JO AND JOSEPHINE.

Press, Volume LVII, Issue 10738, 18 August 1900, Page 2

JO AND JOSEPHINE.

By Al?eso Schoo-. She W—* aibout fou-tean yiaars of age when Atttbony Deane acceprfced! the Squire's . invitation for a __c__i's shooting at Brooks' Grove—.a tall, gawky _choo-girl, with a sunburnt, freckled face, and a tousled mane oi rtddish, brown hair. "This is my niece, Jo, or raither Josephine —we call her Jo for short," said the old gentkman at their first introduction. "She's a regular mad-cap; there's no breaking her in. You mustn't let her woiry you, Deane, during your stay here." And A_t4wny dud his best to protect himself, although 'his efforts were of sma 11 avail. Mis. Jo,_s she was appropriately called, hung on to him to such an extent that there was no getting rid cf her. She followed him everywhere, fishing, riding, walking, shooting, and w__ted upon, hhn like a little slave, yet was f<_n_liar enough to call him by his Christian name. It was Tony here. Tony there, anid Tony all over the place. At. first the young mam was amused. The young puss had such a fine contempt for everything that was _c_inine. She could dim_ trees like a monOeey, shoot and ride abetter than he eouH himself, and was as , precocious as only a child brought up among eMenlyiolk could be. As to her personal appearance, site was as uratidy a little bundle any child froml the village school. She ran her boots off her feet, her skirts were invariably torn and muddy, and she always ■wore a faded Tain-o'S—anter, and a loose cajpe, which she ttsed to fling back over her —*—__e_- whenever an opportunity for activity occurred. But, after a time, Anthony began to make friends with the gentry .around, and the child's companion-hip became irksome to h_t. "Look here, Jo," he said to her one day, after he had dresssd himself with more than usual care. "I can't have you with mc this afternoon. I can't really. rt "Why not?" s_d Jo, quite undisturbed. ' _eco_»—-well, because I've got a special appoint-}ment with a friend of n_—e." 'Tt's tha* horrid Miss Freeman." said Jo, -uspiciouslv. "Sally, stuck-up old thing. She's moich oldrer than she says she is, Uncle says so, Uncle says she's" thirty-five if she's a day." "Hush, Jo, you mustn't ta_£ like that of a lady," broke jn Anthony, hastily. "I shall," said Jo. "And it's true. Uncle says -he's give her ears to be married and——" But by this time Anthony had got some distance down the drive, and ■was well on his way to the red-foricked house in the lane, where the charming young lady, so much maligned by _>_i_- Jo, dwelt. M_ss Freeman was not in the house, said the maid. She was in the garden, would Mr Deane see if he could find her there, and Mr Deane needed no second invitation. He found her in the suiinner _ouse, attired in a simple, white frcck, artlessly entwining her hat with some pint-tinted blossoms she had been plucking from the flowering beds. Mias Fi eem_t n was so naturally surprised, and took such pains to tell ham so, that some time elapsed be-fore they settled down:. Then they got on splendidly togetiher. Miss Freeman told him all about her brief, unhagpy oast, and Anthony confided in her ail his as_*irations for *fehe fuifcure, a* least not quite all, far he was just in the middle of an elaborate proposal when a —lower cf gravel came whizzing through the doorway, accompanied by a burst of meiry laughter which completely drowa_-d has eloquence, 'That's Jo, I know,' f he burst out I angrily, juit aa tfaaft very young lady*.

