PRINCESS

Auckland Star, Volume XXIV, Issue 97, 26 April 1893, Page 6

PRINCESS

BY M.G.H. CLELLAND.

CHAPTER VI.

One bright, crisp morning about the middle of October Pocahontas stood in the back yard surrounded by a large flock of turkeys. They were handsome birds of all shades, from lightish red to deep, glossy black. The sunlight ou their plumage made flashes of iridescent color —green, purple and blue, and that royal shade which seems to combine and reflect the glory of all three. Their heads were beni picking up the corn their mistress threw from the littlo basket in h"r hand, but occasionally the great gobblers would pause in their meal and puff themselves out, and spread their tails, and throw their crimson heads back against their shining feathers, and proudly strut forward and backward, to the admiration tl oubtless of their mates.

Turkeys were the young lady's specialty, and on them alone of all the denizens of the poultry yard did she bestow her personal attention. From the thrilling moment in early spring when she scribbled the date of its arrival on the first egg until the full grown birds were handed over to Aunt Rachel to be fattened for the table, the turkeys were her particular charge, and each morning and afternoon saw her sally forth, armed with a pan full of curds, or a loaf of brown bread for her flock.

Her usual attendant on these occasions was a little colored boy named Sawney —the last of a line of Sawneys extending back to tlie dining room servant of Pocahontas' great-grandmother. The economy in nomenclature on a southern plantation in the <;iuen lime was worthy of Dandie Diriment himself. The Sawney in question was a grandson of Aunt Rachel and an utterly abominable little darky, inky black, grotesque and spoiled to a degree. He was devoted to Pocahontas and much addicted to following her about, wherever she would allow him. At feeding time he always appeared ;ts duly as the turkeys, for Pocahontas never forgot to put a biscuit or a lump of sugar in her pocket for him.

With the largest black gobbler Sawney was on terms of deadly enmity; for on more than one occasion had his precious biscuit been plucked from his unsuspicious hand and borne away in triumph by the wily bird. Half of feeding time was usually consumed by Sawney in throwing small stone;-; at his enemy, who, as he was never by any chance smitten, would raise his head from time to time and gobble his assailant to scorn. On this particular morning there had been a lull in the feud. Sawney had devoured his biscuit unmolested and had offered no gratuitous insults to his foe. Pocahontas having emptied her basket was watching her flock with interest and admiration, when Berkeley made his appearance on the porch with a letter in his hand. He seemed in a hurry and called to his sister impatiently.

"Look here, Princess," he said, as she joined him, "here's a letter from Jim to old Aunt Violet, his 'mammy.' He told me he had promised the old woman to write to her. It came with my mail this morning, and I haven't time to go over to Shirley and read it to her; I wish you would. She's too poorly to come after it herself, so put on your bonnet and step over there now, like a good girl." "Step over there, indeed!" laughed Pocahontas. "How insinuatingly you put it. Aunt Vi'let's cabin is way over at Shirley; half a mile beyond Jim Byrd's line fence."

"General Smith's line fence, you mean. I wish you'd go, Princess. There's money in the letter, and I don't want to send it by the negroes. I promised Jim we'd look after the old woman for them. The girls want lier to come to Richmond, but she won't consent to quit the old place. She nasu't any chil dren of her own, you know." Pocahontas extended her .hand for the letter. "She ought to go to Richmond aud live with Belle or Nina," she said, slipping it into her pocket. "She'd die of homesickness way out in California with Susie. I wonder whether the new people will let her stay at Shirley?" "Oh, ye 3. Jim made every arrangement when he found she wouldn't consent to move. He had an understanding with General Smith about the corner ot land her cabin stands on; reserved it, or leased it, or something. It's all right." Always kind, always considerate, thought the girl wistfully, even amid the pain and hurry of departure—the sundering of old ties—finding time to care for the comfort of his old nurse. Good, faithful Jim. "Have the new people come?" she called after her brother, as he disappeared within the honse.

