CUPID CROWN ELDERLY.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VI, Issue 27, 5 July 1890, Page 6

CUPID CROWN ELDERLY.

(BY

MARY KYLE DALLAS.)

OOD-LOOKING, distin- - guished, and very fond of r me—really, why not ?’ said ip Mr-Vanderpool. Of course J&KW' he ts not young.' she continned: - but. after all. I'm a " idow of forty.’ "„ She folded the note she •vs' had just received and placed it in its envelope. ‘ I think I'll say yes,’ she mused. ‘ I am lonely sometimes, and that dear little girl he speaks of may be a very pleasant companion.’ The note that had set Mrs Vanderpool into this train of thought was from the most devoted of her admirers, Mr Norseman. A widow with £29.000 safely invested is sure to have admirers, and Mis X anderpool was a handsome woman as well as a woman of means. Mr Norseman had iron-gray hair and rather an elderly look about the throat and shoulders, but he was a man of elegant manners. He spoke of his ‘ little place on the Hudson ' in a way that made people understand that it was a very fine one, and that the piefix was the outgrowth of modesty. The general opinion was that he had retired from business. He seldom spoke of the matter. He had, however, told the widow that he was still connected with certain mercantile enterprises - as a sort of sleeping partner.’ For the rest, he dressed well, walked well, made offerings of roses at their most expensive seasons, and professed himself to be madly in love with Mrs Vanderpool. The fear of being married from motives of interest had often intervened to prevent the widow from accepting the pointed attentions of men younger than herself. They did not arise in thinking of Mr Norseman, settled and solid as he was. ‘ I’ll do it the widow said to herself. ‘ A woman is so much happier with a protector, and I'm sure I should be proud of Mr Norseman : and after awhile one fades a little, and it is a great deal more comfortable to occupy a matron’s position—a widow who has no family is always a sort of elderly girl.’ Then Mrs Vanderpool sat down to her desk, and taking her most delicate pen indited on her finest paper the following epistle : Dear Mr Norseman.—l have received your note and read it very carefully. Without actually giving-you a positive answer at this moment. I will say that its contents do not displease me. I am going into the country to pay a visit to-morrow, and will remain away three days. On Thursday I shall be at home all the afternoon, and should be glad to see you. Yours sincerely. Adelaide Vanderpool. Having sent this billet-doux to the lamp-post box by a servant, Mrs Vanderpool prepared for her visit to an old aunt at , and shortly left the city behind her. This visit was, I regret to say, a sort of penance which Mrs Vanderpool imposed upon herself every spring. The aunt was one of those ancient females who, having outlived vanity and the desire to dodge Time, delight in unpleasant reminiscences and in recording the passage of years. Mrs X'anderpool knew that her age would be mentioned within the first ten minutes ; that she would be forced to remember things she desired to forget; that all those skeletons which the most respectable people desire to lock away in cupboards would be trotted out, and that she would return to the city with a large collection of ancient goods to match—silks of obsolete colours, woollens of a sort no longer woven, cottons of patterns at least twenty-five years old. She would sleep in a sort of state bedroom, where she always expected to see a ghost; she would be obliged to read aloud from ancient devotional works printed with longs's, or from such novels as ‘ Sir Charles Grandison ' and ‘ Amelia ;’ she would l?e requested to sing and accompany herselt on a little old piano of six octaves, which had not been tuned for thirty years, and to assist in the making of very coarse red flannel petticoats for the poorof thechurch. Sunday she would spend in a draughty littlechurch, where a well-meaning but inaudible old preacher would read one of his old sermons, and where much hand-shaking must be gone through in the vestibule. Moreover, there would lie at least two wearisome tealdrinkings—one at the residence of Colonel XX'hackem, whose memory had grown weak, and who always took her for her own grandmother : the other at that of Mrs Ledsky. who went to all the funerals she heard of and entertained her guests solely with accounts thereof. However, it was a superstition of Mrs Vanderpool s that it was her duty to visit Aunt Tabitha, and she always performed it once a year. On this occasion the old lady's reminiscences were more unpleasant than usual, the novels more wearisome, the sermons more inaudible, and the tea-drinking more ghastly, and it was with a sense of relief that she found her visit at an end and bid her aunt good-bye. Her trunk had been sent to the station in the morning, and as she was fond of walking she decided to follow it on foot. 1 Take the road to the right then, Adelaide,’ Aunt Tabitha hail said. ‘ It’s better paved.' Accordingly Adelaide took the road to the right and found it much longer than she expected. As she entered the station her train streamed out of it, and there was no other to New York for two long hours. The little wooden building was close and unpleasant, and after pacing it nervously for awhile Mrs Vanderpool sauntered out again, and turning down a well-shaded road, came to a little yellow house, the front of which seemed to be a store, while across the back garden fence she read in black letters the legend : ‘ Ice-cream garden.’ Within the fence stood an arbour. In the arlionr was a table flanked by two chairs. It seemed a desirable resting-place, and Mrs* Vanderpool entered and sat down. As soon as she had done so a small dog came rushing out of the house anil began to

bark as furiously as though he had been looking for his enemy all his life and has just found him, and a bony youn' woman with sharp features, who wore a dress, apron, am'l sun-bonnet, all made of the same blue cheeked gingham, stalked out of the house, kicked the dog furiously, and entered the arbour tn three long strides. ‘ Don't look at me,’ was her salutation. ‘ I haven’t had time to wash my face to-day, let alone comb my hair. What’ll you have—ice-cream r Mrs Vanderpool assented. ‘ Ginger snaps or lemon snaps is all the cake I’ve got,’ said the young woman. ‘ Well, we have to take what we can get here. Tisn’t like the city. You’re from the city ?’ Mrs Vanderpool bowed.

