Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 August 1883 — IN SPITE OF HERSELF. [ARTICLE]

IN SPITE OF HERSELF.

BY HILDA.

“Uncle Morton, I do wish you would drop the subject of, Bandall Whitney, ftojv -"ud forever. If you are tired of me, just say so, and I will pack my trunk yet to-night, and go to Aunt Barbara’s.” And the glow deepened on Ethel Dean’s face; her brown eyes almost black, with little smoldering gleams of fire shining in their depths. She had been given into Uncle Morton’s care at the early age of 3 years, and, in all the eighteen years that she ♦had lifed with him, never beheld. her in such a passion. The good. old man was frightened, both at .the .girl’s anger and at- her threat of leaving the old homestead. “Well! well! Ethel, child, don’t getso angry. Ofyjpurse . you needn’t; marry Bandall Whitney, unless -yojt ulioose, for there i»>no compulsion about the matter, ataß* I only mentioned that he expend th A visit this summer, should like to have you if eat liiutciYiUy.. il l Am sorry if I said, any thing to hurt yotfr feelings,Jftthel,”. said. Mr. TMbrton,; walking he-vqpply up and.down the broad piazza of the Morton farm-tonaei . n ui “I am not a»g»y with you; unCM*ont I have gjßjfth JtrfiSflJot Whitnhe & here thuijiuwnw, you Mason, atoWKWilt gortQt AJtuict Bstobarasi while he iS'Hel'baj^'b^h“Wanting' to visit be a ,, Uncle .Marton: ,'paased- Ja.dWSLJWW*,. and look®! dowfi’at ttiA' yoaagtfgijii as she sat ofxHh'e''steps pulling*'’ &■ rose to pieces, W,by leaf, vW picture she .madet,« vl&.j.clambesmg rose-bush, with its wealths Of foliage; and its jhMiTS'dfstttig fiito blobmj formed for” the fresh, sweat flwh the frank brown eyes and whving ' masses, of>;lustrous brown hrif?*l ™ : N *<--n I ijjfhre' you C* st J?eal disess, “with the harvest just; .coming on, the fnigmier’s fruit to look after, and the dairy to be taken care of! Not now, Ethel) not now. I will write to him not to come until fall; will that do?” r 1 Ethel laughed outright. "You dear, old uncle! It is a shame that you cannot invite who you please to your own house; but I do so much want to have the house without visitors this summer. ”

“Well, girlie, have it as you please. I will write to Randall this very evening not to come until fall. Bless me I we can’t have you gding off to Aunt Burbara’s now. No, indeed!” And bustling into the house, Uncle Morton called lor a lamp, and immediately set about writing a letter to.,Randall Whitney. A glimpse of the .old gentleman’s letter to the son of his old college friend will explain the situation of affairs as well, or perhaps better than anything we could say. My Dbab Randall: I had anticipated a jgreat deal of pleasure from the visit you pr praised to make us thlssummer. Though Vour father and I were suqU warm friends, I have not seen you since you were quite a .email boy, and I am very sorry, but I shall .have to ask you to defer your visit until fall My niece, Ethel Dean, who has also been my housekeeper sinoa the death of my wife, refuses to have any via.tors at the farm-house this summer.. You pee, my dear boy, I do not heat about tna bush, but tell you the pl*in truth of the mat.er. This Sail, she is goitg away on a visit, then I whall certainly look for you. By the way, . do you know of any likely young fellow wuo would come out here to work? I keep ♦bout twenty cows, and sell the milk at a Cheese factory, some three miles distant, and 1 need gome one to drive back and forth twice each day. If you Jtnow of a steady, trusty young man whey, would like such a place, send him out, and'be sure to come yourself about the Ist of September. Hoping you may not feel offended, I remain your friend, John Mobton. "There, Ethel, do you think that is plain enough?** and he tossed the letter to Ethel, who came in from the moonlight, het’, and her forehead in tiny rings. “Oh! uncle I he will think I am a cross-grained old maid, and that I rule you and your-house with a-rod of iron,— cried the girl, “but neec^Lcare; anything so he with his pr<w z that iaaU right, anile. Rile will not be apt! to bother us soon, especially, wliile lam here,” and" with a nierry langfl she gave her uncle a “good-night* kissyand went up to her own roefttu John Morton ’and Incharci Whitney had bec i ii'q<ihbbrnittes a]ifr '“flhwfis ; ’ ipr, their early years,, and lyarm friends, during the dawning dignity pf man'-, hood. In time, they were both married,, and while “Dick,” as he was familiarly called, went to a distant city, and engaged in the mercantile business, Jack took up the occupation of a farmer. The young men were often spoken of as twins, though there was no tie of blood between them. “But if we are ever blessed with children, ’’ they said “we will have the families united by marriage,” No ■children ever came to John Morton’s home, except Ethel, the daughter of his only sister, who, in dying, left her orphan child to his care. When Ethel ■was 12 years old, Mrs. Morton died, and on the shoulders of the young girl fell the care of her uncle’s home. Servants were employed as in her Aunt’s time to do the heavy work, but Ethel, despite her tender years, had personal supervision of the household department, afid soon proved herself Co be a capital manager of affairs be-

