EDRIES LEGACY.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 29, Issue 34, 4 May 1917, Page 7

EDRIES LEGACY.

COPYRIGHT.

By Mrs, Georgia Sheldon, Author of '•‘That Dowdy of a Girl," &c. &c.

CHAPTER I. A NAMELESS WAIF. One bright morning in May, two elegantly-dressed ladies were passing through a cross street leading from Tremont to Washington, in the city of Boston, Massachusetts, when the attention of both was suddenly arrested by a shrill cry of fear and jiain behind them.

“What can be the matter, mamma?" asked the younger of the two ladi >s. as she turned to see what had caused the disturbance. "Oh !" she addul, in a tone of indignation, "see that wretched creature beating that dltle girl 1”

i And Helena Sturtevant, the beautiful society belle, darted from her mother’s side, crossing the street with a quick, springing step, and, a minute later, confronted the irate hag who was raining heavy blows upon the head and shoulders of a young, slightly-built girl, of perhaps fourteen years, and filling the air with threats and curses at the same time,

“What do you mean by such inhuman treatment ?” demanded Miss Sturtevant, grasping the woman’s wrist, whilst her eyes blazed with scorn at the cruel act, and her fair face was crimson with righteous anger. “Eh ?” ejaculated the woman, desisting from her attack upon the girl.' “I will have you arrested for cruelty to children,” continued Miss iSturtevant, in her clear, ringing tones. “You have no right to thus abuse the child.”

"Abuse, is it, ye soft-hearted meddler !” retorted the half-intoxicated creature, bridling with wrath, and facing the beautiful girl with arms! akimbo. “Ye'd better not interfere with what is none of your bizness, and I can attind to me own brats widout any interference from the likes of such as yez. The lazy, good-for-nothing hussy ! ” she continued, glaring malevolently at the girl, who had shrunk nearer her spirited champion the moment she was released 'rom her tormentor ; “she was sent on an arrant two hours ago, an’ when I follerod her up I found her lookin’ wid all her eyes inter the ihop winders, at the bonnits and posies, fer all the world as if she wur contimplating buyin’ one of the illigant things. Ye whelp, get along vid ye !”

And she lifted her brawny arm as if to repeat her former cruelty. “Stay ! ” commanded another voice at this moment. And Miss Sturtevant's companion drew near the group. The lady was a beautiful-looking woman of about forty - five years. Tall, commanding in appearance, with a face I full of intelligence and refinement, and remarkably youthful, in spite of the wealth of prematurely grey hair that surrounded it, with a large, full black eye that could flash dangerously upon occasion, or melt to deepest tenderness at the sight of human woe, and with an expression of gentle dignity and sweetness in every feature, Mrs. Daniel Campbell, wife of a millionaire —who was her second husband —was a woman to attract wherever she went.

"Stay !" she repeated, in a low, authoritative voice. "Is this little girl your child ?” and she laid her hand gently upon the shoulder of her sobbing victim. "No, no,” the little girl cried, before the woman could reply, and lifting a flushed and tear-stained, L>ut delicately-outlined face, that bore not the slightest resemblance to the mother’s coarse features, "I'm not her child, but she says I’m bound to her.”

"Bound to her !—how ?’’ inquired Mrs. Campbell, kindly, and still allowing her hand to rest reassuringly upon the girl’s shoulder. "Aunt Mary owed her money when she died, and she said I must work it out,’’ was the tearful reply. "Who was Aunt Mary ?" questioned the lady.

"Aunt Mary Hoibrook. She wasn’t really my aunt, but she took me from the Home and told me to call her so. At first we lived in some pretty rooms in Shawmut Avenue, •but when Aunt Mary lost Her money and was taken sick, we had to move, for the rent was so high. She rented two rooms in her house” —indicating by a gesture the woman who had abused her "but she grew, worse after we moved, and couldn’t earn enough to pay for them.”

