Page:Peterson magazine 1849.pdf/17

 16 Meanwhile the rich Squire Stewart Had crossed the road to the parsonage, and was aow in close con: versation with the widow,

Yes," he said, “she seers to he mighty handy with the needte, bot it’s such poor pay that women Get here in the country, Now, if you could only manage to get 10 New York or Boston, I hava’t any doubt but you could mate a nies, comfortable living.”

“Oh, how could we live away from Southton- Elsie and me? Ik would most break our bearts 10 thi of it, No, {had tea thousand times rather struggle along here, io sight of my husband's grave, than to live mote comfortably in the busy, noisy city.”

“But you ought to think of Elsie,” commenced the squire; ‘she gets euch poor pay, you cold not tive on that any way, and you say yourself you aro a getting in debt, Now, I offer you more than the house is worth, and you might invest ft in some snug way, and it would yield enough to pay for the rooms you ‘wonld have to rent, and then Elsie would get so much more for her sewing, you woutd live nicely. Now, ‘Widow Gray, you'd better think of i”

“I will,” sighed the widow, heavily, oe he left the house,

There was e very sinister smite in the eyes of Squire Stowart, as he crossed back to his elegant house, Did he congratulate himself upon making « bargain if he should succeed in getting the parsonage at the price he had named? No, it was not that, for he had in reality offered more than it was worth. ‘What caused that strange mite? Was itat the thought of removing Elsie from the neighborhood of his son, that he might better carry out bis plans in uniting the brond lunds of the Athleya’ to his own, by wedding his ton with the sole heleese—the proud Emeline? ‘Why ueed he to have feared—bad not month rolled away after month, and Philip showed ao niga of re- membrance of the ono be used to love so well?

Ah! so thought the mouraful, sorrowing Elsie; but Squire Stewart well knew how many—how very many letters he had burned which bore her name upon the envelope, Beware, man of the world! be- ware of thy own machinations, for many and many an one bave so entangled the webs which they were weaving, that the very threads which they have sought to part, they have joined together.

‘When Elsie came home that evening, her eyes swollen with weeping, and her dress dripping with the night dow, which she had swept from the long grate in the forest, her mother told ber of Squire Blewart’s proposal, of her own reluctance in acceptimg it, her dread of leaving the litle village, and then waited for an answer.

Elsie’s voice was husky as she replied, ‘there is but one spot in the whole villago which J should dread to leave—dut one spot, and that is my father’s grave. ‘We have no memory of kindness to chain us bere, mother, and sooner or {eter we shal! have to go; then Jet it be now, while we are both welt and strong, be- fore we have to beg for bread, or at best sicken aad die within the walls of the poor-house.” Mrs. Gray looked with astonishment upor the gleaming eyes of the energetic young being before ber, and marveled that Elsie could be thus changed.

Another month, and in a neat but smaall—very small frame tenement ia the outskirts of New Haven, the mother and daughter were domesticated. A graceful elm flung its cool shade over the doorway, aud a few scattered vines and sheubs adorned the amull yard ‘The liltle swinging sign suspended by the door, bore the words “ Mantua-making and Plain Sewing; but a week had passed, and no work or encouragement had they received. Beside the tittle open window they eat, recalling the days so different when they de- pended upon the one now slumbering in the grave for support as well as for happiness, Dark storm- clouds were guibering over the blue sky, and the red lightning quivered and flathed through the wreathing mist—but afar in the past bad their memory wan- dered, and they heeded it not, until euddenty a lerrifie peal of thunder seemed {0 shake the cviluge to its foundations. This was followed by @ scream of alarm, from the roadside, and Elsie hastened to the gate in time to open it for two young girls, just as the thick rain poured down in torrents, Shellered beneath the roof of the little dwelling, the girls soon forgot their fears, and talked merrily to each other of their mama’s anxiety, end wondered if she would send the carriage for them. Mrs. Gray gathered from their conversation that they were rich, and after the shower had passed over, and they began to talk of hastening homeward, she told them thet they were strangers, and thet they sought employment, and showed them. some of the needle-work which Elsie had dono, he elegantly stitched bands, and the neatly-hemnied ruf fles; and the girls promised to tell mama, and left ‘The next morning a showy equipage stopped in front of the little cottage, and a splendidly dressed woman beckoned to Elsie to come to the carriage,

“So you are in want of plain sewing, are you, ‘Miss—Miss—what sbalt T call you?”

“Elsie Gray, if you please.”

“And you sew neatly, Gray, my daughter tells me—what are your prices”

“E bave received ninepence,” replied Elie, “foe malting shirts, and twenty-five cents for cutting and making dresees; but we found we could pul live upon thet, and J came here in hopes of getling more.”

« Ninepence for sbirte!” exclaimed the lady, in as- tonishment; “live upon thet? good graciour, I should think not. Here, John,” she said, calling to the foot man, “take this piece of linen, and these bundles out into the cottage,” then looking back to Elsie. she added, ‘I will give you seventy-five cenis for every shirt you make efier the pattern whieh you will frd in one of the bundles.”

«Oh, it is too much—too much," said Elsie, breath less with pleasure.

“Not any too much, child,” replied the tedy, “for Tam in great hurry for them; when do you think you can let me have helf « dozen?”

“Weil, with mother’s help, I think I might say the last of néxt weet"?

"Very well, I will call for them myrelf,” and the magnanimous \ady rode from the cottage, raying to her companion, “there is a clear gain of seventy. five cents upon-every thirt, for Ihave been paying a

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