"I don't know. J. rather think they have," he answered. "I noticed .smoke rising from the kitchen chimney this morning. Ask Aunt Rachel—the negroes are sure to know." Pausing a moment at the kitchen dooi" torecpiest the servants to inform her mother that she had walked over to Shirley to read a letter to old Aunt Vi'let, and would be heme in an hour or bo, Pocahontas set out on her expedition, never noticing that little Sawney, with a muttered "Me d'wine, too." was resolutely following her, The way led along a pleasant country road, as level as a table, which ran, with scarcely a bend or turning, straight from the Masons' back gate over to the ancient homo of the Byrd family at Shirley. Overhead the interlacing branches of oak and magnolia trees made a gorgeous canopy of glossy green and russet, and the sunshine filtering through the leaves embroidered the old road with an intricate pattern of .steitt and shadow,. Now and then a

holly tree or bush, bright with berries, made a lovely dasli ■ £ color, and glowed all over with su;;, .ions of Christmas and rejoicing. ,

Pocahontas, suixiered, slowly, enjoying the beauty of the morning, and thinking happy thoughts of the past, in which were mingled memories ©t' the three Byrd girls, who had been her playmates, and of Jim. It was just beside that holly that Nina Byrd, an enterprising child, had fallen over the fence into a mud puddle while in pursuit of a little striped ground squirrel, and soiled her hands and dress, and afterward shook her and Susie because they laughed at her. Nina was always passionate. And over in that meadow she had once been forced to take refuge in a tree from the hostile demonstrations of an unruly heifer, whose calf she had annoyed with overtures of friendship. She had sat among the branches, forlorn and frightened, for more than an hour, feeling that each moment was a month and that such a thing as forgetfulness was impossible to the bovine mind, when Jim, cantering home from school over in the village, had spied her out and rescued her.

Passing from retrospect to anticipation, the girl's mind wandered to the new arrivals, and idle speculations about them filled it. Naturally her thoughts were colored by .h?:- wishes, and she pleased herself with fancying them agreeable people, refiued and cultured, with whom association would be pleasant. Her fancy was untrammeled, for her facts were few and the name afforded no clew whatever. People named Smith might be anything—or nothing, regarded socially. The name was noncommittal, but it suggested possibilities, and its range was infinite. Wits, felons, clergymen, adventurers, millionaires and spendthrifts—all had answered to the unobtrusive cognomen. It was plain aud commonplace, but as baffling as a disguise.

With Talbot, Meredith or Percivalthe case is different, such nomenclature presupposes gentility. As the name "Percival" crossed the girl's mind in her whimsical musings her thoughts seized upon it find fitted it instantly to the name wliioh had preceded it, Percival--and Smith! Percival Smith! That was the name signed to the letter they had rediscovered after its sleep of years— the letter telling them of Temple. This newcomer was, or had been, an army officer—a general. Suppose it should be the same person? Nay; it must be—it was! Her mind leaped to the delightful conclusion impetuously, and before she had proceeded ten yards further Pocahontas was fully convinced of the correctness of her conclusion and busy with plans for returning the kindness they had received.

Filled with pleasure in her thought her steps quietened, as though her feet were trying to keep pace with lier bright imaginings. And so engrossed was sho with castle building, that it was only when she stopped to climb a fence separating the road from a held through which lay a short cut to Aunt Violet's cabin, that she became aware of her small attendant.

" Why, Sawney, who told you to come?" she questioned, as she sprang to the ground on the other side. The littlo fellow slowly and carefully mounted tho fence, balancing his fat body ou the to;i rail as he turfied circumspectly in order to scramble down. When tlie landing had been safely effected, he peered up at her with twinkling eyes and announced, with the air of one imparting gratifying intelligence: ''Nobody. I turn inyse'f. I dwine long-er you." "There ;ire sheep in this field; you'd better run home. They'll scare you tc death." "Ain't 'feard," was the valiant response. Pocahontas wrinkled up her brows. It was almost too far to send him back alone, and there was no one passing along the road who could escort him to the home gate even if he would go, which was unlikely. It would not do to start him home with the certainty that he would return the instant her eye was off him and stand by the fence peeping through the cracks until she should get back to him. Since he had followed her so far it would ba better to let him go all the way. "Come then," she said doubtfully, "1 suppose I must take you, although you had no business to follow me. If the sheep come after us, Sawney, remember that you're not afraid. You must not cry or hold onto my dress with your dirty little hands. Do you hear?" "Ya-rn," acquiesced Sawney, with suspicious readiness, resuming his line of march behind her.

