, Miss E genie, I cannot take no, or anotha time." (Eugenie had uttered an excus? "Now, or Mrs. Bunny nevah will forgii me." And she seized Eugenie by the an and hurried her away. Before she knew it the young mus ciau was ascending the steps of the hom in Bond street, had entered the gre; drawing room and saw Mrs. Bunny ri; and come forward as she had on thi Fourth of J uly ten years ago, Mr, Bunny not one whit altered. "It is Miss Engen? !" said Maisie "Mamma Bunny, think of that. I wi blown into her anns. She saved m life. Is it not lovely? I am going t make myself tidy. Yon will have thousand things to say." "Miss Eugenie!" cried Mrs. Bunn] " 'Art alive! Fm as pleased as Pnncl Come kiss me, love, and tell me w'erev? you've been this long while. 'Ow ta you are. You were a lovely little gir and you've grown a very fine woman, very fine woman indeed." Eugenie said a few words in explani tion of her long absence from New Yori and was rejoiced to find Mrs, Bunny ? friendly. Who does not like to be pleasantly r< membered? "You must stay and "ave a cup of tex Mr. Bunny will be in for "is at 5 o'clock, said Mrs. Bunny. "There's the ketti? yon see, in its cozy, and you need it aftc your cold walk. You see we stick t the old house. We like, it and we've n 7onng people to worry about being fasl ionable, That is, we've no daughter and no sons, but as Maisie told you tha we've taken 'er in place of a daughter c our own. You see I'm fond of Maisie and she's sewed and embroidered for m for years, and she's so lively she light up a 'ouse, and such a tasty little bodv and one day I said to Mr. Bnnny. There' Maisie never 'ad a 'ome or parents t know them, for she was left in a baske at an 'ospital door, and she's a comfor to me, and why not make a daughte of 'er? " 'Just as you like,' 'e said, so I sen for 'er." "You are always eo good, Mrs. Bunny,' said Eugenie. "I enjoy 'aving 'er," said Mrs. Bunny "She's just- like a daughter, ana doei everything one would do. Since sh< came Fm,a deal more fashionable as U caps. Perhaps you've noticed this one? And she arose and turned around, dis playing a structure of black lace and cherries which she wore above her we! curled false front. "And I've one witt poppies and white net, and one for spring with buttercups and daisies and real Valenciennes. In fact I've six beauties, and I used to think two at a time plenty, but Maisie is all for fixing me up, dangh terlike, and Mr. Bunny admires them, so why not? You'll be surprised thal Maisie is likely to be .married. Ob. don't ?.iy no. Truth is truth. Poor Maisie is thirty and over, and with 'er figure, poor thing, time tells, but she's very 'appy." Then Mrs. Bunny nodded knowingly, looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice. "Maisie," she whispered, "*as a very 'andsome sweetheart, plain as she is, and it's our doin', Mr. Bunny's and mine. Mr. Bunny, to be sure, would never 'ave thought of it 'adn't I put it into 'is 'ed, but after" that 'e was with me, 'art and soul. And I'm proud of it, for though it's easy enough to marry off a pretty girl, it's no light task to settle a woman with a figure like Maisie's. I've done a mother's part by Maisie, the poor girl 'aving none of 'er own to 'elp 'er." "I should-think anyone would like Maisie," Eugenie said. "Oh, like, of course," said Mrs. Bun? ny. "Bnt a sweetheart is a different story. They're greatly taken by beauty, men arc, and of that Maisie 'as none, of course; but HI tell you tho way of it. You see, Mr. Bunny 'ad a young gentle? man sent oat to 'im by a friend in Eng? land. 'E is quite a man of family and position, but a younger brother and no money coming to 'im. so 'e must go int > trade; and for all Bunny is plain and never went to college, as we all know, 'e 'ru a fine business, and is respected or?Tvwhere, and it's good to 'ave 'im for a friend. So young Gifford - is be'olden to 'im for a great deal. And Bonny asked *im up. and *e understands that we consider Maisie bur daughter. And when we go therein be a good slice for 'er: and though Bunn}' don't 'old with partners, why there might be a partner? ship even for once, and so, thon gb it's not talked over, the day not set, net quite that, you know, why, still we look upon it as a settled thing. Isn't it ele? gant for Maisie?" "Yes, if she loves him," Eugenie said softly. "You're out and out an American, my love," said Mrs. Bnnny. laughing. "They're very romantic, always, Ameri? can girls, but indeed Maisie is just over 'ead and ears in love with 