to that domain. Ten years previous to the opening of our story Bichard Whitney died, leaving an only son, Bandall. The young man was not aware of the existence of Ethel Dean, mum less of the plan talked over by his father and John Morton, to have him marry the young lady dome time in the future, ■ Bandall had succeeded his father in business, and one summer, weary of the ceasless round of care, tired of the heat and confusion of the city, he remembered the promise he had made to vist Uncle Morton, and he determined to spend a few weeks at the farm-house. All needful preparations were completed, and he was on the eve of starting, when Mr. Morton’s letter was received. “Heigh-ho !”said he, when he had read the characteristic epistle through twice. “The poor old man does not have a very pleasant home, I’ll wager. From the sum Of his lefts*, I imagine Miss Ethel Dean to be a crabbed old maid, who, to use a slang phrase, “‘runs the ranche.’” So he sent an immediate reply to Mr. Morton’s letter, stating that it would suit him just as well to make the promised visit later in the season, and he had found a young man that he hoped would suit Mr. Morton. He could recommend the young fellow as being trusty and of respectable family, and he would be on hand some time during the next week.

Randall Whitney’s letter was received at the Morton farm-house on Tuesday, and on Tipirsdayof the next week, as Ethel was busy in the front-yard tying up a refractory rose-bush, the click °f the gate warded her of the approach of some one. “Well.T wonder What he has got to sell,! for Of course he is agent for some tilingor another,” was tlie girl’s thought as a young man dressed in a serviceable suit of. dark-gray and carrying ift Valise came Up the floWerbprdered oath.: 4\/Is this' where Mr. Morton, lives?”. rimmed straw hat, and bowing with tne graceful ease that comes only with true’ politeness, jv “Yes; sir, ’’ answered, down from. the.etoyatod position on the toree-legg^dstooly. ! Mr, Morten sitting on.toe,_ pi asam’k h *-• * "Thanfisi, ” and the- young <UKn r With--7sloqk ofpeVident 'udinirfationdaf' tho <lfc.-hliei sweet .face hail- Mudden inl the -depths oiLa capeaious Hnfi-bdmret,'took h£V ■fthy fcf of Uncle Mbrtoh' ’ < -••bostaownO . . evjffw Bfisy witll IfeWSWs'Ethel la’d STmo'sh forgotten tile presence df a %t?aifgfer at 1 the house, when she heard her uncle calling to her.” “Now, What’s WAritihg,” said she to herself,; pa cJJalf t petulantly she dropped her pruning shears and ball of twine. “My opinion on some wonderful labor-saving invention, I ex? pect.” feht no‘sample in inmiature or a washingAnoeMne,- -dr' automatic bafrel churn,- npishlf-bperating wringeryor gironing-board met nqr gaze. Qmy the gentle madly- appea'Hhg niaxf, quietly talking to her Uncle Morton.