They pursued their way uneventfully until they had reached the middle of the field, when the catastrophe which Pocahontas had anticipated occurred. A flock of sheep, peacefully grazing at a little distance, suddenly raised their heads and advanced with joyful bleating, evidently regarding the pair as ministering spirits come to gratify their saline yearning. Sawney—perjured Sawney! all unmindful of his promise, no sooner beheld their advance than he halted instantly, the muscles of his face working ominously.

"Come on, Sawney," urged the young lady encouragingly; "the sheep won't hurt you; they think we have salt for them; come ou." But Sawney had no confidence in the explanation, find plainly discredited the statement of the animal's lack of hostile intention. He refused to stir; nay, more, he dropped himself solidly to the earth with an ear splitting howl and grabbed tight hold of Pocohontas' dress with both grimy paws; the sheep meanwhile came hurrying up at a sharp trot, pushing against each other in their haste, and bleating in glad anticipation of a treat. Some of the boldest ventured near enough to sniff the girl's dress, gazing up at her expectantly with their soft, pretty eyes, a proceeding which evoked redoubled yells from Sawney. They were perfectly harmless; even the rams were peaceful, which made the child's conduct the more provoking.

In vain Pocahontas coaxed, threatened and commanded; in vain she assured him solemnly that the sheep would not hurt him, aud acrimoniously that if he did not hush instantly and get up she would leavo him alone for the sheep to eat up. Sawney would not stir. The more sho talked tho louder ho howled and the more obstinately ho clung to her dress. Then she took off her hat and waved if at the animals, who sprang aside, startled at first, but returned in closer ranks with more insistent bleating, Losing patience at last, Pocahontas stooped aud caught the boy by his shoulders and shook him soundly, She was about to nroc.ced to more violent

measures when a voice at her elbow said quietly: "Perhaps I can be of service to you." She started and glanced round quickly. A slender, dark; young man, a stranger, was standing beside her, glancing, with unconcealed amusement, from her flushed, irate countenance to the sulky, streaming visage at her feet. "Oh, thank you; yeu can indeed," accepting his proffered aid with grateful readiness. "If you will kindly drive these sheep away I'll be much indebted to you. This provoking little boy is afraid of them, or pretends to be, and I can't induce him to stir. Now, Sawney, hush that abominable noise this instant! The gentleman is going to drive all the sheep away." With perfect gravity., but his eyes full of laughter, Nesbit Thorne flourished his cane and advanced ou the flock menacingly. The animals backed slowly. "Will that do?" he called, when he had driven them about a hundred yards. "A little farther, please," she answered. "No, a great deal farther; quite to' the end of the field. He won't move yet!" Her voice quivered with suppressed mirth.

Feeling like "Little Boy Blue" recalled to a sense of duty, Thorne pursued the sheep remorselessly; the poor beasts, convinced at last that disappointment was to be their portion, trotted before him meekly, giving vent to their feelings in occasional bleats of reproach. Meanwhile, Pocahontas lifted Sawney forcibly to his feet, and led him across to the opposite fence, over which she helped him to climb, being determined that no more scenes should be inflicted on her that morning. When she had put a barrier between him and danger, she ordered him to sit down and calm his shattered nerves and recover his behavior. She remained within tlie field herself, leaning against the fence and awaiting the gentleman's return, that she might thank him.