'im, if it comes to that" Then Eugenie was glad for Maisie's sake, and just then the latter skipped into the room. Eugenie soon discovered that in man? ner Maisie was the Rime simple, kindly, merry little person as of yore, and chat tered and danced about exactly as she had ten years before. Eugenie found herself liking her again, growing fond of her, though in a somewhat patronizing fashion. Mr. Bunny shortly came in. and Eu? genie was surprised to find herself a head taller than any of tho others. Mr. Bunny shook hands with her in the most demonstrative manuer, and declared that she was **a sight for sore eyes." "But tell ns, 'ave you a tieau yet?" he cried. " 'Ere's Maisie has a fine one; she's got a'ead of you: but to be sure you've timi* before you, plenty of time, and Maisie is no chicken, no more than my wife when she ketched me." "We are all younger than you any'ow, old gentleman," said Mrs. Bunny, shak? ing lier linger at him. "She'll 'ave tile last word if it's ever so,*'said Bunny, rolling his head about. "But it was I got Maisie her beau, and I mean-to'ave a commission on'im. Til get one if you give me the order. Miss Eugenie. I'm a line judge of them, in? deed 1 am." S.> they all told the story, one after the other. Ar the door,amid her farewells, Maisie j whispered: .*Uh, Eugenie, this is his hair!" and | she fished from the depths of her bodice a little locket fastened toa narrow ribbon. "I have never let any one see it be? fa w," sli<- said. "I cut it from the back of lu.- IM ad one.day without his knowing j it: 1 have a shawp pair of scissaws for -j my silk, you know. Clip I went. 'What's that?" said he, but I took care he should not know. I kiss it at night; it is my lovely little secwet." Eugenie, who was very romantic, was interested. She pictured this Roy Gif? ford a chubby, stocky, good sort of young business man, who had been willing to overlook Maisie's elflike appearance for the sake of her good nature, and who, perhaps, admired her style of dressing. Then she went away, leaving Maisie dancing on the" door step, and kissing her fingers with many nods and becks and wreathed smiles that apparently amused the onlookers on the sidewalk exceedingly. CHAPTER II. "Here she is, Woy." "The Bunnys are comical, but they are awfully rich," said Mrs. Morgan, when Eugenie gave an account of her advent? ure, "and Mr. Bunny knows the very best people. He is thought highly of in business circles. It might be a good thing for you to know them, you may meet valuable acquaintances there.'' But Eugenie could never take utilita? rian views of things. She was glad they were all so happy and prosperous there in Bond street, but what did they know or care for the things she valued. Maisie, with her vanity, her delight in being engaged to some one, was not the companion she desired. Afterward, when she lay crushed beneath a weight of misery for which I have no words, and remembered how she shrunk from going to that k??diy, hosp; tai?? heasa, ?2v said to herself that she had a presentment of evil, that her good angel strove to warn her of what was to come of knowing these people. However, the Bunnys were over? whelming in their invitations to lunch, to tea, to places of .amusement, which Mrs. Morgan made Eugenie accept, and she heard constantly of Maisie's sweet? heart, and Maisie would cry, "To think you haven't seen my Woy y?t! I must I fetch him to Mrs. Morgan's, I weally must." And one evening when Eugenie was alone in the house writing her home letters a card was brought to her. Upon it V?JS engraved "Miss Maisie Bunny," and below it was written, "I have brought my Roy at last." As the door opened a cheerful, chatter? ing and fluttering came up from the drawing room, and when Eugenie de? scended Maisie came dancing forward crying out, "Here she is, Woy! Is she not as pewfectly lovely as I said she was? "And Woy," she continued, giving a jerk to the sleeve of the tall young man who stood beside her. "Is he not splen? did, Eugenie? Do I not know how to descwibe people? Shake hands and be good fwiends, you two beautiful ones." There was a moment's pause; it was necessary to recover from this start? ling introduction. Thea Eugenie held out her hand. "I am glad to meet you, Mr. Gifford," she said, and the gentle? man replied, "Thanks; charmed, I ara sure," and then for the first time Eugenie looked at him. Her astonishment was intense. She had expected to find in Roy Gifford a younger edition of Mr. Bunny. Here stood a man of society, whose dress