There are several younger members of this family, but as they are not necessary throughout the work we will not make mention of them here.
On the morning when Marguerite Verne sat in the luxurious crimson velvet arm-chair reading Cousin Jennie's letter, the latter was engaged in fashioning some dainty scraps of wool and silk into various little knick-knacks for a bazaar.
The pupils in attendance at the common school were anxious to procure some extra apparatus for the hall, and having received much assistance from the young ladies of the district, entered into the work with a will.
Jennie Montgomery was a host in herself. A bright, amiable girl of eighteen, with robust constitution, sunny disposition, and step elastic as a fairy. She was, indeed, an ornament to her home and also to the community.
Jennie was not a beauty—had not the least pretentions to one. Her dark complexion was pure and health-like; but it was not heightened by that peachy bloom peculiar to brunette's, instead only a warm, bright and ruddy hue, which some might consider as approaching the rustic. Her eyes, as they sparkle with delight at the pretty array of bright colors, might not be admired as of the poetic or ideal type, but in their depths lurks a keen and significant expression of the peculiarly intelligent and earnest appeal that seldom speaks in vain. The neat and cosy parlor, with its many articles of female handiwork, speak for the taste and talent displayed by this interesting girl. The pretty sketches of familiar haunts near her loved home showed that genius had stamped the brow of Jennie Montgomery, and inspired her with a deep enthusiasm for the beautiful and sublime.
Presently she rises from the work table, and opening a door leading to the balcony, stands for some moments gazing in mute admiration upon the lovely view of Sussex Vale, wrapped in its mantle of purest white, reflected in the sunshine as a vast expanse of frosted silver.
A dismal dreary day. The fog had crept slowly over the city and enveloped every object within its reach. There was fog clinging to turrets, spires and towers, fog in the streets, fog in the alleys, fog in the ditches—all was fog. It hurried along utterly regardless of the delicate fabrics that were ruthlessly despoiled by its touch, musing now and then, doubtlessly, on the ingratitude of the fair daughters of St. John who, in the possession of their clear and brilliant complexions forgot to give thanks to the great enhancer.
In the midst of this fog many pedestrians are wandering to and fro, crowding the streets, hurrying along the wharves, hailing vehicles, accosting their friends, and in fact as perfectly happy in their surroundings as though the cheerful, sunshine were illuminating all visible space.
Passing along Prince William street as far as Chubb's Corner we see a familiar form—it is Phillip Lawson. He is enveloped in a gray Mackintosh and his soft felt hat is worn with an air of careless ease that is more becoming than otherwise.
"Chubb's Corner" had lost its charm for the young lawyer. He did not stop to consult stocks, exchanges, debentures or any such business, but merely nodding to an acquaintance or so crossed the street and wended his steps to the lawyers' nests—nests from the fact that in this, locality they hatched all the schemes by which to victimize their unwary clients.
But of our friend. He gained his apartments, and throwing aside the outer garment, sat down at his desk and drawing his hand across his forehead, began to think. "I want to see nobody for the next hour," murmured the young man, his brows contracting as he spoke.
A deep shade settled upon the usually mild countenance. A question of momentous importance was to be decided. "To be or not to be" was the final answer. Each solution involved a corresponding number of conflicting doubts and anxieties, and left scarcely any choice in the mind of the reasoner.
"No doubt it's a good field for a beginner in life. St. John has more lawyers than would start a colony. Some of us must go to the wall, and I don't fancy being one of that number."
This was the sunny side of Phillip's reflection. He was trying to cheat himself into the belief that "green fields and pastures new" were panacea for all other grievances, and that that was the goal of his ambition.
"Yes, it's a good 'spec'; but why is the fellow so anxious for me to get it? Still I would like to hear more of the matter before I question the motives."
The young lawyer was aware of the fact that Hubert Tracy had been using his influence for another a short time previous, and he could not see his motives for such change of opinion. True, a sudden intimacy had sprung up between them, but the subject had been hitherto mentioned and acted upon; therefore the last reason formed no groundwork for his convictions.
Occasionally a dark thought crossed Phillip Lawson's mind. Can the fellow be honest? I cannot bear to think ill of a fellow-man, and I must not now. I know that Tracy is not what he might be, yet he has a kind heart and what's the use of my talking, who is faultless? "Let him that is without sin cast the first stone."
It was here that the beauty of Phillip Lawson's character showed itself. The young man was a Christian. He had always cherished the principles of true piety, and as he repeated over the words of Him who was the friend of sinners, it was in tones of sublime tenderness.
Instantly a second thought flashed across his mind—he had an acquaintance—a member of a legal firm in that newly-founded city in the Northwest. He, therefore, made up his mind to write at an early date and make all the necessary inquiries.
Having settled his mind upon this point another subject presented itself to our friend, and from the sudden flash of his grey eyes one would imagine that it was of an electrifying nature.
It is one, which, from the remote ages, has had power to magnetize, humanize and civilize; it is the power which makes man what he should be—love—that short word of four letters—what a world of thought it embraces—it held the heart of Phillip Lawson at will, and despite his power of self-control he was often the victim of its vagaries.
But the lawyer had not long time to indulge in such thoughts. A knock aroused him.
"Come-in."
A stalwart looking youth of muscular build (with suit of grey homespun not cut exactly in the proportions of that of a dude) stood upon the threshold with a look upon his florid face that betrayed some embarrassment.
"You be Mr. Lawson the lawyer, sir."
"Yes, sir," said the young practitioner, a smile lighting up his face and making him an interlocutor not to be dreaded by the most unsophisticated client.
"'Spose I needn't ask, be you pretty well posted in law?" queried the individual on taking his seat, at the same time pulling out an enormous expanse of red and yellow cotton, called by way of courtesy a handkerchief, which he vigorously switched across his face as though a swarm of mosquitoes were on the aggressive, and kept the field unflinchingly.
"What is the cause of complaint, sir?" ventured the interested lawyer, scarcely able to repress a smile.
"Well, sir, to come to the pint at once, as you fellers allus happin to say, since I was knee-hight of a grasshopper I had a hankerin' after the law, and allus envied tother fellers when they'd to go to the 'Squire's on trials, and I tell you they thought themselves some punkins when they got a day's wages for goin'"—
"Of your question at issue," interrupted our legal friend, "I mean on what point do you wish to consult me, sir?"
"Well, sir, as I told you before, I'm comin' straight to the pint," replied the youth, giving the aforesaid bandana a more vigorous switch in the direction of his interrogator, then continued, "and, firstly (as them lecturin' fellers say) I allus thought I'd like mighty well to have a trial myself, and bring some un up to the scratch; and I've jest got my wish, and if it costs all dad's worth I'll make 'em sweat!