The young woman vanished and shortly returned with a plate ot vanilla ice-cream and some ringer snaps, a napkin and a glass of water on a tray, and having placed them before her customer seated herself in the other chair and regarded her steadily. * This is an awful place,'said she. ‘But here I live year in and year out. I mind the store and do the homework and plant the garden and see to the refreshments, while pa goes kiting around in the city. Did you ever hear such a case before f ‘I think not,'said Mrs Vanderpool, much amused. ‘A kind of prodigal father ?’ ‘ You’ve hit it,' said the young woman. ‘ And I have to kill the fatted chicken when he comes home. I tell you. He comes to collect all he can; then off again. As for me, I live principally on cold beans, and this is my best gown.' ’ Mrs Vanderpool looked sympathetic. ' ° ‘Ohpa is a case the yo'ung woman continued. ‘Ma was single and kept this store. She married pa for his beautv, and he never touched to do a thing afterward. Kited around like he does now. He broke her heart dieting, but the last thing she said to me was “ Take care of poor pa " Well, I slave and he enjoys himself. He's very stylish. Yon wouldn t believe he was kin to me in mv gingham Jefferson Norseman is the handsomest man hereabouts, and I am plain, and I know it. I take after poor ma in appearance. ’ • Jefferson Norseman.’ repeated Mrs Vanderpool to herself. But she kept her eyes fixed upon the saucer before her and governed the corners of her month as onlv a society woman can. ' J ‘ I guess you think I am untilial and cantankerous,'said Miss Norseman, after a moment’s pause. ‘ but von don't know pa. When he is at home he is just the meanest and hatefiuest—why, nobody dares come near the house to see me. I might have mar riel when I was seventeen—even if vou are plain, youth is taking—but he kicked mv beau out. You see he wanted to keep me here to keep shop while he kited about. ’ A remembrance of the passing mention of the sleeping partnership in a certain mercantile establishment here caused Mrs Vanderpool's lips to curve a little. Miss Norseman saw it. ‘ I suppose it is funny to other folks,' said she. ‘ I almost have to laugh myself : and now he is going to be married.' ‘Are you sure? asked Mis A anderpool, smiling again. ‘He says it-is settled, said Miss Norseman. ‘He got all he could rake and scrape for new clothes last week, and sold the horse. She's a widow. Well, I don't wonder. Pa with his company manners on is taking. His private wavs are different. M’hen she sees him with his false teeth out and no padding in his coat she'll be astonished. I rather think : and what names he can call a body if things don't suit him !’ ‘ Really, you ought to warn the lady,' said Mrs Vanderpool, smiling outright this time.' ‘ Catch me,' said Miss Norseman. ‘As soon as thev are settled I'm going to break up here and go and live with'’em. He can't refuse his only daughter a home, and I guess the mortgage will be foreclosed pretty soon. I'm going to have my ease and comfort after that, widow or no widow. I'm a match for pa s new wife. Ive got a determined spirit of mv own, and if she tides to triumph over me hair will tlv. Pa will uphold me, for there are lots of things he'll be afraid of her finding out, and he'll want to keep me quiet. You see, I'm in his power down here, but it will be different then' Oh, wouldn't you like to see pa's photograph ?' ‘Yes, I would,' replied the widow, finishing her cream. ‘ And what do I owe you ?' ‘One shilling,' said Miss Norseman. ‘Now, don't until I bring the album.' Mrs Vanderpool had no intention of doing so. She waited patiently for the return of her hostess with a ricketv photograph album full of the usual representations of aunts and uncles, cousins and acquaintances, and in their midst a face she well knew. There was no p ossibilitv of a mistake. Now, ain t my pa handsome ? said Miss Norseman, as she spread the book upon the table, open at this place, and showing a certain pride in the exhibition. • Handsome and stylish. Oh, dear ! if he was as good as he is prettv he'd be very nice father to have, wouldn't he ?' ‘ Yes,' said Mrs Vanderpool, a little sadly. It was a handsome face, and she had grown fond of it. ‘ Yes. I'm very glad I stopped here, Miss Norseman. Your conversation has interested me very mu< h. ’ ‘We have had a real nice little visit, haven't we ’’ said Miss Norseman. ‘ I wish I'd been more fixed up ; but I guess I'll be more dressy when I go to the city to live with pa and his second wife. ’ ‘ My dear Miss Norseman,' said the widow, ‘ never calculate too much on anything in this world. It is one of disappointments. ’ She smiled and walked away. A little further on she sighed. ‘ Goodness knows it is to me,’ she said, petulantlv. But on Thursday when Mr Norseman called in his new suit, armed with a fragrant bunch of hot-house roses, Mrs Vanderpool was simply not at home.