By the time he rejoined her, Nesbit Thorne had decided that his new acquaintance was a very handsome and unusually attractive woman. The adventure amused him, and he had a mind to pursue it further. As he approached he removed his hat courteously, with a pleasant, half jocular remark about the demoralized condition of her escort, and a word indicative of his surprise at finding a country child of any color afraid of animals. "Yes; it is unusual," she assented, smiling on him with her handsome gray eyes, "I can't account for his terror, for I'm sure no animal has ever banned him. If he were older I'd accuse him of trying to earn a cheap notoriety, but he's almost too little to pretend. He's a troublesome monkey, and if I'd noticed he was following me I'd have forbidden him. I'm much indebted for your kindly service; without your assistance Sawney would have sat there screaming until they organized an expedition at home to cruise in search of lis or the sheep had retired of their own accord."

"Not as bad as that, I guess," he returned, extending his hand to aid her in mounting the fence, noticing that the one she gave him was delicate and shapely, and that the foot, of which he caught a glimpse, was pretty and well arched. He would gladly have detained her talking in the pleasant snnslune, or evenas time was no object and all ways alike --have liked to saunter on beside her, but there was no mistaking the quiet decision of her manner as she repeated her thanks and bade him good morning.

"Who the dickens was she?" he wondered idly as he leaned on the fence in his turn and watched the graceful figure disappearing in the distance. She walked well, he noticed, without any 01 the ugly tricks of gait so many women have; firm and upright, with head finely poised and every movement a curve. Her look and voice harmonized with hei carriage; she pleased his artistic sense, and he lowered his lids a little as he watched her, as one focuses a fine picture or statue.

The aesthetic side of Thome's nature was cultured to the extreme of fastidiousness; ugly, repulsive, even disagreeable things repelled him more than they do most men, He disliked intensely anything that grated, anything that was discordant. If "taste is morality,'' Thone had claims to be considered as having attained an unusual development. His taste ruled him in most things, unless, indeed, his passions were aroused or his will thwarted, in which case he could present angularities oi character in marked contrast to the smoothness of his ordinary demeanor.

Women amused him, as a rule, more than they interested him. He constantly sought among them that which, as yet, he had never found—that which he was beginning to think he never should find, originality combined with unselfishness. Even in that brief interview Pocahontas had touched a chord in his nature no woman had ever touched before; it vibrated—very faintly, but enough to arrest Thome's attention for an instant, and to cause him to bend his si.r anc" listen. In some subtle way a difference was established between her and all other women. Her ready acceptance ot his aid, her absolute hick of self consciousness, even her calmly courteous dismissal of him piqued Thome's curiosity and interest. He reflected that in all probability he would meet her soon again, and the idea pleased him. As he selected a cigar the grotesque side of the adventure touched him; he smiled, and the smile broadened into a laugh as he recalled his own part in the performance. What would Norma have said, could she have beheld him heading off sheep from a squalling little African at tlie command of an utterly strange young woman? Pocahontas related her adventure gleefully when they were all assembled at dinner, and the amusement it excited was great. Berkeley insisted teasingly that her deliverer would develop into one of the workmen from Washington employed by General Smith in the renovation of Shirley. One of the carpenters, or—as he looked gentlemanly and wore a coat, a fresco man, abroad in search of an original idea for the dining room ceiling. This idea she had obligingly furnished him, and he would bo able to make a very effective ceiling of her find Sawney, and the sheep, if he should handle them rightly. These suggestions Pocahontas scouted, mainlining gayly that the dark stranger was none other than hei "Smith," the ve.w identical John of her destiny. Later she confided to her brother her conjecture relative to tho identity of their new neighbor, and was moro delighted than surprised to le&yn from him

that her surmise had been correct. Berkeley had obtained the information from the solicitor in Wintergreen. whe had been employed in the transfer of the estate.

CHAPTER VII.

The Smith family speedily settled down into their new home, and after', the first feeling of strangeness had woniioff were forced to acknowledge that the-^re-ality of country living was not so disagreeable as they had anticipated. The neighborhood was pleasantly and thickly settled, the people kind hearted and hospitable. True, Mrs. Smith still secretly yearned for modem conveniences and the comforts of a daily market, and felt that time alone could reconcile her to the unreliability and inefficiency of colored servants, but even she had compensation. Her husband—whose time since his retirement had hung like lead upon his1 hands—was busy, active and interested, full of plans and reveling in the pure delight of buying expensive machinery for the negroes to break and tons of fertilizers for them to waste. The girls were pleased, and Norma happier and less difficult than she had been for years. And, best and most welcome of all, Warner appeared to strengthen. As for Percival, Ills satisfaction knew no bounds. His father had given him a gun and Nesbit Thorne was teaching him how to use it.

