Democratic Sentinel, Volume 4, Number 4, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 March 1880 — THE FORTUNE TELLER. [ARTICLE]

THE FORTUNE TELLER.

BY MRS. J. V. H. KOONS.

CHAPTER 1. Harry Wentworth was a pet; ho was not as yet irredeemably lost, but was trembling on the verge of»destruction. He did not drink, swear, nor indulge in any of the major sius that besot moneyed men, but he was a spoiled youth, stepping into manhood. A change must bo wrought in his manner of living or his would be a miserable life. No one saw this plainer than did the keen-sighted little Addie Merton. Hut what could she do? He was four years her senior; her father was his tenant; lie was her lover—at least that was what tlio neighbors said, but then a half dozen other girls had as much of a claim upon him us she had, so far as one could judge from appearances. Hut she believed in him. Hhe was now 17 years old, and for two years they had been much together. Her father was a cultivated man but a farmer—what people witli money call a pbor mau; yet he had a handsome, sensible, educated woman for a wife, foftr children, of whom Addie was the eldest, a well-se-lected library, a good piano and enough of furniture to make the family comfortable and their guests feel at case. Indeed, Harry Wentworth had often told his mother that the Merton household was the happiest and best regulated one he had ever visited, and he could not see why people should rust their lives out trying to hoard wealth, wlicu people could be as happy in poverty as they are. Mrs. Wenrworth was a rich widow, anil Harry was her only chi d, aud she saw with grief the slippciy ground upon which ho stood, and secretly wished that he would briug home as his wife their tenant’s daughter; the thought of it pitpted her pride at first, but her good sense came to the rescue. Sho felt the Mertous’ nobility of soul, and knew it would be her son’s earthly salvation to become the possessor of such a treasure as that into which she felt sure Addie Merton would soon be developed. Hut she was a sensible mother and knew that love was a delicate subject for a third party to touch, no matter how close tiie relation, or how deep the interest felt; so she only said : “ Harry, my dear, I hope you will not trifle till you deserve the title of ‘male flirt.’ ” “ Trifle, mother? Who says I trifle?” “ I have heard no one accuse you of it, my sou, but what name must I give to your conduct wlicu you divide your attention equally among six or seven young ladies who are all in tlio marriage market, and each, perhaps, thinking that at no distant day she will become the happy Mrs.' Harry Wentworth ?” “What right have they to think anything?” said Harry, evidently a little aroused; “I have as yet never asked that favor of any of them.” “Hut that dodge will not ease your conscience when you feel that they expect it. Whitt right have you to their time? What right have you to rob other young men of what you do not want, simply because you have tlio time and power to do it? These are questions I would have you earnestly consider.” “I hope, mother, you are not trying to bring me to the poiut and to find out at once who is to be your future daugh-ter-in-law?”

“Not at all, Harry. I only wish you to find it out before you weary of the search, before your power of diacrimin ation so weakens that you will not know tlio real from the counterfeit,” said liis mother, with warmth und emphasis. “I mean to find it out to-morrow,” said Harry, glad of a chance to turn the matter into jest, “for I am going to the gypsy camp about two miles from here, and when I have learned all about it I will report to you promptly,” and lie laughingly bowed himself out into the fresh air, where ho vainly expected to fling to the winds the few earnest thoughts his mother's words had forced him a moment to entertain. Ho sauntered away through the spacious lawn that stretched its beautiful length before the old Wentworth homestead and cast himself at last into an old rustic seat where he and liis mother had often eat and read together, and where lie had heard her kind advice time and again, aud had never questioned her right to give it. But now what was the matter with him? His mother’3 words had stung him—but how? She had certainly said nothing unkind to him, and only meant his good in all that she had said. But he wished she had not said anything, or that he now could forget her words. Had lie stolen any woman’s time or robbed any man of his own ? was he a social thief? His mother had certainly couched that accusation in the form of somo very pointed questions, and he had never known her to falsely accuse any one. He rested very uneasily in that scat now. But wo leave him as he reclined there that July afternoon with liis broad-brimmed hat drawn over his handsome face, dreaming and trying to drive from his memory the fair young faces that now forced themselves in fancy before him, in vivid outlines touched with a new meaning. There was but one face among them that was really beautiful to him, and that was the intelligent face of his tenant’s daughter. But what of that now ? Had he not smiled alike on all of them? and would she trust him now, if lie should declare in favor of the oue lie really loved ? Aadie Merton had two confidants—two to whom she turned In every emer-