was beyond criticism, who was not over two and-twent}-, and who was certainly the handsomest mau she liad ever seen. Her first feeling was intense admiration ; the next moment it vanished. This man could not be blind to poor little Maisie's peculiarities. His glance at the tiny paw she placed upon his arm was not that of a lover. It was plain to Eugenie that Mr. Bunny had bought him for Maisie as he might have bought a doll for her in her childhood. Romantic Eugenie had no longer anything but con? tempt for the man and pity for poor Maisie, so blind that she could not see what must be so plain to every one else. She was very cold to Mr. Gifford, she could hardly endure his presence. Mr. Gifford contented himself with a few re? marks, but seemed unable to take his eyes from Eugenie's face. Maisie did all the talking. The call was brief, and when at last the little woman looked in the glass over the mantel to settle a rose ?Otored bonnet and adjust a fussy little green plush wrap, all bobs and fringes \ and golden clasps, her eyes had a wistful look that was unusual to them. "How lovely you look in that white dress with not a single ornament!" she said to Eugenie. "It would neva do for me, I must have bwightness. But taste is a great compensation for beauty. Taste I have. Don't you like my bon? net r "It is just the color of a wild rose," said Eugenie, and Maisie, quite content, seized Roy's arm and skipped away; but while she had been prinking at the glass this same Roy had looked into Eugenie's eyes and said in a voice too low to be heard across the room, "May I come agriin, Miss Ashton?" and she had an? swered, "Whenever Miss Maisie likes to bring you," in a tone that was scarcely civil. As Maisie walked homeward. Roy stalking silently l>eside her, she herself for once was silent. For the first time since Mr. Bunny had brought this sweet? heart home to her she was unhappy. He had looked at Eugenie as lie had never looked at her. What he had said to lier as they stood apart she did not know, but there was a glow on his cheek and a flash in his eye that she had never seen there before. She clasped her hands over his ann, h oping he would place his upon them. Ile did nothing of the sort, though Maisie had lovely little hands, in very pretty gloves. Maisie would have for? given him had he stolen a kiss in the shadow of the church they were passing, or walked with his arm about her waist, as did the lovers of the housemaids in white aprons whom they met. Her whole soul craved a morsel of tenderness, but he did not offer one. At the door, though Mr. Bunny called over the balcony, "Come hup, Gifford; we're not abed yet," Roy replied, "Thanks, not tonight." and took his leave. Maisie sighed as he spoke. In his place how gladly would she have availed herself of the opportunity to linger. For the first time in her life Maisie laid awake and wet the pillow with her : tears. She was filled witli sad present?-1 ments; suddenly awakened to the fact I that she was deformed and no longer even young. Hitherto, despite all her chatter, she had believed that she had a charm of manner and a taste in cr>stuine that com? pensated for everything else. Uh, the bitter, bitter hours. The Maisie that awoke after a troubled morning's sleep was scarcely the same Maisie whose in? nocent vanity made her see everything about her through rosy glasses, and though she tried to believe that all was well she could not. Her misery grew greater as da\*s passed and Gifford did not come to the house. She roamed about restlessly, listening to Mr. Bunny's words intently, hoping to hear him speak of Roy. He never mentioned his name, but there had been talk Maisie did not know of. One night after they had retired Mrs. Bunny prodded Mr. B. with her elbow. "Asleep, love?" she said. "No, and not likely to be so long as you keep poking at me, missus," said Bunny. "That's thc crossest word hever you said to me. Richard Bunny," said the lady. "Aye, missus, I'm vexed," said Bunny. "And I believe it is the same thing Tm vexed over." said Mrs. Bunny. "What I spoke for was to ask you about this Roy Gifford. Why does he stop away like this? Maisie is upset by it, 1 can see that." "Perhaps they've had a tiff," said Bunny. "Indeed no," replied Mrs. Bunny. "Now you know that our poor little Maisie is plain and will get no prettier. If anything is to come of this sweet'art ing it ought to come soon. You should settle it, Bunny, for the girl's sake, else we've done 'er 'ann and no good. She was content