At the eleventh hour Nesbit Thorne had decided to accompany his relatives in their flitting, instead of waiting to visit them later in the season. He was incited thereto by idleness and ennui, leavened by curiosity as to the manner in which their future life would be ordered, and also by a genuine desire to be of service to them in the troublesome move. Perhaps thero was, besides, an unacknowledged feeling in his breast that with the departure of his kindred New York would become lonelier,.more wearisome than ever. They had given him a semblance of a home, and there was in the man's nature an undercurrent of yearning after love and the rounding out of true domestic life that fretted and chafed in its obstructed channel and tried here and there blindly for another outlet.

Thome's coming with them seemed to the Smiths a very natural proceeding. His aunt proposed it one day • when he had been more than usually helpful, vowing that she scarcely knew how to get along without him, and Thorne fell in with the proposal at once; it made little difference, since he was coming for the shooting anyway. If Norma had another theory in regard to his unwillingness to be separated from them, she? was careful to keep it hidden.

The country gentry, led and influenced by the Masons, extended the right hand of fellowship to the newcomers and wrapped the folds of the social blanket cordially around them. The worldly affairs of the Virginians, like their surroundings, were iv a more or less perceptible state of dilapidation, and their means frequently failed to match their hospitality. But their intentions were the best, and the Smiths (well bred people, neither arrogant nor purse proud) speedily became reconciled to informality and lack of system, and learned to overlook deficiencies or to piece them out with kindness. From the first they were thrown much into the society of the Lanarth family, for the Masons at once assumed right of property in them, being bent with simple loyalty on defraying some portion of their debt of gratitude. When their loved one was "sick and in prison" these strangers had extended to him kindness, and, now that opportunity offered, that kindness should be returned, full measure, pressed down and running over. For the general, Pocahontas conceived a positive enthusiasm, a feeling which the jolly old soldier was not slow in discovering nor backward in reciprocating; the pair were the best of friends.

Ever since the finding of thedetter the girl's mind had been filled wittrthestory of the brother whom she scarcely remembered. With tender imagination she exaggerated his youth, his courage, his hardships and glorified him into a hero. Everything • ;onnected with him appeared pitiful and sacred; his saber hung above the mantel, crossed with his father's, and site took it down one 'morning and half drew the dulled blade from the scabbard. The brass of the hilt and the trimmings of the belt and scabbard were tarnished, and even corroded in places. She got a cloth and burnished them until they shone like gold. When she replaced it the contrast with the other sword hurt her, and a rush of remorseful tenderness made her take that down also and burnish it carefully. Poor father! almost as uuknown as the young brother, she was grieved that he should have been the second thought.

She was restoring her father's sword to its place and rearranging the crimson sash, faded and streaked in its folds from wear and time, when Norma and Blanche arrived, escorted by Nesbit Thorne. Little Sawney had been sitting on the hearth rug watching her polish the arms and offering suggestions, and Pocahontas dispatched him to invite her guests into the parlor, while she ran up stairs to remove the traces of her work. The young people from Shirley often walked over iv the afternoon; the way was short and pleasant, and the brother and sister usually accompanied them part of the way home. Thorne was fond of these informal visits; his interest in Pocahontas had increased; the chord, instead of merely vibrating, was beginning to give out faint, sweet notes, like a far off dream of music, just stirring toward embodiment. He took a keen, artistic pleasure in her, she satisfied him. and at first he was almost shy of pressing the acquaintance lest she should fail somewhere. He had been disjippointed so many times, had had so m;.:.yv exquisite bubbles float before him, to break at a touch and leave only dirty soapsuds. He let himself be\ interested slowly, drawing out

tne pleasure ana getting ns run flavor. Then, when he found that it was true metal and might be worked at will without fear of baseness or alloy, he gave himself up to the pleasure of it. Then, his instinct being always to draw to himself what he desired, he strove to awaken an interest in her. He was a man of unusually brilliant attainments and he spared no pains.