"Are you a minor, sir?" demanded the lawyer.
"No, sir; I'm no relative to themminers, nor don't want to be, tho' Sally Ann is allus taggin' arter me, and would like terrible well to hitch on to me; but I tell you, 'Squire, I'm not so green as they think, though I'm mighty fond of buckwheat."
This last speech was too much tax on the risibility of the "'Squire," as familiarly dubbed by the would-be client, and after some merriment, explained the tenor of his question, assuring the youth that it bore no allusion to "Sally Ann."
After the young lawyer had taxed his ingenuity to draw the verdant client "to the point" he learned that the cause of complaint was directed against one Joshua Jones, who had given himself an invitation to haul off some cedar poles claimed to be the property of the said Mose Spriggins, and the said Mose wished indemnification right speedily.
"Tell you what 'Squire I'll put him fur as the law will carry it, and if you can slap on plenty of cost 'Squire, it'll do me more good than eaten my supper."
"I shall do the best I can for you sir," said the young man, carefully noting the points which Mose brought to bear on the matter.
"Well now 'Squire, suppose you want your wages for this 'eer job.What's your price?"
Mose now produced a complicated piece of mechanism from his expansive waistcoat pocket. It might have been constructed for a three-fold purpose—for money, pipes and tobacco. The odoriferous exhalation giving strong evidence of the latter commodity.
"Well 'Squire, you fellers earn your livin' mighty easy," exclaimedMose, tendering the five dollar bill into the lawyer's hand.
The latter smiled, pocketed the fee and commenced writing the letter to the defendant Joshua Jones.
"Now sir, if this thing works well, I don't grudge ye the money 'Squire, and any time I have somethin' more in the law business I'll throw it your way, for I think you a squarer sort of a chap than them ere gang further up the street. I tell you they're sharpers, they fleeced dad last summer and I wasn't agoin' to be so green, eh 'Squire?"
"Well Mr. Spriggins, I shall always try to work to your satisfaction any time you are in need of advice," returned our friend, rising from the desk and going toward the window.
Mr. Spriggins thought he would soon be ready for "startin'" and also rose up, in the meantime depositing the before-mentioned wallet in his waistcoat pocket. Silence reigned in the lawyer's office for three minutes, when the door was reopened and Mose Spriggins' rubicund face once more adorned the apartment.
"Say, 'Squire, aint there a new kind of insurance consarn 'round these diggins? I'm thinkin' of gittin' my life insured—not 'cause there's any kinsumption in our fam'ly, only there's no tellin' when a feller might peg out. Tell you, 'Squire, I'm sound as a bell."
Mr. Spriggins turned himself around for inspection, and shrugged his broad shoulders with an air of evident self-esteem.
A lengthy speech might have followed, but our legal friend avertedthe catastrophe by informing his client that the Dominion SafetyFund office was close at hand, and with quiet mien escorted the saidMr. Spriggins to the door.
A genial "come in" answered the summons of the applicant, and in another chapter we will be able to inform the reader how the veritable Mr. Spriggins was sent home rejoicing from the fact that he had become insured in the Safety Fund.
Phillip Lawson was re-established at his desk, and not wishing to allow his thoughts to wander to the subject which had hitherto occupied them, took up a novel that lay upon the opposite shelf. It was one of George Eliot's masterpieces—Daniel Deronda. Its depth of thought and richness in the sublime and beautiful theories as regards the Jewish dispensation had a charm for the talented scholar, and he read for more than an hour, deeply buried in the inspired words of the gifted author—one who will occupy a deep niche in the inmost recesses of all hearts, so long as the literature bearing her impress shall make its way in all tongues and through every clime! Presently a light, well-known step greets the reader's ears, and a trim little maiden, with waterproof, heavy boots, and umbrella in the foreground, presents herself upon terms of much familiarity.
"And my dear old Phillip, how happy you look in here! Why, its fearfully disagreeable out to-day, and you look as contented as if the room was heated only by the sunshine, while I am really shivering with the dampness and fog."
"Well, little woman, what brought you out to-day?" exclaimed the indulgent brother, stroking the fair hair of his pet sister as she stood beside him, looking into his face with a look of pure devotion—a look which showed that her brother was her world, and in his face shone all that was good and true in her eyes.
Lottie Lawson was a child of a sweet and tender nature. She had been watched over by a model mother, and this earnest mother's prayers had not fallen unanswered.
"God grant that the woman be a living realization of the child," was the fervent prayer that dwelt upon Phillip Lawson's lips, as he drew the child towards him and tenderly kissed the fair forehead.
"You wonder why I am out to-day, brother Phillip; I came on a message from Kitty."
The latter was the house-maid, and the young man smiled as he thought of the force of character which constituted this efficient maid of all works.
"Oh, I see now, there is some excuse for you. What are Miss Kitty's demands to-day?"
"She is having a new dress made and wished me to select some samples for trimmings, and as she wants to wear the dress home next Sunday, I had to go to-day."
"Yes, that is all right; Kitty's wishes must be attended to," saidPhillip, with an air of much gravity.
"Will you soon be ready to go with me Phillip. I shall wait for you. It is just such a day as needs your dear old self to drive the gloom from the back parlor."
The little maiden had not long to wait for an answer, as the young lawyer took down his mackintosh, and in a very short time the pair were to be seen walking at a quick pace along Charlotte street, through King Square and out beyond the limits of the old church-yard.
A neat and cosy cottage is reached, and a tidy looking domestic answers the summons and smiles graciously as the coveted samples are placed in her hand while she receives a full explanation of the prices and the additional advice of Miss Lottie thrown in as extras. The cottage has an air of neatness throughout. Its windows filled with choice plants and gorgeous foliage lend a charm that impresses one with the taste of the inmates. The spotless purity of the muslin curtains and the transparency of the windows bespeak the thorough cleanliness and comfort of this home-like little nest. And the inviting parlor: it's furniture was neither elegant nor costly. The plain mahogany chairs and straight-backed old-fashioned sofa were well preserved. Not a particle of dust could be seen without the aid of a microscope. And the beautifully polished andirons which had done service in the family for many years, and seemed to assume an air of importance over the less attractive articles grouped around. A pretty little work-table with writing-desk combined stood at the left side of the hearth. It was a gift from Phillip Lawson to sister Lottie. It was the child's favorite seat, and that fact repaid the brother more than the most extravagant praise.
The upright piano was not neglected. Piles of music lay near, and the well-worn rug beneath showed that music had its charms for the members of this household.