I “You say that Mrs. Holbrook ! took you from a Home Be quiet,” interposed Mrs. Campbell, as the virago began to bluster again at this question. “What Home did she take you from ?”

i “A'unty Gwynns.” “Ah !” Mrs. Campbell knew all about “Aunty Gwynn’s Home,” as it was called, and often interested herself in its welfare. “Why did you not go back there after Mrs. Holbrook died ?’’ “Because she” with a frightened glance at her mistress—“wouldn’t let me. She told me she’d kill me if ever 7. went near the Home until I’d worked out what Aunt Mary owed her for rent,” “How much did Mrs. Holbrook owe her ?” "I don’t know. She said it was ever so much ; that it would take me a long time to pay it up, for I wasn’t worth my salt” "Shut up, ye imperdent hussy, and cpme along wid ye—l’ve had enough

oi y.r nonsense," cried the woman, making a, dive at the girl with her brawny arm.

But she, having at last found a friend to protect her, clung to Mrs. Campbell and lifted an appealing glance to her benevolent face. "Let her alone !” the lady commanded, in a tone that the woman dared not disobey, though she glowered savagely upon her, and muttered the most shocking curses that ever penetrated human ears. "How long is it since Mrs. Holbrook died, my dear ?" continued Mrs. Campbell. "It is almost two years."

"And you have been working for this woman during all that time ?” "Yes, marm.” "What kind of work have you done ?"

A bewildered expression crossed the young girl’s face, which was really pretty in spite of her sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, and the coat of tan, which made her look almost as dark as a mulatto, and the weary sigh which accompanied it seemed almost to say, "What have I not done?" Then she replied : "I’ve had to mind the house and the children—there are three besides me ; I’ve washed and ironed, and scrubbed floors ; sometimes, when we get hungry, I sell matches and apples, and sometimes I’ve—begged."-

This last information was given in a scarcely audible tone, with a downcast, - flushed face, and with an air of shame and humiliation pitiful to behold.

“Oh, what a liar the brat is, to be sure !’’ shrieked her mistress, in a towering passion ; but an imperative gestqre from Mrs. Campbell quelled her.

“What does she do?” the lady inquired. “She sleeps a good deal of the time,” the girl replied, in a low, frightened tone ; and Mrs. Campbell knew that it was the old story of drink, shiftlessness, and consequent poverty and suffering. “Come along wid ye—ye’ll not 'ave a sound spot on yer carcase after this, bad luck to ye and the meddling upstarts that should be in better bizness than tryin’ to make ye ruin the ka-rackter of a lone widow and three innocint darlints. Come along, I say !” and the virago rudely seized her bond-servant by the arm and tried to drag her away. “Stop, or I shall summon that policeman,” said Mrs. Campbell, as she pointed to the blue-coated individual that was stationed at the foot of the street. “I know aunty Gwynn, and I am going to take this girl to her and inquire into her history.”

" And what’s to become of me rights, I’d like to know ?” whined the woman, falling back a step or two and loosening her hold at this threat. “Who'll make up to me for all the lost rint, the food she’s ate, and the clothes she’s wore out, the ungrateful” A laugh of scornful amusement from Helena’ cut this speech short, while she glanced meaningly at the ragged clothing and bare feet of the poor child, who was still clinging trembling to her mother. “I imagine, if the truth was only known, you owe more to her for the necessities of life than she to you,” shci said, adding, as she turned away from the repulsive creature, "Come, mamjna, wa have had enough of this ; lot us go.” The baffled hag began her bluster again, but as Miss Sturtevant, remarking, “I think I’ll send up that policeman,” walked briskly down the street, she appeared to think that “discretion was the better part of valour,’’ and turning, she went in the opposite direction, cursing with every breath. "What is your name, my poor girl ?” Mrs. Campbell asked of her protegee as she took her hand and followed her daughter, while she felt a thrill of pity, almost of affection, for the ill-used waif as she met the dark, beautiful eyes lifted so gratefully to her face. “Edrie.”