gency—one was her father, the other her mother, and she had always found them equal to every occasion. But now would they fail her in this little adventure she was about to make for the reformation of the man she loved? It was now almost two months since they had received the news of her uncle’s death; he was her mother’s only brother, and a very eccentric man, and for years had been a widower without children, and had willed his entire estate, except $3,000 to his sister.to Addie Merton, the namesake of his early-lost but idolized wife. “ This,” said Addie to her father, “Harry Wentworth must not know,” and so it had been kept a family secret. She believed that Harry’loved her, but she must be sure it was for herself alone. Sho knew that the next day Harry Wentworth was to visit the gypsy camp to have his fortune told; ho had mentioned the fact to her, and she seized upon this bit of information, determined to give him a lesson, if possible, that would arouse him to nobler manhood and awaken his conscience in the spots where it lay asleep. She was resolved that he should be called a coxcomb, a name that she knew he despised and did not dream that he deserved. Love making was as natural to him as singing to a canary, or as honeystealing to the bee—he did not study it —was unfettered by any rules; his sentences were spontaneous and his eyes could speak volumes. “ I havo it all arranged,'father, ’6aid Addie, ‘ and I want you to carry me out to the camp in the morning, and then take care of yourself somewhere in watching distance until Harry shal have heard his fortune and gone home; then you may call for me.” It was a beautiful morning, and the forest was full of music, and Harry Wentworth drove gayly along, wondering what the initials of his wife’s name would bo according to the dusky diviners—what color her eyes and hair would .be —if they | would have her short or tall. He secretly wished they would describe Addie Merton, but then, thought he, they always make the imaginary wife an heiress, and that Addie is not. No, Addie is only my tenant’s daughter—“ho! ho! who says she is only my tenant’s daughter?” He said this aloud, and was so ashamed of his absent-mindedness that lie stopped hi 3 horse and looked around to see if any one was in nearing distance. And as he rode on again he said to himself, “She is my tenant’s daughter, but not only that, she is Harry Wentworth’s sweetheart, aud ho means one day to make the world and his mother aware of it. Hey, boy, where is that queen of the woods tiiat sees back ward and forward and all of a fellow’s life at a glance,” said Harry, as he alighted from his carriage and began to at range his horse in comfortablo quarters under a shade tree. “Follow me,” said the boy; “there are more ’un one here as can do that, but if it’s her that knows most about you you’re after seeiu’ that woman’ll show you to her,” said he, turning aud pointing to a horrible-looking bundle of black skin and rags that sat on a log under an old beech tree, who did not seem to notice him until he had advanced quite close to her and asked: “ Are you the fortune teller?” Sho aroso aud looked sharply at him for a moment, and then her keen, dark glance faded into a vacant stare; she then led him into a little tent, dingy and quaint looking, where sat a veiled figure at which the old woman pointed and said; “ There’s the one, she’ll tell you all you want to kuow, and more too.”