enough in the days when she earned 'er bread." "Ah, I doubt we've been two fools not to stop with giving 'er what we conld take from our pockets. Lovers are bad goods to 'andie," said Bunny. "I'm going to speak to Roy Gifford; and though there was a time when 'is father, a boy like myself then, gave me my passage to America and ten pound to boot, and so started me in life, and I looked up to 'im as if 'e'd been the Prince of Wales, no less, why I could buy and sell the old family today, and when 1 speak HI speak plain, mind you. Only if it is a tiff, why it's you can see to it best, and it's not likely 'e'll get more money with another girl than we'll give 'im with Maisie.*' "I wish it was like that," stid Mrs. Bunny, "but I doubt your young man is looking for more beauty than we can give him with our Maisie, old gentle? man." CHAPTER UL Meanwhile Roy Gifford had been gall? ing constantly on the Morgan family. Eugenie k;:d made a great mistake in leaving him alone with her aunt the first da}- lie called. He had instantly seized upon the opportunity. He had seated himself beside her, and looked into her eyes with his, so beautiful and youthful, so irresistible to one not preju? diced against him. "Won't you be my friend, Mrs. Mor? gan?" he asked. 4 * You km >w w hy 1 com? . here, and I want to tell you that though [ love my elder brother, and would save his life if I could, Heaven knows, he is very near his end, and soon I shall have the estate and title. ? cannot a void it if I would, and 1 shall be able to offer Miss Ashton a position worthy of her as the wife of an earl one day." "An earl!" said the American lady. "And your wife would be a countess. I am sure that would be very nice. 1 would not allow myself to be influenced by anything of the sort, but when a gentleman is as nice-as-as" "Oh, Mrs. Morgan, do be good to me and say that 1 am nice," plead Roy. "So yon are then," replied the matron, with au air of mature coqnetn*, "very nice. And of course one wishes to s<e one's young people do well. And I have always l>een averse to Eugenie's going npon the stage, even in opera, i'd much rather she would marry." "Then you will help mer Roy asked. "All I can," said Mrs. Morgan. Ile had lifted her hmid to his Ups and kissed it tenderly. After that he always asked for Mrs. Morgau when he came, and she was very kind to him. and Eugenie as cold as any iceberg. She knew that he loved her: he made no secret of it, and she was very sorry for little Maisie and very con? temptuous of him. When Mrs. Morgan told her of his brother's dangerous illness and his ex? pectations she began to hate him. it seemed so cruelly heartless in him to calculate on such chances. She avoided him as much as possible, but one even? ing, by Mrs. Morgan's aid, tho girl found herself entrapped into a tete-a-tete with Roy. It was evident that he was anxious to talk seriously about something, and she was determined that he should not. The moment they were left alone she went to the piano and ran her fingers over the keys. "Shall I sing you the last new ballad?" she asked. And without waiting for au answer began the prelude. She was well aware that he did not care to hear her, but she sang on and on, following one song with another, until her repertoire was nearly exhausted. She gave him j German songs, French songs, English ballads, selections from Italian opera, ! she cared not what, so that by singing she silenced him. But at last he came ' to her and deliberately took her hands from the keys. "Miss Ashton," he said, "please stop. I want to talk to you. I think you know it. Won't 3'ou listen to me?" "It appears to me that I have no choice," slic implied, rising. "I know exactly what your manner means," ho said. "You believe 1 am treacherous to Maisie, that I am betroth? ed to her. I confess it hurts mc that you should think that a suitable thing. 