"What a queer name !” remarked Helena Sturtevant, who caught it as they came up with her. " Edrie what ?"

."I don’t know,” replied the child, a quick flush dyeing her dark skin, her eyes drooping shyly. "They used to call me ‘Brown Edrie’ at the Home ; I suppose it was because I am so tanned though Aunt Mary said I might call myself Edrie Holbrook."

"I am going to —~ street at once, Helena, to see aunty Gwynn about the child," remarked Mrs. Campbell. "You go on to Hevey’s and look at those wraps, if you like, or you can come with me, and we will shop later."

“I think I will go with you, I am greatly interested in the child,” replied the young lady; and Mrs. Campbell, hailing a ’passing carriage the trio drove directly to aunty Gwynn’s Home for orphan children. Mrs. Gwynn recognised Edrie at once, in spite of her forlorn and untidy appearance, and was both indignant and shocked upon learning ht?r sad fate during the last two years.

When she had given her to Mrs. Holbrook, the woman was in comfortable circumstances, and had wanted the girl to act as both assistant and companion, as she was alone in the world, and in delicate health. She knew that Edrie would be kindly treated, and had given her no further thought, for she had so many other cares ; and not having learned of the woman’s misfortunes and subsequent death, she supposed that the child was still with her and in the enjoyment of a comfortable home.

“You should have come directly back to me, dear, after Mrs. Holbrook died,” she said to Edrie, after

listening to her sad story. "I didn’t dare to," she sobbed, overcome by the kindness she now mot with from every one. "Mrs. Mullonoy said she’d put me jn prison if I didn’t stay and work out what aunt Mary owed her, and so I thought I must."

"She could not have done that,” replied Mrs. Gwynn, smoothing the girl’s tangled hair, and looking sorrowfully into her wasted face ; "she would not have dared to harm you in any way, and I am very sure she only made up the story to frighten you into complying with her wishes, my child."

"What do you know of the girl’s parentage ?” Mrs. Campbell inquired of the matron.

"Nothing. Some ladies who were visiting in a poor -locality found her one day crying over the dead body of her mother and trying to awake her, supposing her to be asleep. She was only about throe or four yeais old,, and they told me it was a most pitiable sight. The woman had died very suddenly of heart disease. No one seemed to know who she was—not even her name, for she had only a few days before moved into the neighbourhood. She was buried by the parish undertaker, and the little one was given into my care, while the only name that she could give us was Edric."

“Was there nothing among the woman’s effects to tell who she was ?” Mrs. Campbell inquired. “No ; she was evidently very poor, and the few articles of ftirniture which she did' possess were sold at auction to defray, as far as they would, the expenses of her burial. Edrie remained here until she was eight years old, when Mrs. Holbrook took her. She was naturally a sweet child, and gave us very little trouble, though she would never bear being imposed upon, nor suffer any of the elder children to abuse thosyounger than themselves, and they were, most of them, very fond of her and she of them, with one exception. My dear, do you remember Tommy Page ?” aunty Gwynn asked, turning with a smile to Edrie. An instantaneous change took place in the girl at this ques'ion. Her slender form straightened, her face flushed crimson, her eyes flashed indignant fire, and her delicate nostrils dilated, her lips curled and trembled with scorn.

“I shall never forget him as long as I live,” she cried, a ring of passion in her voice. “He was a mean coward,sticking pins into everybody and pinching the little girls arms black and blue, and then laughing to hear them scream. I hated him !” "Well, well, dear, I didn’t mean to stir you up like this,” said the matron, soothingly, but with a slight smile of amusement. “ I see your spirit isn’t quite crushed, if you have been abused during the last two years ; and you always were the bravo little champion of the oppressed. Tom had his failings, and he was moan in many ways, for he was a good deal older than those ho tormented ; but he has been taken away by a gentleman, who, I hope, will train him to, better ways.”