Harry felt the buoyancy of his spirit depart and his nerve almost give way; he half wished that a gypsy man instead of a woman would tell his fort une, but all he had to do now was to pay (he sum demanded, hear his fortune and be gone with his knowledge. “I see much that is interesting in your life,” said the gypsy, taking his hand iu hers and gazing through her veil into his soft palm. “ You have had a great deal of pleasure in your time—much of it the rosult of un inactive mind.” Here he thought of having defrauded young men, as his mother had told him, because he had had the time aud power to do it. “ But I see,” continued the gypsy, “a change is to come upon your life —a great chango. ‘ What is your wife’s name to be?’ Do not wax impatient now. Suppose you should marry all the girls you court—it would take all the alphabet to supply even the initials [bother the jade, thought Harry, a little too much confused to speak]; but do not be alarmed, you will not marry all of them. There is that young heiress whose initials are C. L. V., you will not marry her [never]; and that patient little school mistress, who is thinking this very minute that your heart is hers, loves you, but then you will not marry her; and there are those two pretty young girls who are dreaming they will bo your bride, but they will be disappointed, and perhaps will have no confidence in honest lovers who really iove them because of the shake their faith received from you. “That meek-eyed, tall and graceful music teacher has kindly received your attention because sho thinks you a tolerable picture with your fortune for a background, but hers is only a dream; but there is another whoso lot is an humble one, whom you esteem for her qualities that please you, and who esteems you for your good qualities, but I see a barrier between you; her initials are A. M., but then she is soon to go a great dislance from home and you will not see her for many weeks, perhaps yoarp, and by that time your mutual esteem, perchance, will have evaporated—‘Where is die going?’ The route is not exactly clear to me, and, as you part paths here, it scarcely need concern you. If I read your face correctly you liavo experienced some new trouble of late; some one near yoar heart ha 3 offended you; may bo he has j ‘hurt to heal,’ and you should keep the j wound open till the poison ail gets out, | which if you do you may possibly out- | live your deserved title of ‘ coxcomb,’ and at last marry the woman you love, who will bless you with her love and a largo fortune.” Hero the gypsy dropped his hand, and lie walked away more dissatisfied with himself than he had ever been before. Like a thought his carriage whirled out of sight of the shaded gypsy camp, and then how leisurely he rode 1 “ What does this mean ? ’ said he, half aloud. “I promised to report to mother the result of this silly investigation. Shall I keep my promise ? or shall I observe a cowardly silence in regard to the matter? It seemed only a repetition of her own remarks the day before. How could that gypsy wench have learned the truths she told me—truths, did I say ? aud am I a coxcomb? Is this the despicable light, in which Harry Wentworth is viewed? Ah!” .(), wad some power the giftiegie us To see ourselves as ithers see us! “But, Heaven hear my vow, I will live down that title 1” and the handsome fellow stopped his horse and stood straight up in his open carriage and drew a long breath as he remarked: “I will go this very evening, and, like a man, ask Mr. Mbrton for his daughter, and then, if I can win her love aud confidence, my mother shall know who is to be her daughter-in-law; yes, it shall bo Addie Merton, and not that gypsy-begotten one who shall "bless me with her love and a lar«« fortune.” Mrs. Wentworth noticed that Harry

was not quite so jubilant on his return as he was wont to be, bnt she did not question him nor even remind him of his promise, although she really did wish to know the meaning of his changed face that was now making an effort to look natural. The work of regeneration was going on in his heart, she felt sure, for she had always found him teachable, and reproached herself for not having sooner warned him of his danger. The evening came at last, and Harry dressed himself with more than usual care, and tried very hard to look easy and unconcerned, as he wandered off to Mr. Merton’s with the daily paper in his hand. A beautiful sunset gilded the western skies and formed a glorious background for the picturesque yard and garden and the neat white cottage in which the Merton family lived. There was a charm about it now that Harry had never felt before, so he paused for several minutes, leaning over the gate trying to compose himself, but the unusual stillness that pervaded the place began to grow oppressive, for he did not hear Addie’s sweet, familiar voice at the piano, and he knew it was the hour for their evening songs, but a gentle “good evening” from among the shrubbery relieved his loneliness, and he recognized the graceful form and still beautiful face of Mrs. Merton. “I am out seeking solace from good mother nature,” said she with unusual sadness in her tone, “for I always think we can bear our trials better with her than shut in-doors; and L have often thought it strange that, if there is a sound that we do especially dread to hear, we are always listening for it ” sharp and loud sounded the whistle of the evening train as it neared the little way station where Addie stood waiting with her lunch basket in hand and her veil drawn down a little close, for, to tell tbe truth, she could not keep the tears back when she kissed her father good-by—but she was on and out of sight in less time than it has taken me to state the fact. “There,” said Mrs. Merton, “I thought it would sound just so—l did not want to hear it, and yet I came on purposo to listen; I did not feel weli enough to attend Addie to the train, so her father bad to see her off all by himself, but I do hope she will have a safe journey.” “Journey 1 Where ?” Harry stood like one in a trance till now. Mrs. Merton saw, but did not seem to see, his confusion at this revelation. So she told him calmly that Addie l ad gone East to spend the rest of the summer and autumn with the family of her father’s old friend, who resided within a few miles of Philadelphia. They had invited her, and she accepted tboir invitation. “ They are most excellent people,” added Mrs. Merton, “and so far as worldly comfort is concerned they want nothing; they have but two children, one daughter, about Addie’s age, and a son two years older.”