1 am not very vain, but, really, though I know I am familiarly mentioned at thc Bunnys' as Maisie's sweetheart, 1 feel hurt"- Eugenie lifted her eyebrows. He went on: "Now you consider me a puppy," he said. "Do let me explain. A ! year ago we all thought my brother, the earl, would recover, and we are not a rich family, and I, as a younger brother, have nothing. Ever}* body in England who has no money is going in tor tr? nowadays. It was suggested to me: was not averse to the idea, and felt would free me from the suspicion waitiu?? for ?lead men's shoo* and t absurdity of living on expectations, ai 1 was thinking of it when Bnnny car back home on a visit. Bunny had l>e< helped in his youth by my father, wi gave him a few pounds to go "and se< his fortune, and it amuses us all tot hil that he should be one of the Americ; millionaires. "When he came over he present himself at Gifford House, and they co gratnlated him and all that, and wh< he had gone I found that he had offer? to show me how to do as he had if would come to the states. "It was a great ofter, for, plain as ye see him. Bunny is quite at tbe top of tl heap among business men. *. Well, I came over, and he receive me with open arms. You would not u: derstand the business part of the matte even if it were not too tedious lo go ove Miss Ashton; but here I was in M Bunny's place of business, favored as fe young men ever are, and everything d< pended on his action. Mr. Bunny is sort of Napoleon in his own empire. 44 Well, oue day he said to me, 'Griffon yon 'aven't hever a sweetheart across th 'errin' pond, 'ave you?' 44 40h, no.' said"I. " 'Honor bright,' said he. I langhe and told him that as to that I won! take my oath if he required it 44 'Your word will do, Gifford,' he sai< 4Now, I've a plan for you. My wife ';: a little friend we're as fond of as w would be of a daughter. She's nota ver pretty girl, but she 'as the makin's of : good a wife as hever was, and I've n kin, nor the missus either. I can mala my wiil as I please, and Maisie will t an heiress. Then there is a partnershi for the man that marries 'er. You com up to my 'ouse and see 'er. Come t dinner tomorrow.' "He did not wait for an answer, bn toddled away. "Well, naturally, I went to dinner a Bunny's. You've been to dinner a Bunny's; I needn't describe the feast." "Oh, no. The}* are so kind to one, s anxious to make one enjoy one's self, said Eugenie. "Exactly," said Gifford. "By th time I was allowed to stop eating, m; ability to think or act had vanished, was really apprehensive of apoplexy Then they put me in a large chair, an< Mr. Bnnny bade Maisie 4give us a tune. "The piano tinkled; I prayed heavei that I might not snore: at intervals said 'Channing.' Then they handed mt cake and wine. Maisie had little bow: pinned all over her, from the top of he: head to the toes of her slippers. She al ways wears ribbons, but I cannot helj fancying that she liad put on many mort than usual in my honor that evening. 44 Finally she took her little paws fron: the piano and ran out on the balcony. "'What a heavenly moon.!' she said 'Come look at it, Mr. Gifford.' I obeyed 1 had just life enough left to do so. "When we had looked at the moon foi some time I discovered that Mr. ant" Mrs. Bunny had put out all the lights bm the drop lamp, and, to quote your Long? fellow, had 'Folded their tents like thc Arabs and silently stolen away.' "Evidently they had adopted the cus? toms of the country, and in genuine American fashion given me an oppor? tunity to court Maisie. She plainl} waited for me to begin, but what I said was: 'Really, I am quite shocked tc have kept you up so late. How good o? Mr. Bunny not to tell me to go. So glad to have met you, Miss Maisie.' and then 1 bowed myself out. "I thought I had done- the right thing; I was stupid that night, as anacondas are after a full feast, bur I ne ver dreamed that I had committed myself. Not a word passed between Mr. Bunny and myself. It was a subject, you must con? fess, that I could scarcely broach if he did not. A week from that day he asked me to dine again. As yet, though I have an earl for a brother, I am myself only a poor clerk. Of course 1 accepted my mighty man's invitation as before. This time I, however, contrived to eat more moderately. As the hours went on 1 discovered with mingled sensations of horror and amusement that I was sup^ posed to be Miss Maisie's suitor. ..She called me 'Woy,* >nd Mr. Bunny joked us on our lovelorn condition. Late in the evening we were left alone together again, and again I departed promptly. Yon have the histor}* of the vear, or, exactly speaking, eight months ?f it. Well?" .4It is very ill. Mr. Gifford," said Eu? genie, "very ill indeed.'