Reader, we will not weary you with minute details, but merely say, such was the home of Phillip Lawson. In this abode he could look back to a country home, with which, as the haughty Evelyn Verne said, "you could associate hayseed." But did that fact lesson the reputation of this gifted scholar?
Nay; the sons of the soil are in reality the "lords of creation." They have the first and highest calling, and ere the proud beauty had passed through all the ordeals of life, she hastily repented of the bitter and sarcastic words.
As our legal friend occupies a prominent part in our story we will endeavor to give such explanation as will enable the reader to form a true estimate of his character.
Phillip Lawson was indeed the son of a farmer—a man who had, by honest industry and untiring perseverance, made a comfortable home for his family in one of the frontier settlements of Carleton County—that truly agricultural locality where nature has done so much to assist the sons of toil—that county where the crops are almost spontaneous, and where none need be ill off, unless through misfortune or mismanagement.
"The Lawson farm" was the abode of comfort and happiness. Thrift greeted the eye on every side—from the well-filled barns to the unbroken range of fences, through which a sheep could not crawl, nor even could the most "highlariously" inclined Ayrshire be tempted to try the pass.
The neat farmhouse, with its bright coat of paint, was the attraction of the district, and was just such a place as would be besieged by all the lecturers, agents, and travellers that happened to strike oil in this direction. Nor were they ever disappointed.
Mrs. Lawson was truly wife, mother and friend. None passed her door without the hospitality they craved.
"It is a wonder to me how the Lawson's stand it," was often the comments of the less hospitable neighbors, as they watched with no uncommon curiosity the daily arrival of some unexpected guest.
"The more we give the more we'll have," was the wise mother's reply as she sometimes heard complaints from the female portion of the household as regards the extra work.
It had always been the highest ambition of John Lawson that his family should grow up industrious men and women and that they should each receive all the benefits of education that lay within his power.
In his eldest son he saw much ability and also a mind logical and argumentative, and he had fully resolved that the boy should be educated and trained for the legal profession. And the farmer "plodded his weary way homeward" each day buoyed up with the thought that he was doing his duty towards his family and above all towards his God.
"But man proposes and God disposes."
Ere the young student had finished his collegiate course the fond parent was called to his long home, and within a year the heart-broken mother was re-united in that world where sorrow never comes; where she awaits a further re-union, when she shall once more gather to her bosom the loved forms whom she watches over in anxious solicitude from the portals of her blessed abode. It was from this time that the noble minded youth was aroused to a sense of his duty. He must not give up the course of action which had been laid out for him.
What was to be done?
Sickness and death had told heavily upon the pecuniary resources of the family. Much of the produce had to go to pay the wages of labourers, and only by dint of much anxiety and careful management could the farm be made to cover expenses. Something further must be done.
Julia Lawson had reached her sixteenth year, and possessing more than ordinary ability, resolved to prepare for the vocation of teaching; and within a year from the time she had formed such resolution, was actually engaged as teacher of the school in their immediate district.
This fact gave Phillip Lawson much relief of mind, as the young teacher could still have a care over the household, and give advice to the two younger children under her charge. The young student having received his degree at the N. B. University next turned his thoughts towards the law.
While spending a few weeks at home to assist in the farm-work, he received a letter from an old friend of his father. Nothing could exceed the joy of this young man as he read and re-read the kind-hearted proposal from one of St. John's most able and popular lawyers, praying that the son of his old friend engage to enter as a student in his office.
"The Lord will provide," was the earnest comment of the reader, as he folded the missive and laid it away between the leaves of his wallet.
But means were necessary as well. Phillip had, much against his inclination, to raise money by a mortgage upon the farm. He had often heard it said that a property once mortgaged was never redeemed, and the thought gave much concern. But the old maxim, "Where there's a will, there's a way," was ever rising uppermost in his mind, and he was doubly resolved to make the trial.
A few weeks later the student is at his desk, poring over the dry documents and legal lore. On his brow is determination and disregard of difficulties.
Phillip Lawson soon became a general favorite. His generous nature and frank manners won the esteem of his fellow students, and also that of the senior members of the firm.
"Lawson will make a mark some day—he has it in him," was the first remark passed upon the student as the eagle-eyed solicitor glanced at the son of his friend, whose thoughts were intent upon the copy of Blackstone before him.
Things went on prosperously at the homestead; and as the student had succeeded in increasing his means by giving evening lessons to a class of young men, he felt comforted and assured that in the end all would come out right.
But a heavy blow had suddenly fallen upon the Lawson family—typhoid fever came into the household and prostrated the noble-minded Julia upon a bed of suffering.
Uncomplainingly she had watched her pet sister through all the stages of this dread disease, until the child had been pronounced out of danger. It was then that outraged nature asserted itself and the worn-out system was not equal to the strain—she succumbed to the raging and delirious fever an object of deep and tender pity.
"God help me," cried Phillip Lawson, in despairing tones as he read the letter conveying the news in as mild a form as possible. "If Julia lives I shall never be separated from her again," were the reproachful thoughts that forced themselves upon the affectionate brother.
Need we speak of the agonizing hours spent in the dread suspense that followed.
In the midnight watches as the hours dragged slowly by, the young student was silently learning to "suffer and be strong." And it was well that these lessons took deep root in good soil, for within a few weeks Phillip Lawson knelt beside the dying bed of his beloved sister, and in heart-broken accents commending her departing spirit to the loving Saviour.
Ah, such a scene is too sacred for intrusion; but it is only by such means that we can realize the true value of our esteemed friend.
And as the last sod had been placed upon Julia Lawson's grave, and the flowers that she loved strewn over it by loving hands, we cannot move from the spot.
It is scenes like those that teach us what we are, so long as there is the least impress of the Divine in our nature will we look to those scenes as mile-stones on our journey through life.
Kneeling beside the sacred spot the grief-stricken brother was utterly unconscious of our presence. With tearless eyes he gazed upon the mound that held the remains of her he loved so fondly.
Who will not say that in that dark hour there hovered near a band of angelic beings, and foremost in that band the angel mother whose breath fanned the pale brow of the mourner and quieted the soul within?
Ah, yes; it is not heresy to think thus. Phillip Lawson surely felt such influence as he arose and in tones of quiet resignation murmured, "Father thy will be done." Then picking up a half blown rose that had fallen upon the ground, pressed it to his lips exclaiming, "fitting emblem of the pure and innocent young life cut off ere it had blossomed into womanhood."
And the hollow sounds that greeted the mourner as he wandered listlessly from room to room apparently looking for some object, some vague uncertainty, something indefinable.