“ Confound him 1” thought Harry, trying to seem less surprised than lie feit. That tlio world would come to an end before his eyes seemed as possible to him as that Addie Merton would leave home for the autumn, and that, too, without saying a word to him about it. Why hadn’t she told him? What right had sue to go away without telliDg him? What right, eh? What right would either or all of the others to whom he seemed equally devoted havo to leave their homes without his knowledge? This last mental question stung him bitterly, but he was dumb, and determined at oneo to flee to his own room or some place where he could be alone until ho could feel like himself again. So he bade Mrs. Merton good-night, and, without seeing his mother, was soon in the silence of his own room alone; but it brought no quiet to his restless feelings. Addie Merton was one of those candid natures that will not bo deceived nor trifled with. She was of medium size, with brown liair and large, lustrous eyes of the same color, a fresh complexion, and a light, elastic step. She had received her education from her mother, but now that she had money she meant to take a more thorough course, “but do not mention school going nor school teaching,” said she to her father, after having disclosed all her plans to him, “for I cannot bear to have people talk of my plans before they are executed, for if they prove successful it is lime enough for congratulations, and if unsuccessful for commiseration.”

CHAPTER 11. Days, weeks and months went by, and still was Harry Wentworth in the'shadow. He found no more sunshine that satisfied him in the society of those with whom he had flirted and idled so many precious days away. Their witching smiles and winning wor ls were lost on him. He was suddenly out of society —went from home only when urgent business called him. One day a saucy little beauty, who had been half in love with him, told him that, “if he must wear mourning for Addie Merton, he would look better with it on his hat than on his face.” “ I have arranged to leave home tomorrow, for the East. I shall be gone for a few weeks, and I hope you will not be lonely without me,” said Harry to his mother, about one year after the departure of Addie from Merton Cottage. Time and again had he closed his room door and locked it, and seated h mself in his great arm chair before his elegant writing desk, and spoiled sheet after sheet of the very daintie.-1 paper; he could just get down the words “ Miss Addie,” then, for a change, “ Dear Addie,” and so on till his heart would fill with the unutterable. At last he corcluded to go to her instead of trying to write to her. The grandeur of the mountains, the heavenly beauty of the Juniata that winds like a line of light around their base, the busy cities, the sleepy villages, the silent fields, the lonely forests were to him as if he saw them not. Addie Morton was the prelude, the interlude, and concluding symphony of his soul’s song—the burden of his heart’s thought. Nor was lie aroused from his reverie until the great city was reached and he stood alone and unknown among the busy, crowding populace. The crimson aud gold light of a glorious sunset tinged witli worldless beauty the tops of the old chestnut, trees that stood like sentinels around the magnificent home of the Vintons. Addie Merton and Maud Vinton had been for almost a year close students in one of the best schools of Philadelphia, but wero now engaged in a happy vacation. They were reclining in an old rustic scat, over which an arch had been made by bending and fastening together the tops of two trees, which were now thickly grown over by fragrant honeysuckle. Nor did they see, through the massive wall es green and yellow, the handsome form of one who paused on his pathway toward the house at the mention of his name by a voice familiar and musical to him It was not right to hear what he know was not intended for a third party, but he had no power to resist the temptation. “I tell you, Maud Vinton, I am not engaged to Harry Wentworth, an 1 it makes me ’inpatient to have you couple and take our names in vain, simplv because I told you he is the best that I know of his sex; ami here let me tell you that even he is not without hiß grievous faults. I haven't a lover, and if I had I should not want to make him