* "Perhaps so." said Gifford. "I certain? ly find myself in a most unenviable posi? tion. At home my family-and you in? dependent Americans have no idea what his family is to a young Englishman my family expect me to make a fortune. I came here with that purpose. I am en? tirely in Mr. Bunny's hands, and have discovered that the good a commercial man of his standing can do one just en? tered the lists is incalculable. He can also do him a great deal of harm. Pru? dential motives kept me from saying out? right, 4Mr. Bunny, I cannot marr}* Miss Maisie.' I hoped that saying nothing would do as well. To use an American? ism. 1 just thought I would let things slide." ,40h, is that an Americanism?" said Eugenie. "Really, Mr. Gifford, I don't know, but I fancy you will 'slide' at last to the altar with Maisie and b* happv ever after, as they are in thefai ales.' "From the moment I met you. Miss Ashton, that would have been impossi? ble." said Roy-"just as impossible if she had been as beautiful as an angel and a queen in her own right. There is only one woman for me in the world now. 1 used to laugh at that sort of things, but it is quite true. Good night." And be? fore Eugenie was aware of his intention he had lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. "How dare he!** gasped Eugenie, as the door closed behind him. "Oh! that I, of all people, should be the one that poor little Maisie's sweetheart has chosen to fall in love with! How I hate the man?" Meanwhile Maisie was much nearer than either of them dreamed. Of late the poor girl had been playing amateur detective to the best of ber ability, and feeling sure that Roy was in love with ! Eugenie, had for some days been watch- j ing Mrs. Morgan's house. Tonight she ? had hidden herself in the front parlor of an empty dwelling on the opposite side of the way. She had feed the janitress to permit her to Inrk there, and the old woman, believing lier a jealous wife, took great interest in the proceedings. Tonight she had seen Roy enter the house and liad heard her singing to him. When the light shades were drawn down she had a fine silhouette of Eu? genie to contemplate. Shortly one of Roy, as he sat listening to the music. pushed Oixru the window and stood staring at these shadow * ictnres. Short? ly wrinkles of anguish furrowed her usually smooth and placid face. She . had been a very happy Httle creaturev : blissfully so after Roy's advent. Now I how miserable she was, watching the i shadows on the shade, listening to Eu i genie's splendid voice. The tears fell j over her round cheeks, her lips quivered. "1 cannot sing," she said, "but I would ! play the Rochester schottische, or tho Katydid polka, or the "Maiden's Prayer'* to him whenever he pleased. If she is pretty, he should remember that -1 am his sweetheart, not she." But now the music ceased. She saw Eugenie's shadow. Roy's beside it. Then bis tall figure disappeared after the man? ner of shadows, seeming to run up the shade to the ceiling. Then it returned. She saw them perfectly, to their very profiles. Sr.ddenly Roy's tall shadow bent low, and his lips touched the hand of Eugenie's shadow and .both vanished. "He has kissed her hand. Ah! never once has he kissed mine," moaned Maisie. "And he is my sweetheart Oh, Woy, Woy, how can you be so unfaithful lo me when I am so twue to you in eve wy thought! Oh, Eugenie, how can you bo ?0 false!" The poor little creature said this as piteously as though Roy Gifford had uttered and broken a thousand vows of fidelity. It never ocenrred to her that he had made no protesrations whatever, that he had never spoken of love, that she did not even know what had passed between1 this young maa and Mr. Bunny, who had brought her home a sweetheart much as he might have brought her hoine a doll in her childhood. Her castles in the air had been so? charmingly built and so delightfully peopled that she never dreamed of doubt? ing their reality. But now Roy Gifford appeared at the door, shut it behind him and stalked up the street. How handsome he was in Maisie's eyes, the very perfection of manly grace and beauty!: "Oh. if I lose him I cannot live."" she said, "and I must kill myself, unless God lets me die of a bwoken heturt. I am sure I should be fowgiven for killing myself, for the angels would know tliat t had lost all that was worth living for.'