What solemn stillness reigns around where death has been! The painful oppression, the muffled tread, the echoes that haunt as tidings from the spirit world, borne on invisible wings, confronting us at every step.
To the most matter-of-fact mind these things are indeed a solemn reality. Death has power to change our every-day thoughts to others ennobling, beautifying and divine! But we do not sink under the weight of affliction. God has seen otherwise for us. He heals the wounds and bids us go on amid life's cares administering to those around us with increased diligence, happy in the thought of doing what is required of us.
Throughout the inexhaustible stores of poetry and song is there anything more exquisitely touching than the lofty and inspired dirge wailed out in tremulous tones—in memoriam—and the healthful words,
"Ring out the grief that saps the mindFor those that here we see no more;Ring out the feud of rich and poor,Ring in redress to all mankind."
But to return to the Lawson homestead.
Very soon all was bustle and preparation. The young student had rented the farm and by selling off the stock had raised means to secure a home for the children in the city, and ere a few weeks had passed around we find them comfortably situated in a convenient tenement in the suburbs of St. John.
But a stouter heart than our young friend might well have groaned under the weight of difficulties that pressed upon him.
What with the management of his household, the hours of office work, and the hours devoted to his classes, and hours of anxiety and care, the young student was oftentimes depressed and wore a look beyond his years; but he never once swerved from his duty, and trudged manfully onward his eyes ever bent upon "the strait and narrow path." Lottie the pretty child, full of life and hope with her sweet winning ways imparted warmth and sunshine to the snug home; and the merry high-spirited Tom, a blue-eyed youth of fourteen, gave life and freshness to the surroundings.
It was indeed a pretty sight that greeted a visitor as he entered the plain but neatly-furnished parlor, in this quiet home. It is the hour between tea-time and that prescribed for evening work. It is the only hour of leisure during the day, and it is generally devoted to the boy and girl at his side, the latter sometimes sitting upon his knee looking into the face that in these moments wore a smile that oftentimes belied the conflicting and agitated thoughts within.
Such was the history of Phillip Lawson previous to the opening of our story. A period of six years had elapsed since he commenced life in the city and now we find him an honoured barrister, with sufficient practice to meet the expenses of the pretty residence to which he had removed some months ago and to which we referred in the previous chapter.
We now see the reason which prompted Evelyn Verne in associating the young lawyer with "hayseed'" It is only shallow sordid natures as hers can indulge in such meanness, but thank heaven the venom has only a momentary sting, a resting place in proportion to the superficial source whence it springs.
In respect to other members of the Verne family it must be said that Phillip Lawson had received much kindness and hospitality within the walls of their princely residence, and if the spoiled beauty indulged in spiteful taunts it was because she saw in the young man that ability and soundness of principle which placed her set of worldings at painful disadvantage.
Montague Arnold with his waxed moustache, Adonis-like form and studied hauteur, minus the brains, amiability and that true politeness which constitutes the real gentleman cut a sorry figure when contrasted with Phillip Lawson.
Mrs. Verne was in every sense a votaress to the world's caprice, yet she was not devoid of insight. She could see the noble traits of character in Phillip Lawson; but she must bow to the mandates of fashionable folly.
Mr. Verne, deeply absorbed in stocks and exchanges, seldom took respite in the gaieties of the drawing-room; but in his business hours he saw enough of young Lawson to convince him of his character.
A slight circumstance happened one evening which had a tenfold effect upon Marguerite Verne; but the girl kept her own counsel, and cherished the thought as a happy talisman through all the months and years that followed ere events brought about the consummation of her fondest hopes. Mr. Verne was seated in the library. Brilliant rays of light were reflected from the highly-burnished chandelier. "Madge, my girl, come read awhile," exclaimed the former, as he espied his favorite across the hall with a delicate bouquet of hot-house plants in her hand.
"I will be with you in a minute, papa, dear," was the response, in a sweet, childlike voice, as the speaker ran up the broad staircase with elfin grace and gaiety.
"So the flowers were not for me, you naughty girl. Well, well, times have changed since when, in the eyes of the august peers of our motherland, it was considered 'an atrocious crime' to be a young man."
"Oh, papa, you see I do know a little history—enough to accuse that 'young man' of being guilty of sarcasm in the highest degree."
"Well done, my Madge! Here, take the paper—read me the rest of that speech of young Lawson's. It is a clever defence, and goes to prove my words—that he is a young man of sound judgment, and every day gives proof of greater force."
It was well for Marguerite Verne that the newspaper hid the blushes that, despite her efforts at self-control, played hide-and-seek upon the soft, fair cheeks.
"I am waiting, Madge."
The sweet, silvery tones were the only response, and though the maiden knew it not, there was a tender chord of sympathy that united father and child more firmly, and bent their thoughts in the same happy direction.
As Phillip Lawson sat silently poring over a formidable looking volume, bound in heavy parchment, he was accosted by a familiar voice.
"Working as usual, Lawson?"
"Yes, sir; I generally find something to keep me out of mischief," said the barrister, smiling, in the meantime clearing the proffered seat of a pile of documents that had been cast aside as useless.
"What's the news?" demanded Hubert Tracy in his indifferent and careless style.
There was a restless, wearied look upon the face of Phillip Lawson, as he glanced towards his interrogator. "To tell you the truth Tracy I've heard nothing startling to-day. I might for your amusement give you some of my own afflictions. In the first place I have a headache that I would gladly part with."
"For heaven's sake don't wish it upon me," cried the visitor, thinking no doubt of the unsteady hand and nervous headache of the previous morning.
But this was not the kind of news that Hubert Tracy sought. He wished to draw out some well-timed allusion to the northwest and he had not the courage to do so.
He had been a frequent guest at the Verne mansion of late, but the fact did not add to his felicity. Marguerite Verne could not play the coquette. She was attentive to her callers but nothing more.
Montague Arnold, who was on the eve of declaration to the imperious Evelyn, had now gleaned much of the affairs of the family. He learned that Mr. Verne had a high regard for the rising young barrister and he knew well that there was strong sympathy between father and daughter.
"That little dame has plenty of grit to fight the battle, but if I can manage it she will have to give up, if not she is a match for the old fellow."
The above remark of Montague Arnold gave his companion some assurance yet it did not satisfy him.
"I tell you what Mont, the only chance for me is to get the fellow out of the way, then you can influence the old lady and if she puts her foot down we are all right."
Hubert Tracy was far from being in a settled state of mind. He had a continual dread of his suspected rival, while a strange fascination possessed him—a something which attracted him to the latter with a force in proportion equal to the dread.