Mrs. Campbell now drew her daughter aside-and conferred with her a few minutes ; then she wont back to Mrs. Gwynn.

“Will you let me have the girl ?” she asked. “We are in need of a waiting-maid, and, though she is rather young, I think we can make her answer our purpose. Ido not need to tell you, Mrs. Gwynn, that if she proves efficient she will find a good home and be well cared for.” “No, indeed, Mrs. Campbell ; I know your kind heart, and the child Is.fortunate in having enlisted your sympathies,” responded the matron, heartily. Then, turning to Edrie, she asked, “Will you go to live with Mrs. Campbell, to wait upon her and that young lady ?” with a glance at Helena.

"Oh ! may I?” the young girl cried, with an eager, delighted look into Mrs. Campbell’s handsome face. "Yes, if you like,” the lady said, with a kind smile.

For answer the child bent* forward and passionately kissed the daintlygloved hand that rested upon the back of a chair, while hot tears started to her eyes, and her lips trembled with grateful emotion. "I will be very good ! I will do everything I can to please you," she said, earnestly. Thus it was decided, and half an hour later, after a thorough bath, and dressed in clean and whole but plain garments, her tangled hair neatly braided and brushed back from her well-shaped brow, Edrie seemed like a different person, and but for her dark, weather-brown skin and emaciation, would have been very attractive. Mrs. Campbell and her daughter postponed their shopping ’excursion for that day, and returned with the girl directly to their elegant home, which wan located in one of the charming suburban towns a few miles out of Boston.

CHAPTER 11. WHY SADIE STURTEVANT BECAME MRS. CAMPBELL. “You shall never be called ‘Brown Edrie’ again,” Mrs. Campbell kindly remarked to the young girl, as she led her into the small but pretty room which she was henceforth to occupy in her new home at Hollyhurst, so called from the numerous fine specimens of holly, of which the owner, Daniel Campbell, Esq., was very fond, and took great pains to cultivate.

"But you must have some name that will sound more civilised,” the lady continued ; “and since wo have •no means of ascertaining the one that rightly belongs to you, suppose we transpose Brown Edrie and call

you name Brown. Will that suit you ?"

The girl flushed, for she was very sensitive about her nameless condition, but she smiled and nodded a cheerful assent—she would have answered to anything which her kind benefactress had proposed, and Edrie Brown she became from that time.

The girl Lan never been inside so luxurious a mansion before ; she had never set foot upon such soft, mosslike carpets, or seen such beautiful paintings, such furniture or bric-a-brac. To her it was like some dream of enchantment, and she at first moved about, with a careful tread and bated breath, scarcely daring, to touch anything to assure herself of of its reality lest the illusion should vanish and she should awake to find herself in the gloomy basement kitchen in Mrs. Mulloney’s house, with the odour of fried sausages and the steam of boiling suds pervading the atmosphere and nauseating her with every breath. And yet, even here, amid all this luxury and beauty, she soon learned that life was not all smooth sailing; that there was a disturbing element, a discordant note, in the domestic harmony—in fact, a skeleton in the house, which haunted the elegant rooms, the perfect grounds, and cast its shadow upon the lives of those who inhabited the beautiful place.

Twelve years previous Mrs. Campbell had been left a poor, but beautiful widow, with two young children to support—Helena Slurtevant, a bright, pretty girl of eight years, and a promising boy, Harold, who was all fire and energy, and two years younger.

Her husband had died very suddenly, and having been a man of luxurious tastes, he had lived up to, if not beyond his income,- and thus, when he was cut down in the very flower of his manhood, his family were left utterly destitute, and his wife, a highly-cultured lady, was forced to become a teacher in the public schools of fhc great western metropolis, where she had hitherto reigned a queen in society, in order to provide bread for herself and little ones.