* Then she pressed both little hands to her fore? head, and leaving her hiding place sped homeward. The moon had risen. To what lover does not the moon seem a friend? Maisie often lifted her eyes toward the great, golden disk sailing above the housetops as she hurried along with agonized, imploring glances, as though she prayed for aid from Diana. Those who passed the flying figure took it for a belated child frightened by the shadows of the midnight streets. How could they guess that beneath that quaint little cloak with its peaked hood beat the most anxious, passionate, longing wom? an's heart abroad that night iu the great city. [TO BE CONTINUED ] Cnrcs for Ivy Poisoa. A raider wants to know the best cure for ivy poisoning, especially for that ex? tending over the greater part of the face, and likely to involve the eyes. The best treatment for ivy poisoning is to wash thc places affected as soon as the poisoning has been discovered in strong soapsuds or saleratus water. Plenty of good, clear water will answer if these can? not, be obtained, Of course, after the in? flammation begins to show itself, some remedies must be applied which will check and control the eruption and swell? ing. The common household remedy is witch hazel, which can be procured at any grocers in small bottles. This is very good for ordinary cases, but it has a ten? dency to relieve the itching and smarting sensation more than to check the speed and growth of the inflammation. Probably one of the best things is to pro? cure some common black wash at a dru;; store, and use it as a lotion twice a day for half an hour at a time. Between these times keep the poisoned surface covered with cold water dressings or ointments of some soft nature. Another good wash is a teaspoonful of sugar of lead ina pint of water, applied as a wash several times a day. Poison from ivy or sumach can be treated in this way, but it is well to state that neither one of these poisons is danger? ous. It requires about three or fonr weeks for thc attacks to run their full course, and then the poisoned parrs begin to heal up of themselves. Remedies can simply alleviate the pain and sometimes partly check tl ie inflammation, bat they never entirely pre? vent ami cure the poison at once. The eruptions seldom show themselves until a day or two after contact with the poisons, and after that tl>ere is no danger from coming in contact with another person. Although the poisoning sometimes as? sumes the .-topeara nee of a very serious ease the result is never permanent. No scaw or disfigurements ever mark the skin or flesh after she poison bas disappeared. The poison is an acid which exists in all parts of the plants, but especially in the leaves. Though some persons are not affected by it at all, others are so sensitive to the acid that it is not necessary for them toc?me in contact with tiie vines to get poisoned. Yankee Blade OUK TEK Y BKS V PKOI'LE. Confirm ourstatement when we say th.it Acker** Knglisb Bemedy ii in every way superior to ?ny an?! ?ii other prepara Moe* fi?r th? Tbnr?t ami Lung?. In W'oowping Cough and (>?.?(> it i* ma ?ie and reieves at once. We ? fli r y?? H ?ample bottle tree. K? member. ? bi* Hero edy is sold on a positive guarantee by J. F. W. DeLornie. 3 - mml I mm THAT 1 EKKi BLft i Ol UH Tn the morning, burrill or dithcuh breathing* raising phlegm, tight?, sa in tbe <-r?e.-t. quickened pulse, rhil?nes.- in 'lie evening or sweats ut night, all or any of these tilinda are the 5r.?t Hinges of consumption. Ur. Acker*? Kinrlbb Cough Kerned/ iciil cure these fearful symptoms, and is sold under a positive gnnr* aniee by J F. IV. DeLorme. S> mm -^ammm TH ft Fl HST SYMFIOAIS OF DEATH. Tired feeling, dull headache, pains ii: vari-.us parts cf the body, sinking ut ibe pit of the stomach, lops of appetite, feverishness, pimples or s?res. are all positive evidence of poisoned blood. No miner bow it becomes poisoned tt munt be piiri?e-i io ?void tea*h. Dr. Acker'* hnglish I 1 uni Klixir has uenr failed to re? move scrofulous or syphilitic poisons. Soldi lintier positive guarantee, by J. F. W. L>e Cornie. 4 _ --^w- mti - La Grippe Again. Puring the epidemic of La trippe last sw?a??f>n( Dr. King's New Discovery for Con-innption*. Cooghs and Colds, proved to be ibe be><t re in ~ dy. Kep*?rrs from the many w;io used it c-'iinrw thia statement. They were nor only quickly relieved, but the disease left no bad alter results. .We ?.-k you to give this- remedy a trial and we guarantee that y< u will ne satis* tie I with results, cr the purchase price will be refunde-i. lt has no equal in La Grippe* or any Throat. Chest or bung Trouble Trtai bot? tles f'n-e at .J. F. W. Delorme's Drng Store?. Large bottle*. 5?e. and $l.nO. 2; When Baby was sick, we garee her Cantona* When she was a Child. she cried for Cnstoriav. When she became ]4iss. :>!ie clung t?> Ca? -?a. When she had Children- she gare them Gastona IF TOVE li AC ?i A<B.h?-* Cryon are all vorn out, ron Hy <z>ye>4 5>raoti*? in?, it is general debility Try JM'OWX'? moy HUT EH s. it will cure you, cle?hse your livex, ami giva & good appetite.