It was this state of mind that forced his steps to the barrister's office at this time, and as he turned the burning subject over and over he felt more confused.
"It is madness to give up—it will kill me;" were the thoughts that rose half framed to his lips and then forced themselves back with renewed energy.
But of the forgoing conversation which we interrupted.
"Don't be alarmed my friend," cried Phillip "I can get rid of it sooner than you, and judging from your looks this morning one would imagine you too had been battling with some of the 'ills that human flesh is heir to.'"
Hubert Tracy winced under this remark but the fact was lost upon the other who innocently exclaimed, "Any trouble in the shipping business just now."
The young man laughed.
"Thank heaven I'm right on that score and don't even expect much trouble unless the world would get turned upside down."
"Which is an unlikelihood," said Phillip adroitly. And much as we speak of the uncertainties of this world, the latter remark might be accepted as a truism in regard to the pecuniary affairs of Hubert Tracy.
He was the heir of a rich uncle—a modern Croesus—a man who had amassed a princely fortune by his wonderful success as a manufacturer and speculator.
It was this circumstance which gave the nephew such value in the eyes of good society. Hubert Tracy was fully aware how matters stood. He knew that money was the only screen to cover up all the shortcomings and glaring deformities of our nature. He well knew that he could haunt the abode of dissipation and vice and fill up the intervals with the gaieties of the fashionable drawing-rooms. He well knew that a young man of pure morals with strong determination to rise to the highest manhood would have no chance with the heir of Peter Tracy.
And the young man was right. He was sought after and courted by fashionable mothers who saw only in this beau ideal of a son-in-law—fine houses, fine carriages and in short everything that wealth could give.
The worldly Mrs. Verne was not without her day dreams on this subject. She never let an opportunity slip when she could show Mr. Tracy that patronage which his prospects demanded.
But this woman of the world did nothing rashly. She was always acting from motive and though apparently unconcerned was keenly alive to the situation of the hour.
Such was the tenor of Phillip Lawson's thoughts as he chatted to Hubert Tracy for more than half an hour, when the latter departed less satisfied than when he entered. Then the former set to work upon some important business, and being a rapid penman, soon finished the job. Finding time for a short brown study, or more properly speaking a soliloquy.
"If I go out there and be dissatisfied it will be worse than ever, and there is Lottie, I cannot think of taking her with me. The poor child would break her heart if I left her behind, and our cosy home would be broken up—perhaps forever."
Home had always been the oasis in the dreary waste of Phillip Lawson's late eventful life. After the monotonous round of office-work he always anticipated with delight the hour and circumstances so truthfully depicted by the poet.
"Now stir the fire and close the shutters fast,Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urnThrows up a steaming column and the cupsThat cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each,So let us welcome peaceful evening in."
Therefore the thought gave much pain. "But life is made up of such struggles," murmured Phillip, "and it is our duty to be happy wherever we are—in Winnipeg as well as St. John." The last words were repeated in a tone of determination and the speaker arose hastily, took down his overcoat and shortly afterwards was to be seen walking along the north side of King street with a rapid but regular step. Having gained Charlotte street the young lawyer is greeted in an artless and unaffected manner by Marguerite.
The graceful and sylph-like form had sufficient power to cast all the high minded resolutions to the four winds of the earth. In the maiden's presence Phillip Lawson was bound body and soul, yet he would not allow himself to think so.
"I am quite fortunate in meeting you, Mr. Lawson, as I am saved the trouble of sending a note." Marguerite emphasized the word trouble in a manner altogether peculiar to herself and a manner which infected the banister with a certain degree of gaiety that was unusual to him.
And no wonder that our friend felt the influence of the maiden's smiles. Marguerite Verne was indeed a pretty picture to study. Her rich costume of seal brown, plush with ruchings of feathers, the coquettish hat to match with the jaunty ostrich plume were becoming in the extreme and gave an air of richness and refined elegance.
"Is it any harm to inquire as to your wishes Miss Marguerite?" saidPhillip, glancing inquisitively into her face.
"I don't think I shall tell you to-day."
There was a look of arch mischief accompanying the words—a spirit of banter that was truly fascinating.
Phillip had escorted his companion as far as Coburg street, where the latter was to call upon some of her friends.
"Mr. Lawson, I am not quite so dreadful as you think. Come this evening and I shall gratify your curiosity at once, and you know papa always likes to see you."
"I shall go," exclaimed the barrister to himself, as he had turned down Paddock street on his way homewards. "Her papa will receive me; why did she not say Evelyn?"
Marguerite was sensitive on the subject of Mr. Lawson's reception, and she had a modest intuition of her friend's feelings, and, as is too often the case in trying to smooth matters, only made a greater blunder.
"Why did I not let well alone," exclaimed the girl, as she stood on the broad stone steps leading to the elegant home. It was six o'clock and the first bell gave the warning that there was barely time to dress for dinner.
"He will be here without fail, for I know his word is inviolable," cried the girl, as she hastily re-arranged some lace on the sleeves of her pretty dinner dress—a combination of silk and velvet in shade of ash of roses.
"Dear me, there is the bell, and my hair not presentable."
But Marguerite was mistaken.
"Why, Madge, where have you been?"
"I have been out making calls," said she, with an air of surprise.
"Well, my dear, I advise you to go every day if you can bring back such roses."
Marguerite blushed as deeply as if the compliment came from an admirer—aye, more so; for the girl well knew that those from her fond parent were from the heart.
"There now, don't spoil them,ma belle," cried Mr. Verne, his eye resting with fond admiration upon his daughter.
Children are oftentimesde trop, and Charlie Verne proved no exception.
"Papa, I was one day with Madge, and she had two big red spots on her cheeks as big peonies."
The precocious youth was on the eve of explanation, when Mrs. Verne's—"Children should be seen and not heard" put an end to the subject.
It were well for Marguerite that her elder sister did not grace the festive board that evening. Evelyn's keen and penetrative eye would have taken in the situation at a glance. The light in the soft, deep, violet eyes would tell the tale that the maiden would strive to conceal; and the bright flush, heightened by fond anticipation, would have accomplished its deadly work.
But Marguerite was granted further respite.
She gave Phillip Lawson a quiet reception, and much to the relief of the latter, they were allowed to chat at their ease the greater part of the evening, uninterrupted by a guest.
Mr. Verne, having returned from one of those Board of Trade meetings, on hearing that Mr. Lawson was in the drawing-room, immediately made his appearance, and from his warm greeting, one might see that the young lawyer stood high in his favor, and that his prospects were indeed fair as any suitor might wish for.
