The Daisy Pattern.

Tuapeka Times, Volume XXVLL, Issue 4275, 14 September 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Daisy Pattern.

BY ANNA SHIELDS.

« There ! It is finished, and, who knows/itmay sell 1" said Annot Strathan to her sister Madeleine, as she held up a tidy of a queer pattern. " Did you ever hear mamma tell how Bhe learned the stitch ? No, of course jm never did ; you were only a baby when Bho ' died. Poor mamma !" 1

" Rich mamma 1 She never had to come to this;" and Madeleine Strathan rose impatiently from a Bhaddy hair-cloth sofa and paced up and down upon a shabby carpet. If you had watched her as Annot did, you might have thought, with her, that it was a hard fate that shut her up in that dingy little ■hop and house to sell tape and buttons. She was only eigbteen, tail, slender, gloriously beautiful. Bhe had received the education »nd accomplishments of a rich man's daughter, and had come, as she said, to this. Suddenly, too. With one great crash her father had fallen from his high estate, and committed suicide.

Annot was nearly thirty, plain in face, with a heart of gold. Annot bad comforted Madeleine ; had taken up her heavy burden in her little hands ; had sold her mother's jewels, nnd brought out the little trimming store. Madeleine could look down upon Annot'a tiny figure, but she looked up almost with reverence to her noble, self -sacrificing ioul.

She walked up and .down the little back room of tbe shop, till Buddenly she cried : "Annot I I saw Everet to-day I I dropped my veil and hurried past him, and he did not Bee me. But he is pale, and his eyes, look mournful. He is breaking his heart for me. I cannot bear it !"

Atmot did not speak. How could she say to Marleleine that it was not best to recall her lover 1 In those bright days whan the girl's vision of happiness was to shower wealth upon the struggling young artist, be bad never spoken his love, though it^needed no words. Annot could not offer much comfort, but presently she said : •• Don't you want to hear about the stitch of my fancy work, Leina ? °

" Yes, tell me. Mamma taught you ?"

" And mamma learned from her elder Bister, Anraot. for whom I was named. When they all came to this country they were girls, Aunt Annot and mamma. They were poor enough, but grandfather made money, arid when Annot wanted to marry a mechanic theie was a terrible outcry. But she married him, and gtandfather never forgave her. Just before she was married she made tbe old tidy^pamma always bad on her arm chair, and invented tbe stitches, pattern and arrangement of color. Mamma taught me the stitch, and I thought I would make one. It is odd, you see. I'll hang it up in the shop window, where it can be seen to-morrow. And perhap3 — who knows ? — some one may fancy it for Christmas 1"

11 Christmas! Oh, Annot,Annot,don't! Last Christmas — " and Madeleine broke into sobbing.

Last Christmas 1 She had been the queen of tbe home festival, with a new dress of fleecy white lace over rose-colored silk, and dainty roses in her nut-brown curls. One of her rosea— a real one^ — Everett Wbyte had stolen from her bouquet^and hidden in his hand, thinking she did not see him. In two days it would be Christmas again.

Madeleine, after sobbing herself exhausted, took up tbe bedroom candle, and in a few minutes, in spite of poverty, loveBickness and ' sorrow, was fast asleep, while Annot's blue eyes stared long into the vacant darkness, trying to derive comfort for the sister who waa her one love in the wide world.

And the odd tidy hung orer a cord in tbe shop window.

'• You will send it home at once 1 Dear me, how high you are up, and' what a bunt I've had to find you."

Everett Whyte pushed a chair towards the panting customer, who had come to purchase his exhibition picture. She was fat and short-breathed, but her face was very pleasant to see, it expressed so plainly the pure goodness of her heart. That she was vrealty was evident in her handsome carnage, her costly dress, and Everett Whyte kuew she was the widow of the rich iron founder, Willis Holt. She recoverd her breath presently, looking all the time at the picture, " Under the Mistletoe I"

The face of the lover who was claiming his forfeit was hidden, only brown curls being visible at the back of the head, but the girl's face, shy, drooping, beautiful, held the old ladj-'s gaze as if by fascination.

" I suppose it is a splendid picture," she said, half forgetting the presence of the artist ; " but what I want is that face. It is strange I Alice died years ago, years ago ! I read it in tbe newspaper ; but that is Alice I"

The artist made no reply. He called tbe beautiful girl he had created upon the canvas by another name. But tbe memory tbat had Berred him once would serve him again, and the money he bad in his hand was sorely needed. He might gain reputation also, for Mrs. Holt was already well known in society, though she had only six months before come to the city to reside. She was very grave when she took the artist's band at her carriage door.