Not long afterwards, at the house of a friend, she met Mr. Campbell, a Colorado speculator, who was reported to be immensely wealthy. He was a quiet, reticent man, rather good-looking, though there was an expression of care on his brow, and a peculiar gleam in his restless eyes which at times struck one unpleasantly, while he was totally lacking in the refinement and culture which distinguished the proud and beautiful, but poverty-stricken Mrs. Sturtevant.

She met him coldly, rcpellingly, divining at once the innate coarseness of his nature, and never giving a thought to his wealth, which was the magic key that alone had admitted him to the charmed circles which she and her friends frequented.

He, on the other hand, fell in love with her at once, this unpolished, illiterate "old bachelor" —for he called himself such—who had spent the best of his life among Western speculators, and had thus succeeded in accumulating a vast and almost inexhaustible store of filthy lucre ; at least, such was the report circulated about him.

After three weeks spent hovering about her, sending her huge bouquets of choice but ill-arranged hothouse flowers which were only remarkable for the money they had cost—and proffering attentions from which she instinctively recoiled,' Mr. Daniel Campbell proposed for her hand.

Her friends were delighted. They all cried, with one accord, ‘‘How fortunate !. What a brilliant prospect for Sadie ! No more toil or care, no more worry for herself or her children ; she can now educate them to her heart’s content, and gratify her own exquisite tastes and their every wish." But Sadie Sturtevant most sadly disappointed these well-wishers. She refused the great Mr Campbell, firmly and decidedly. ‘‘She did not love him,” she said ; ‘‘they were not congenial, and she would not give her hand where she could not give her heart ; besides, she wished her children to be under only refining influences, and Mr. Campbell, although !he might be an honourable man, and well enough in his way, was certainly not a gentleman, according to the common acceptation of the term.

Harold Sturtevant, the high-born, the cultured young law student, with his mellow, low-toned voice, his perfect manners, his exquisite taste, his love for art and literature, who was never guilty of a grammatical error, nor a coarse or ill-bred act, had been her beau ideal, her pattern parexcellence by which to judge all others ; and this, added to an idolatrous affection for him, made her recoil from the thought of ever becoming any other man’s wife. How, then, could she even momentarily entertain the idea of. marrying this coarse Westerner, whose chief, whose only recommendation in her eyes was his weighty purse ? No ; she preferred to teach, even though her slender income was barely sufficient for her own and her children’s necessities ; she would do the best that she could while health and strength lasted, and trust the rest to Heaven.

But this decision raised a small tempest about her. Her friends accused her of flying in the face of Providence ; of selfishness, and a culpable indifference in‘the interests of her children.

As Mr. Campbell’s wife she would be released from the wearisome duties which now occupied so much of her time, and enabled to devote herself exclusively to her children, who

were just at an age when they needed most a mother's guidance and watchful care. What if they should bo taken ill ? Who would care for them and bear the expense of their sickness ? If she gave up her school her income would cease, and she would be helpless and dependent. These and a hundred similar arguments were ceaselessly rung in her ears.

A sudden illness did prostrate Mrs. Sturtevant herself just about this time, and added emphasis to the arguments of her friends. In her weakened and consequently nervous state a thousand fears haunted her. What if she should become a helpless invalid ? What if she should die ? What, then, would become of those dear ones in whom her fondest hopes were centred ?

Daniel Campbell made the most of this, to him. fortunate emergency. He was more than kind, devoting himself to Miss Helena’s and Master Harold’s amusement to keep them from annoying their mother. He won their hearts by his lavish expenditure of money for their entertainment, and they thought him the best and most generous man living. He took them driving daily ; visited with them different resorts, and all manner of sights, not omitting meanwhile to supply their ailing mamma with all the luxuries and delicacies of (he season, and performing other Innumerable of kindness, both big and little, arid very acceptable and practical, if not always in th# best taste.

All these things did not fail to have their influence ; and when, before the suffering woman had fully recovered her strength , the ardent wooer renewed his suit, the mother yielded for the sake of her children, and, in the face of her own repugnance, became the wife of the millionaire. (To he Continued.)