As Mr. Spriggins is a gentleman of no mean pretensions and occupying a prominent place among our characters we will again introduce him as he is seated in the office of the Dominion Safety Fund.
The general agent greets Mr. Spriggins in his usual gentlemanly and unassuming manner—a fact which is not lost upon the applicant. "Well, Mr. Agent, spose you'll think it a mighty queer business to see a feller comin' here without a bein' asked, so to make a long story short, I might as well till you all about it."
With this remark the speaker pulled his chair closer to the desk and with an assumed business air began—
"You see, Mr. Agent, I'm not a married feller but have a terrible good mind to hitch on one of these days and that's the reason I'm here to-day."
"A poor place this to come to look for a wife," remarked an elderly gentleman in a gruff voice, who had just entered on business as the last words had been repeated.
A happy smile illuminated Mr. Spriggins' face as he rose to retaliate.
"Oh, indeed sir, I'm posted on such affairs. When I want a pard'ner I know mighty well where to go—none of yer peeaner players for me—give me the girl that can make butter and boil a pot of tatters without havin' em all rags and mush."
Mr. Spriggins became more and more eloquent upon the necessary qualifications of the future Mrs. Spriggins, and then once more addressed the gentleman behind the desk.
"Well, now, Mr. Agent, suppose you don't mind me a askin' a few questions on this eer bisness."
"Not at all sir, that is our pleasure Mr. ——"
"Spriggins sir. I'm Moses Spriggins of Mill Crossin', but they allus call me Mose to hum for short."
Mr. Spriggins would have added further explanatory remarks but was interrupted by the official:
"Now Mr. Spriggins, I wish to hear from you—"
"What do you say the name of this consarn is Mr. Agent?"
"The Dominion Safety Fund Life Association."
"Well now, that's a terrible long name. Hanged if that doesn't beatUncle Amaziar Wiggleses family, for their oldest gal's name isSamanthy Eunice Esmereldy Jerushy."
At this speech Mr. Spriggins burst into a fit of laughter, affording sufficient proof to the company that there was little need of the necessary medical examination to testify that the applicant was of sound health.
"Why do you call it the Dominion Fund?" queried the applicant looking intently at the title.
"Because it is the only one of its kind in the Dominion sir!"
"All right, Mr. Agent. Safety Fund—that's a queer name. Would you mind explainin' that. You musn't think hard of me sir if I want to know all about this business, for you know people have been so taken in by so many humbuggin' consarns that it makes a feller keerful."
Within a very short time Mr. Spriggins was led to see the beauty of the Safety Fund. How that the longer he was insured the more favorable his position; how persistent members of the class received the benefit, etc.
"That's just the thing I've been lookin' for," exclaimed the applicant, his face aglow with enthusiasm.
A few more preliminaries were discussed to the entire satisfaction of Mr. Moses Spriggins, and arrangements were made that he should present himself before the medical examiner on the following morning at ten o'clock.
"Nothin' could suit better, Sir, for one of our naber's girls is a'stayin' in town now, and there's enough attraction there, sir, to keep me here for to-night."
Mr. Spriggins cast a knowing glance at the official as much as to say "you understand me."
On his way up Princess street the veritable Mose might be heard soliloquizing at a wholesale rate—"Well, now, its mighty cheap, too, and a feller is gettin' sich profit; better that than raisin' tatters and lettin' the bugs eat 'em—on a thousand, too. By George, it's next to nothin'; let me see: four times $1.44—4 times 4 are 16. 6 and carry 1; 4 times 4 are 16 and 1 are 17; 4 times 1 are 4 and 1 are 5—576, that is $5.76, and $3.00—$8.76—and next year less—then lesser, and then I'll be a makin' right straight along— won't Melindy Jane be astonished." A dashing turnout for the nonce arrested Mr. Spriggins' attention, and as he gazed at the richly caprisoned steeds, and fair occupants, exultingly exclaimed, "Yes, ye think yer a mighty fine crowd, but there's not one I'd swop for Melindy Jane."
And Mr. Spriggins had not changed his opinion when, at the appointed hour, next morning, his good-natured face wreathed in smiles, made its appearance before the official, hailing all with delight, and full of conversation of the most animated style.
The entrance of the medical examiner now claimed attention, and when the said Mr. Spriggins had passed the fiery ordeal his delight knew no bounds.
"What did I tell you—sound as a bell—no kinsumption among theSprigginses."
This and corresponding remarks fell from the lips of Moses as the papers were being filled. Silence was the order for a few moments when our friend rising quickly to his feet exclaimed:
"But, hold on, here's sumthin' I've not seen afore. Is it part of the agreement?"
Mr. Spriggins then drew attention to the motto—
"non mihi sed meis vivo."
The medical gentleman very quietly allayed Mr. Spriggins' fears by convincing him that it was the motto—the principle which governed the working of the institution, and also, gave the literal meaning in our mother tongue.
"The very words I told Melindy Jane last night. Well, if it don't seem, like magic. If it don't suit my case to a tee—not for myself but others—well, there is just one mistake in it. I would say not for myself—but mine."
Mr. Spriggins directed his remarks to the follower of Aeculapius with an air of importance, and then began a vigorous onslaught on the pronunciation of the foreign words.
"And that's Latin. Well, I never had such liken' for Latin afore. If I wasn't too old would try to learn it yet—by jimminey, doesn't it say nice things though?"
The forms being filled in and payments being made Mr. Spriggins reluctantly arose to depart, but another glance at the motto and he broke forth afresh. "It's just the thing that old Parson Simes was speakin' of last Sunday—gracious me—who'd a thought there was so much religion in the insurance business. Well, sir, I feel like a different man already; and now folks, if you see any more fellers from the Crossin' you'll know who sent 'em that's a sure case. I tell you what the crossin's not the worst place to come to, and if any of yous would happen to come our way don't forget to give us a call."
Thus ended Mr. Spriggins' speech and as he made his exit through the doorway at a two-forty gait a smile was visible upon the occupants of the office. But ere business had been suspended for the day Mr. Spriggins again appeared on the scene with the following exclamation:
"I could'nt go back to the Crossin' without seeing you and tellin' what I heard. Of course I wouldn't like it to go outside as it is a kinder secret but thought it too good to keep, eh Mr. Agent."
Mr. Spriggins threw himself into an arm-chair and then in lively tones continued:
"You know them ere Verneses that live in the big house on that high bank near the Square—well that's where Melindy Jane is hired, so of course when I left here I went up there and as I was a showin' the paper to Melindy Jane and explainin' it who should walk in but one of the young ladies.—(Now between you and me and the wall I believe it was a put up job of Melindy's to show me off and have the young missis' idees of me.)"