''Come and eat your Christmas dinner with me," she said. " There will be some people there who will be glad to meet you I"

And knowing he might now indulge in the luxury of a new Buit of clothes, Everett accepted the invitation, fully appreciating tho old lady's intention of introducing him to possible customers. *

She drove away then,on charitable thoughts intent.

Her dressmaker was ill, and she had the address of a miserable house in Totten-street. T"ttenstre<>t proved to be narrow, but r»< ipectable, and a few small itorw varied the monotony of small brick houses. !

Before one of these stores, next door to the Bick dressmaker's the carriage stopped, and Mrs. Holt looked out — looked out, gave a startled cry, and opened the door hurriedly. Then she went, not to the dressmaker's, but the window of the Btore. Some buttons, tapes, cheap dolls, penny toys were there ; but ' Mrs. Holt looked at none of them. Her eyes were fixed upon a tidy strune upon a line."

"It is the tidy I made Alice— the one that she would not say was pretty. Tbe one I invented. Alice is dead. I read it in the newspaper. But that is her portrait, and thia is her tidy."

So her troubled thoughts ran as Bhe opened the shop door and saw Annot knitting. She did not wait for diplomatic questioning. " Where did you get that tidy ?" Bhe asked. 11 1 made it." " Oh, my dear, no I I made it I Let me tee it."

But at that moment Madeleine came from tbe little back room, and the fat old lady, with one gasping cry of " Alice I" broke out in violent weeping. Tbe sisters, half guessing tbe truth, fanned her, loosened her bonnet strings, and waited for her to speak, And she soon stopped sobbing, to say: i ' " Oh, don't tell me you are not Alice*! girls 1 You are 1 You must be 1" ; " Oar mother's name was Alice," said Annot—" Alice Strathan." ) " Alice Kingsley aijirat," said Madeleine. \ •< I knew it t Oh, my dears, lam your Aunt ! You have heard of me." I " Indeed we have. I was named for you," , laid Annot. j ' " Yes^dear. I never knew any more than the newspapers told me— that Alice waa marTied— tbat Alice died. You see, my husband jwas proud, and, after he made money, he was [•till angry, because my father had opposed our marriage. But he died cix years ago. I I came here only laat summer, bat I thought jour father was living, and I hoped some time [so meet you.'* > " Our father died in March," raid HadeitJaagUPciPg at her black drew, -— i

11 Yes, dears', you will be my children now. Ob, don't refuse me— don't. I'm all aloue in the world. All my dear little children lie with their father in the graveyard, and I have no one in the world to love. Come home with me, now, to-day. To-morrow v Christmas."

. , . • • " You will hang it here." It was Christmas Day, late in tbe afternoon, and Mrs. Holt's servants had unboxed the large picture to hang it in the drawingroom before her guests bad arrived: — The sisters, wearing white, with jet ornaments, were watching the servants, but Madeleine was very pale, and the little cold hand Aanot held trembled violently. " There, my dears," Mrs. Holt paid, when the servants were gone, " that is tbe picture I told you about. I bought it because that face is— why, it is Madeleine's. My dear, if your dress was white lace over pink, white roses in your hair, you would look as if you had just stepped from the frame. H'm— yes 1" And the old lady looked from the quivering white living face to the blooming one in tbe picture. Annot thought she would choose a time to tell her aunt about Everett, but guests were coming in, and they were soon busy receiving thorn. Madeleine escaped for a few minutes to a little sitting-room, next the parlor, just to stop that foolish fluttering at the heart, and get her troubled face in company order. She was standing near the mantel-piece when her aunt came in, with a tall, bearded gentleman.

" My dear," Mra. Holt said, «• this is my friend, Mr, Whyte, who painted the picture I admire so much — no, love bo dearly— the picture that has your mother's face in it, and youra, My niece, Mr. Whyte. If you never met her, you must have dreamed about her. There, Madeleine, my dear, make Mr. Wbyte feel at home."

And away she hustled, leaving them paie and trembling like culprits. But only for a moment. Their eyes met, and I'm not going to tell you any more, excepting tbattiey reentered the drawing-room after a while, Madeleine leaning upon the artist's arm, and both appearing as if Mrs. Holt's hospitable command had been obeyed, and Madeleine had succeeded in making Mr. Whyte " feel at home."

'• But you must lire with me," the old lady pleaded, when only one guest lingered after th° " wee sma' hours," aud begged a Christmas gift. " You may have any room you like for a studio, and I'll make you both as bappyas I can. Don't take her away when I've just found her." And, tradition to the contrary notwithstanding,tbe,two families lived happily in the grand bousej" where Annot.the most charming of all "old maid aunt 3," tells a blue-eyed Alice and a sturdy Everett the Second, tbe story of that happy Christmas, and the wonderful revelations that followed her manufacture of their " mamma's " favorite tidy, in Aunt Annot's Daisy Pattern.