He began to seek her society, and, when in it, to exert himself and appear always at his best, trying to fascinate her as she was, unconsciously, beginning to fascinate him. He would entrap her into ventilating her old fashioned ideas and prejudices; her primitive notions of life and conduct. Her straightforwardness, simplicity, absolute truthfulness struck him as quaint and delicious; even her romance and almost German sentiment were attractive to him. He felt like a scientist who discovers old truths in an absolutely new development. Early in their acquaintance he discovered her fondness for old legends and her perfect acceptance of and faith in them; and it was his delight to beguile her into relating tales of her landred and of the olden times so dear to the hearts of Virginians. Her remarks and comments often touched, always interested, him, although sometimes they well nigh convulsed^ him with amusement. To the mind of the man of the world they appeared so—ahnost obsolete. Pocahontas was generally willing enough to tell her stories, unless indeed Norma happened to be present, and then the improvvisatrice was dumb. Pocahontas was not in sympathy with Norma. Norma thought old stories great rubbish, and did not scruple to show that such was her opinion, and Pocahontas resented it. One evening in the beginning of their acquaintance the three girls had walked down to the old willows at the foot of the lawn, and Pocahontas, for the amusement of her guests, had related the little story connected with them.

"I think it was all great foolishness," Norma declared. "If she loved the man why not marry him at once like a sensible woman? The idea of making him wait three years and watch a rubbishing Kttle tree just because his brother would laave made a scene. What if he did naake a, scene? Ho would soon have submitted to the inevitable and made firiends. The lady couldn't have cared much for her lover to be willing to put up with that driveling probation." did love him," retorted Pocahontas with annoyance, "and she proved it by being willing to sacrifice a little of her happiness to spare him tiae bitterness of a quarrel with his own brother. The men were twins and tliey loved one another, until unnatural rivalry pushed family a Section into the backg:»und. If the mativ had been settled widen both were at white heat an estrangement would have ensued which wcsald have taken years to heal —if.it evw was healed. There's no passiorpso unyielding as family hate. They wf re her.:kinsmen, too, men of her own blot>; the:must think of them—outside of hl('self. \

' 'The welfare of the man she didn't love inusst be considered as well as that of the mart she did love—more,, if anything, because she gave him so much less. How could she come between twin brothers and turn their affection to hatred? She knew them both—knew that her own true lover would hold firm for all the years of his life, so that she could\ safely trust him for tlnjee. - And she knew that the lighter nature would, in all)probability, prove inconstant; and if he left her oL? his own free will there could be no ill feeling and no remorse." Norma laughed derisively. "And in this fine self sacrifice she had no thought of her lover," quoth she. "His pain was nothing. She sacrificed him too." "And why not? Surely no man would grudge a paltry three years out of his whole life's happiness to avoid so dreadful a thing as ill blood between twin brothers. If she could wait for his sake, he could wait for hers. A woman must not cheapen herself: if she is worth winning she must exact the effort." "I think it is a lovely story," Blanche interposed decidedly. "The lady behaved beautifully, just exactly as she should have done. A quarrel between brothers is awful, and between twin brothers would be awfuler still." In her eager partisanship, Blanche's language was more concise than elegant, but she wanted Pocahontas to know that she sided with her. Norma regarded her sisterwith amusement not unmixed with chagrin. These new friends were stealing away her follower. Blanche was becoming emancipated. "Any woman who trifles with her happiness because of a scruple is a fool," she repeated dogmatically. Pocahontas held back the angry retort that was burning on the tip of her tongue and let the subject drop. Norma was her guest, and, after all, what did it matter what Norma thought? But after that she refrained from repeating old stories before her, and of the two sisters Blanche became her favorite. As she entered the parlor with smiles and words of welcome, Blanche held out her hands filled with late roses and branches of green holly, bright with berries. "See," she said, "two seasons in one bouquet. The roses are for your mother. I found them on a bush in a sheltered corner, and as we came along I made Nesbit cut the holly for me. I never can resist holly. That tree by your gate is the loveliest thing I have ever seen; just like those in the store windows at home for Christmas. Only we never had such a profusion of berries, and I don't think they were as bright. Do you think the holly we get at home is as bright, Norma?"