a topic of conversation. See, Maud, these honeysuckles are almost as pretty as those orange flowers you will wear next Wednesday night,” said Addie, holding np a wreath she had twined. “Yes,” said Mand, without raising her eyes, for she was a wee bit stnng by Addie’s remarks, since she had talked to her almost incessantly abont Carl Summers. She loved to talk of him, and it seemed to her a topic that conld never be exhausted, and had not thought till now that it might possibly be more interesting to her than to her silent listener. “ I hope,” she said, timidly, “I have not wearied you, talking of my lover.” “Not in the least. It has done me more good than you know. Your confidence in his singleness of heart has touched the buds of charity in mine, and who knows bnt what they will sometime blossom into a beautiful faith in a lover who will not have his heart divided nor his sweethearts multiplied—a lover who is all mine ?” said Addie in an apologetic tone. “ Then I take it that Harry Wentworth is somewhat Byronical in his nature; ‘has loved a good number —’ but there, the tea bell is ringing; let’s go, and after some refreshments, and when the sweet love-making moon laughs down upon us, you may be in a better humor, and be communicative enough to let me know, at least, whether Harry is a great, burly, red-whißkered man, or a delicate frame with mellow brown hair and orbs to match.” “Maud, you are a persistent little tease; but earnestly, I wish you would not mention that name again, and, if you please, excuse me this evening from tea—l prefer to remain here just a little while alone; but I will bo home soon,” said Addie, in that peculiar tone of hers that forbade any insisting or questioning of the why and wherefore. Maud tripped lightly homeward and told her mother that Addie w r ould not be in to tea: that she was bolding one of her usual prayer-meetings composed of one— she presumed she was offeriug a prayer for faith. This excuse was a little mystical to the good, unromantie Mrs. Yinton, but she supposed “ girls were girls,” and did not venture a question. “ Happy-hearted Maud,” said Addie, aloud. “ I really believe I should be silly enough to love Harry Wentworth as devotedly as sho loves Carl Summers if, like Carl, he loved but one. Yet, when I think of the number of good and worthy girls—” “Whom Hairy Wentworth has thoughtlessly wronged you are tempted to hate him,” and in an instant a pair of strong arms had caught the graceful form of Addie. Merton, and held it tenderly in a long embrace. “I have deeply and sincerely repented, and, like Carl Summers, I do love but one; yes, darling, I love you and you only; have never loved anyone else, and since your flight from Wentworth farm I havo been most wretched and lonely, and in the utter darkness to which your absence consigned me, if no bud of hope has dared to put forth, a sense of right has taken root in my soul which has quite supplanted those poisonous weeds of selfishness and thoughtlessness. Then, dearest, will you not forgive the past and say you love and trust me, go home with me and be my wife?” Harry Wentworth was not in a trance, but felt that the spirit of love had entire possession of him, and he spoke a 3 it prompted. Addie Merton loved the truth so well, and. had practiced it so long, that now if she would evade his questions she knew not how to do it. So her answer was given in that calm and candid tono and manner that the listener never dares to doubt. And never were two hearts happier than were theirs at that moment. Maud Vinton had said jiositively that she would have no bridesmaids or groomsmen, but such a handsome picture as Harry and Addio presented when standing side by side quite turned her head and changed her notion. And thus it was arranged that Addie and Harry were their attendants, and Thursday they were to start on their bridal tour to the West and stop on the way at Merton Cottage until they could be joined by Mr. and Mrs. Harry Wentworth. And it was not until the day after the wedding was over, and ail were at Wentworth’s home, ready to be off, that Harry’s mother insisted that he should tell her whether or not the gypsies had told him his fortune aright. Harry replied that the littlo priestess had given him a lesson that had done him great good, but that the best of prophets were sometimes mistaken. But when lie was shown the will that made his wife an heiress his faith in the veiled gypsy suddenly awakened, and would have remained strong unto this day had not Addie loosened it with a word. One quiet evening when they were riding by the old camp ground, Harry pointed to a free neao wnich the litbie tent had stood, and said : “ You should have seen me standing there, Addie, and heard the unsatisfactory words of that dusky maid who told me truly what had been aud what would be.” “ I did see you,” said Addio, and theie was a look on her face that sent the truth of the whole affair across his soul like a flash of light. She had played gypsy, and he had had his fortune told.