At this point Mr. Spriggins became very confidential and lowered his voice almost to a whisper, then, no doubt bethinking himself of the importance of the subject added: "Howandever its no matter here nor there, so as I was a sayin', the young missis came right over and I had to say sumthin', so I ups and tells her where I had bin and you never seed anyone more delighted. She seemed to know all about it and told me it was the best insurance consarn in the dominion."
At this remark the agent smiled and said that he was pleased to know that young ladies were interested in the Institution.
"Well, sir," continued he, "but that was not the hull of the conversation. I was a'telling her about that ere young lawyer, the young feller that gave the advice for Josh Jones (I declare it makes me bile over while I think on it), and she listened quite attentif and took great consarn in it, and said she was sure I would get justice, as Mr. Lawson was an honest lawyer, (and between you and me, Mr. Agent, that's more'n can be said of most of 'em)."
"You are rather severe on the legal profession, sir," ventured a voice from the other side of the room.
Mr. Spriggins having confided his affairs, and seeing that business absorbed the attention of his audience, finally took leave, with the parting injunction to give him a call if they happened his way.
It did, indeed, seem a strange coincidence that while Mr. Moses Spriggins drew Miss Marguerite's Verne's attention to his legal proceedings that Phillip Lawson should be turning over certain facts in his memory in order to elucidate some important problems as regards his relation to this fair being.
Could he then have seen the respectful manner with which Marguerite greeted the son of toil, he would feel more deeply impressed with the beauty of her character, and could he have heard her modest eulogium upon himself, an emotional chord would have vibrated to the musical tones of her soft and well-modulated voice. But our young friend was not to be thus gratified. It is contrary to the laws which govern the order of the universe that an eternal fitness should adapt itself to our circumstances.
Ah, no, my young dreamer, much as we would wish it otherwise, we must sit patiently and see you suffer much mental agony in trying to discipline your mind for the trying ordeal through which you must irrevocably pass.
Nor did the sweet-faced Marguerite, as she chatted in her quiet happy way, for one moment dream that the brawny and muscular hand of Moses Spriggins should be yet held in friendly grasp, and that she would ever cherish this sturdy son of toil in grateful memory.
Standing there on that uneventful morn with the rays of sunshine playing hide and seek through her silken hair, could she have looked beyond the surrounding of the present, and cast her eye along the dim and shadowy perspective, what sorrow might have been averted; what heart-throes might have been quieted! But let us not be carried away by such thoughts. Let us not seek to penetrate beyond the airy nothings of every-day life.
Marguerite Verne went back into the presence of the other members of the family. She chatted, laughed and sang blithe as a bird carolling its earliest matin.
Marguerite's pure and transparent soul finds shelter in the daily acts of goodness emanating from her loving heart, and if she feels a momentary pang she struggles bravely and lives on. She could ill repress her feelings when the peerless Evelyn, radiant in convenient smiles and blushes, went to be congratulated on her engagement to Montague Arnold.
"You never did seem like a sister to me Madge, and you act less like one now. I did not come to tell you that I was going to die."
Evelyn's manner was anything but amiable. She could brook no opposition to her will, and she was piqued to the highest degree that Marguerite did not break forth with the wildest terms of extravagant congratulation. But it matters not. Marguerite is not a hypocrite. She pities from the bottom of her heart the woman who will wed an unprincipled man like Montague Arnold.
How her tender pitying nature went out to the first-born of the family but the girl knew well the stubborn haughty spirit and looked calmly on without reproach.
Mrs. Verne had accomplished much in her own eyes. Her daughter was to revel in the comforts and elegancies of life. And when once the grand event had taken place she would have further opportunity to turn her attention to Marguerite. "I must get rid of Evelyn first," was her comment as she bent over a piece of embroidery designed for a mantle drapery—bunches of delicate ferns and golden rod on garnet plush, and intended for the home of the future Mrs. Montague Arnold.
But there was one who took a different view of the matter. Mr. Verne looked on in grave disquietude. It may be sacrilegious but we cannot refrain from intruding upon his inmost thoughts and with heartfelt sympathy grieve for the indulgent parent who sees his fair first-born sacrificed to the world and mammon. The man of far-seeing penetration knows too well the great mistake and with painful intensity contrasts the sweet girlish wife of his youth with the fashionable woman of the world who presides supreme over his household—he sighs deeply and plunges deeper into the ponderous folios before him.
Presently a smile illuminates the grave face. A graceful form is at his side, and as the maiden holds up a pretty bouquet arranged by her own fair hands, the fond father draws her towards him and tenderly kisses the white, smooth forehead earnestly hoping that his favorite child may have a happier prospect before her—that she may be happy with one she loves.
"A guardian angel o'er his life presidingDoubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing."
A few weeks had rolled by and Helen Rushton once more entered"Sunnybank."
Marguerite receives her visitor with open arms.
"I am so glad to see you, Madge," exclaimed the quaint little maiden, as she threw aside the pretty wrap, worn carelessly around her shoulders.
"I ought to be angry with you, you naughty girl," returnedMarguerite, playfully, shaking the former by way of punishment.
"Oh, please don't say a word, like a good old dear. I did intend to write, but you just know how we spend the time running around, and I had so many demands upon me."
"Well, this time, I shall 'take the will for the deed,' but remember the second offence will be dealt with according to law."
Madge emphasized this threat with a hearty embrace and turned her eyes in the direction of the door.
"Well, if that is not too good to keep," shouted Josie Jordan, rushing in pell-mell, and seizing the pair with a lustiness peculiar only to a maiden of athletic pretensions.
"Oh, you nuisance," exclaimed Helen. "How did you know I was here?"
"If that is not ignoring our hostess I should like to know what is.Indeed, Miss Helen, I came intent on weighty business matters, butMadge's allusion to the law drove it out of my head."
Josie shrugged her shoulders and gave way to fits of laughter, then exclaimed, "But you know, Helen, why Madge should be interested in legal matters."
"Josie Jordan, I believe you are the greatest pest I ever met, just to come in when I was going to entertain Madge with my visit."
Helen Rushton had adroitly commenced an attack upon the former to conceal her friend's embarrassment. She saw that Marguerite liked not the badinage of the thoughtless Josie, and she was determined at her own expense to turn the conversation.
"Just as if I am not as much interested in hearing celestial gossip as our worthy hostess," exclaimed Josie, making one of her most stately bows and assuming a very mock-serious air.
"We can both listen, you saucy puss," said Marguerite, drawing a pair of pretty ottomans close to the sofa on which Helen sat.