"Oh, yes; it looked always pretty much the same. We got beautiful holly every Christmas," replied Ndrma, who did not like Virginia exalted at the expense of her native place. "But not with such masses of berries. Just look at this branch; was there ever anything more perfect? Princess, please give me something to put it in. It's far too pretty to throw away. Can I have that vase on the piano?" Pocahontas smiled assent. She could have holly by the cart load, but she liked Blanche's enthusiasm. "While the others chatted, Blanche decked the vase with her treasure; then two others which she found for herself on a table in the corner. There were still some lovely rich bits, quite small twigs, left when she had finished, and she once more clamored for something to put them in. Pocahontas, in the midst of an eager discussion with . Thorne and Norma, in which both wore' arrayed again** her.

glanced around tirelessly. There was a cup and saucer on a small stand near her, and she picked up the cup thoughtlessly and weld it out to Thorne. Just as their hands met in the transfer, both of them talking, neither noticing what they were doing, Berkeley entered suddenly and spoke, causing them to start and turn. .There was a quick exclamation from Pocahontas, a wild clutch into space from Thorne, and on the floor between them lay the fragile ch'tia ia half a dozen pieces. Pocahontas bent over them regretfully. It was the cup with the dreaming Indian maiden on it—the cup from which Jim Byrd had taken his coffee on that last evening. . There were tears in her eyes, but she kept her head beat so that no one should see them. She would rather any cup of the set should have come to grief than that one. She had brought it into the parlor several days before to show to a visitor. who wished a design for a hand screen for a fancy fair, and had neglected to replace it in the cabinet.. She reproached herself for her carelessness as-she laid the fragments on the piano, and then the superstition fhished across her mind. Could it be an omen? The idea seemed foolish and she put it aside.

"Don't feel badly about it,'' she said to Thorne; who wis humbly apologetic for his awkwardness, "it was as much my fault as your;;; we neither of us were noticing. Indeed, it's more my fault, for if I hadn't neglected to put it away the accident could not havo happened. You 1.915t not blame yourself so much." •'ln the actual living present, fin the culprit," observed Berkeley, "'since my entrance precipitated' the catastrophe. I startled you both, and behold the result! Nobody dreamed of convicting me, and this is voluntary confession, so I espect you all to respect it; the smallest unkindness wall cause me to leave the room in a torrent of tears." Every one laughed, and Pocaliontas put the fragments out of sight behind a pile of music books. She could not put the subject out of her mind so easily, although she exerted herself to an unusual degree to prevent her guests from feeling uncomfortable; the superstition rankled. As they took leave, Thorne held her hand in a warmer clasp than he had ever before ventured on, and his voice was really troubled as he said: "I can't tell you how worried I am about your beautiful cup. I never had a' gmatll accident trouble me to the same extent before. I feel as though a serious calamity had befallen. There was no tradition, no association, i hope, which made the cup of special value, beyond its beauty, and the fact of its being an heirloom." Pocahontas was too truthful for evasion. "There were associations, of course,"' she answered gently, "with that cup as well as with the rest of the china. It has been in the family so many generations, you know. Don't reproach yourself any more, please—remember 'twas as much my fault as yours. And broken things need not remain so," with an upward glance and a bright smile, "they can be mended. I shall have the cup riveted."

She would not tell him of the superstition; there was no use in making him feel worse about the accident than he felt already. She did not wish him to be uncomfortable, and had gladly assumed an equal share of blame. It was extremely silly in her to allow her mind to dwell on a foolish old tradition. How could the breakage of a bit of china, no matter how precious, presage misfortune? It was ill doing that entailed ill fortune, not blind chance or heathen fate. She would think no more of foolish old potents. Still, she wished the cup had not 'been broken—wished with all her heart that it had not been that cup.

(To be Continued on Wednesday next.)