flushed and _»re_t_l__, burst in. J "Ah! Ah! What did I tell you," 4b a cried, dancing about. '1 knaw I should find You herei" "How dare you come her.?" shouted Anthony. "Go home at once." "Sha'n't;" said Jo, defian_y, taking a seat and glaring fiercely at the other lady. "How .can you take any ivvtice of such a vulgar little c-roature," said Miss Freeman, aggravated by the intrusion. "If I were the Squire I would send lieo * off home at once. She's a regular disgrace to t_e village." "Am I?" re-tunned Jo, showing her whit, ■teeth. "And what oibou-t you? My uncle save. " •• _ut Anthony, in some r>JUiced his hand quickly over her month, _ a hasty farewell to his _o_i.gr—»t lady-love dragged her struggling off. " ' "What do you mean by tth_s disgraceful behaviour, Jo?" said lie sternly, as soon, as they were out of ear-sbc.. "I kuto her! I hate her!' was all J 0 would say as she clenched liar fists. 'TU tell your uncle about you as soon as we get home," went on the niomtor angrily. At tfliis Miss Jo appeared to remember somethitijg. "Tony," she said penitently, "I qnit_ forgot, I came to teU you that a telegram came for you." "For met" "Yes, and Tony, it said you were to go iiorm. .to-night, and pei-hasp- I shall never never sse you any more. Oh! Tony, you do love mc, don't youf • "Love you? You're an aggravating little toad." At this Miss Jo stopped short in the lane, and burst into a. flood of noisy tears. It wm such an unusual circir-msta*_e that ev_ Anthony was surprised out- of hhnsetf. "There! There! Jo!" he sa,id, putting an arm round her kindly. "Of coarse, I \&f_ you. There, be a good little girl." "You dc—honestY" said Jo. looking up through her tears. "Better than, that horrid Miss Freema,n? Say you do." They were now" up to the Hall and Anthony was afraid tihe Sqaiar. would come out and enquire imt© tlie cause of the dis-tusA-anice. "Yes! Yes l heaps better," he said <fes. perately. "And you'll come back and marry mc one day?" "Rather!" Hare Jo wiped her tears on his coal-sleeve, and throwing a pair of muscular young wm. round his neck, nearly throttled him with the vehemence of her affection. Aud thsib was the k_t A-trt-isony „a,w of Jo. "Oh, Mt Deaa-e, allow mc to introduce you to M—s " The name was inaudible, «_*_ the hostesa tripped off leavdnig Anthony starkig awkrwa: dly at the nrabty girl by i_. side. Wh<-*e had he se__ tftoait face -.So**-, surely it was feaniliar ba him—_hs deep. hazel eyes, rich complerion, and ruddy copper -i_ted hair. Yet it was i_opos__-l» he had _-v_r seen omj*one half so lovely before. "Excuse mc, boat I. dSd not quite catch your ffi_e," he said, be_*-ing drawn. The girl looked up bi-ighiV. "My name is Gre-aves, sh© said. "And yours?" "Dean©. Anbhony Deane," said the young man, evidenitly that her name g_ye no clue to her id_t_rty. "Do you know, Mists Greaves, I am almost sure I have m£it you someiwhere before.'' "Really, how *—*.res-ting," said t_e girl. "Perhaps you may re_a_*_bar iby _nd-bye." "I m ink: perhaps I may, ii I see a great deal of you," -returned Anit_ony, shyly, as he put __ uaane to eeve_ia_ dances. And if he d-dn't, it. was through m. fault of his own. The pretty girl with the hazel eyes fascinated h_a to such aa extent, that be had no eyes or ears for anyone else. He called on her -at her home, where she liv«d w-Lth a maid*—, aunt in a pretty West Skid flat. He sen* her theaire troke—, flowers, and books, and cont—v-ed ..f.o turn up at every gait—©ring whare he Jcvsw she wo_d be. And she—well, she a.p|>, Wl to c_-OU_-age his adVances, for shAY "^£s3*4 him to follow her about- and wia'Ai. and never once complaintd v— her with Ms attentionss. Sh_XQ Sexes. <M so encom-arging, that oi _s and Anthony _et'-rmi_ed to seal ___WNlls—ag> They were sitting togeSi, , '; _ the dra-wiag room of -t_a pretty flat, "Auntie had fit-lien asketp in her chair, ■ and the opp_*u~ty seemed to be an excellent one. Anthony ' jumped at.-at, and made a pa , _k>nate, though manly, offer of his hand and heart. He to?d her th—t he worshipped' her, that he hod never looked at any orther worn■_! before, and that whether siie accepted ban or not he -hould love her aa long as he lived, and a. lot more in the _a_te staain. Miss Greaves listened very attentively, and when be had finished she raised a pair of mischievous eyes to liis. "You say you have never talked like this to any other girl?" "Never," said Anthony. "You do it so well for an amateur," she mused. "You are quite sure?" "Quite." Miss Greaves rose quickly, and with heightened colour, * "Wait here just a few minutes," she said. "I won't keep you long." And to Anthony's surprise she ran-by-him out of the door. Restless and im-pat-xeat, he walked up and down tho room, when his eye was attracted by a pboiogJ—ph, on the mantelshelf. It was the li_j_ne_- of & child —a little girl—and he was just aboinVto lift tt from its place for a -near view, when he heard a light laugh behind him. Turning, he;beheld a figure that took him five years into the past, an untidy little figure enveloped in a loose flopping cape and with a bush of bright hair upon which a faded, red Tarn-o'-Sbanter perched, is*—eily. "Jo," he cried in amaae«_—t, and dropping the photograph he stepped hastily back. "Josephine now," said the girl, curt-eying elaborately. "Or rather Miss Greaves to you. Now, aren't you ashamed of yoiKsel t ?" " It can never be," cried tlie young man, regarding her in bewilderment. "And yet I always knew your face was i anvili„r. Jo, my dear, dear little Jo." "Oh, that'B all very well," demurred M_a Greaves, stepping back "What about that scene in the summer house> five years ag*o>?" "I have tlianked you every day of my life for preventing a tragedy," said At-rtbony. "And what about your promise? Didn'fe you say you were coming back to marry mc?" "Well, here I am." "Oh, that won't do," said Miss Greaves. "I might have accepted you as Jo, but as Josephine—well, I positively decline." And that was how Anthony made another declaration on the spot, to the am_——eat of Auntie, who just woke up in time to'-see an effective tableau. _——-_— m Ulllllll-IIWWIrIV_W