"Indeed I am not going to listen—I can't wait—I am going to ask questions, and then we will hear more in the prescribed time—as the teachers say.
"As you wish," said Helen, patting the mass of golden curls that were as antagonistic to all order as the fair head they adorned.
"Did you go often to the House, Helen? Now for my questions.
"Yes, I went when there was anything worth going to hear."
"And I suppose that was not often."
"Hard on the M.P.P.'s, Josie," said Marguerite, smiling.
"Not half hard enough!" said the girl, vehemently. "They go there and sit and have a good time at the expense of the Province, and show off a little with a passage-at-arms now and then that suggests more of a gladiatorial arena than that of a body of august law-givers!"
"Oh, mercy! hear the girl!" cried Marguerite, raising her hands in tender appeal.
"I tell you it's the truth; I will ask Helen if it is not so," cried the speaker turning to the latter for answer.
"I must confess that to a certain extent Josie is not far astray. I have seen exhibitions of cross-firing not strictly in accordance with one's ideas of a gentleman. But I suppose sometimes they forget themselves."
"A gentlemen never forgets himself, Helen. Although you have high-toned notions of the Capital, and granting that you have been lionized right and left, it does not excuse you from exercising a sense of right and wrong."
Marguerite could not but admire the brave girl with such an earnest look upon her face. The laughing, romping hoyden was capable of sound sensible argument, her character was made up of opposites; and Helen Rushton, clever in many things, was almost baffled.
Marguerite soon poured oil on the troubled waters.
"You told me where you were going to stay Helen but I have forgotten," ventured the latter.
"I did not happen to find my friends in the Belgravian district, but what matters it?" returned Helen.
"Up town or down town, that is the burning question always uppermost in Fredericton," cried Josie.
"It was that part I believe they call the West End, but unlike London and other cities it is not a locality habitable by the fashionable or good form of the pretty little city. But the residence of my friends is, notwithstanding this drawback, the home of culture and refinement, nay more—it is the home of generosity, for never did I see more genuine true-heartedness than in this truly happy home."
"You doubtless have found many such people during your visit, for the hospitality of Fredericton is proverbial," exclaimed Marguerite in a soft and gentle manner.
"I did indeed," exclaimed Helen, "the people are very much conservative, but that gives them all the more favor in my eyes."
"Ah, you precious daughter of the old school," cried the vehement Josie, "it were well that you went to the Celestial ere you started for Halifax, in order that you might, to a certain extent, have re-acquired that amount of red tapeism which you must have almost forgotten amid the more liberally-inclined citizens of our fog-begirt city."
"Quite an orator, Josie," ventured Marguerite. "I will not interrupt you again, Helen, only to assist your memory by questions. Were there many young ladies in the family?"
"There was just one of the loveliest and sweetest girls in existence," cried Helen, enthusiastically.
"Be careful now, we are jealous already," said Josie, holding up her forefinger, menacingly.
"And two young gentlemen, lately enrolled as professionals."
"At which?" cried Josie, in mock gravity.
"Where's your promise now?" ventured Marguerite.
"Never mind, Madge, I can manage," replied Helen, smiling. The latter then gave an interesting description of her visit from general to particular. She had listened to the speeches from the government and opposition; admired the pretty surroundings of the Parliament buildings; glanced over several of the volumes in the neatly-kept library, and in the meantime formed opinions upon many of the representatives of our Province. Government House also received much notice.
"I've never been there yet," cried Josie, in a half-regretful tone.
"Then you have something in store worth going to Fredericton for," said Helen, "it is such a grand old place. The conservatory is charming—a spot where you can dream that you are in the land of perpetual summer and golden sunshine. Standing upon the threshold of the blue drawing-room you are almost spell-bound. Really my eyes were dazzled with the array of lovely pink and white azaleas that were arranged at respective distances. And the camelias—really, I had to hold my breath—then came the endless group of calla lilies— pure, transparent and beautiful."
"Oh, Helen, I should have been tempted to pluck a stray one and say, 'old conscience, it is public property.'"
Marguerite laughed at the amusing look depicted upon Josie's face, but Helen disconcerted went on. "But what made the scene more effective was the soft and velvety carpeting of luxuriant grass growing in the centre of the conservatory—nothing to be seen but lovely flowers, foliage and verdure."
"Suppose great care must be bestowed upon it," said Marguerite.
"Truly, I could have lingered there for days and not been wearied."
"And in the meantime live upon the effervescence of your beautiful thoughts," cried Josie, bursting out into a wild ringing laugh.
"You mentioned the blue drawing-room, Helen," said Marguerite, anxious to prolong the conversation; "is it not very pretty?"
"Pretty is indeed the term suitable for it, Madge. There is no elegance, but it is sweet and inviting, pretty draperies, pretty bric-a-brac, and pretty effect.
"Did you notice anything different from other drawing-rooms, Helen," queried Madge.
"Yes, I did," replied Helen. "The entire absence of so many silly knick-knacks oftentimes heaped up in ordinary drawing-rooms. How my eyes gloated over a few pieces of quaint and rare old china!"
Helen's keen, scrutinizing gaze had taken in the whole situation, doubtless without any apparent effort; good-breeding was the innate principle which actuated the speaker's every-day life; and it was now from a desire to speak in high terms of life in the capital, that she wished to entertain her companions. "I have heard Louise speak so many times of the kindness she received there, that I seem to know all about it," said Marguerite, her dark violet eyes aglow with earnestness.
"And yet you never went withher?" queried Helen.
"Something always happened to prevent my going then, yet I have some pleasant associations connected with Fredericton."
"Pleasant anticipations you should say," chimed in the irrepressibleJosie.
"Miss Jordan, please do not misconstrue Madge's words, you saucy girl!" retorted Helen, tapping her toes upon the stool near, by way of calling the other to order.
A brilliant description of a ball at the Government House then followed, also several parties and other indoor amusements.
"That is all very nice Helen," cried Josie, "but I want to hear about the people. There is always so much talk about the celestials, their culture, refinement and all that sort of thing, now you can give us your opinion."
"That is a delicate subject for Helen to handle," said Marguerite with a slight shade of embarrassment heightening her color and making more pathetic the soft speaking eyes.
"Indeed my peerless ones you are all good and lovely in my sight and the fair Marian is among the number."
"Is she pretty, Helen?"
"Not what the world would call pretty, but she is neat and graceful, has a pretty form and graceful carriage and carries her head like a queen."
"What of her brothers—are they blonde or brunette?"
"Neither, but tall, straight and rather inclined to be fashionable young men."