“Ethel, this is the young man Mr. Whitney spoke of in his letter, my niece, Ethel Dean, Mr. Fields.”''A surprised, incredulous look flashed, for a moment, across the stranger’s handsome face, then his polite, deferential bow was returned by one equally polite from Ethel. “Now, girlie,” this was Uncle Morton’s pet name for Ethel, “have Katy show Mr. Fields to his room, as I know he must be tired with two days of steady travel on the cars. After supper Ned will drive over to the station, and fetch your trunk.” Wh‘en the young man had gone to his room Ethel joined her uncle on the piazza. “Why, uncle, Mr. Fields is a gentleman; what possesses him to hire out as a common farm hand?” “Well, his health is not very good, and he was advised to spend the summer in the country, taking plenty of exercise. When Whitney told him that I was in need of a man to drive to and from the cheese-factory, the thought struck him that here he could enjoy country air, have an abundance of healthy exercise, and turn an honest penny in the bargain.” “But what can he do, uncle, if he is in such poor health ?” “That remains to be seen, for now that he is here I am under obligations to give him a fair trial. I like his appearance very well; he seems so thoroughly frqnk and outspoken.” And so thought Ethel when the young man came down to supper. Sidney Fields was not what one would call a really handsome nian, yet there was something that suggested mental culture and wide and F Vayied knowledge of life. His was a frank open face, though with proud,, firm lines; a face that once seen was forgotten. A look of pleased surprise flitted across his expressiyQ., qo}|ntonanee wliejj he entered the- cooj, wide kitchen where the evening meal was served-;: .The table was spread with a-snowy cloth, on which was placed a repast, cream, aWysm dishJ'of ’hMfer-cdlored jelly, potatoes, eggs? o doughnuts, fragrant tea, and, a l®rg£i pitcjhpr of milk for any who-wish it. A pretty set of 'plain wh'ito china, silVet knives and forks, and the whitest'ofwhitbnapkins. When abdut ■KHEthobhl-d attended an excellent boarding-S£hoQ]L,for h'o years, tlie duty .of cleanly and,'beautiful living had been strongly impressed on her tnind. She heiseif was pleasant to look at as she sat it the head of the table, and dispensed the honors with gentle grace and dignity. Uncle Morton, Mr. Fields, Ethel, Susan and Katy, two rosy-cheeked damsels, shy, but not awkward, and Ned Brown, the hired man, formed a very pleasant group about the farmer’s table. “Surely,” thought Sidney Fields, as he went to his large, airy chamber that night, “my lines have fallen in pleasant places.” Next morning the young man entered upon the duties assigned to him; and,as Uncle Morton expressed it, “he proved to be the right man in the right place.” Every morning he was up with the sun, and down to the milking-lot where Ned and Susan,“and Katy were filling the pails with rich milk, then back to the cool stone milk-house, with a brimming bucket in either hand, where Ethel, her round arms bared to the elbow, her lovely face flushed with j the early exercise, was straining the

lacteal fluid into the bright tin-cans, around which the clear, cold water replied with a soft, murmuring sdund. There had been a wonderful change in the “new hand” since his arrival at the farm. Hb face was bronzed by exposure to the sun and wind, and glowed with the rich color of health and strength. The tired, jaded look in his brown eyes had given place to the brightness and buoyancy of renewed life. His musical voice, or clear, ringing whistle, as he went about his work, awoke the echoes through the meadow and woodland. “Miss Ethel” said he, coming into the milk-TOOttrohe morning, “do you know this summer’s work will make me almost hate the city? I do not know how I can ever endure its noise and confusion again,” and leaning against the open door he watched her deft hands flying swiftly about their work. “I have been here nearly three months, and my vacation is almost over,” said he, musingly. Ethel glanced up quickly. “I think the summer has been a great benefit to you. You have gained almost perfect health, and, a good brown color,” she added, laughingly. “Yes, all thanks to the health-giving food and air of Morton farm, but Ethel, if I may call you so, there is something else I should like to have the assurance of having gained. ” Something in his voice brought a-shade more of color to her smooth chpek but she gave no further sign of having heard. ‘’There,” she said, carelessly, “the milk is ready and here comes Ned with the wagon.” “Ethel did you hear me ?” and behind the friendly .screen of the ironwood tree’s thick foliage her hand was clasped in a firm, but gentle grasp. “Yes,” she answered, with downcast eyes and glowing face. - “I want you, Ethel, to go with me to ,my home in the city, as my wife. Will you? for Hove you girlie.” ,f ßutjUncle Morton has othelplahs Tor bay future,” sai*d Ethel, arcmy*neexpects me to marry Bandall Whitney. ” “Ha! ha!” what a merry laugh broke the morning stillness. “Ha! ha 1 marry Bandall Whitney, well! that is news indeed. Have you ever met him, Ethel?’*

“No; and uncle has not seen him Swas a little boy; but it was between his father and Uncle that the two families should be y our marriage.” ?ou are willingj|he plan should »d into eyes twinkling iri&wSSfc'ffi “No! I hate ame/gjfl| ;4 the gifl, stampina&2||ufl| foat ently,\“and I o “Never mind,u|lela will a talk with your uHdSfe' id I think Mr. WhittW'yigfftLylfftftTlg his harp bn the willow?” M “But, I have not given you permission to speak to uncle yet; you are too quick in taking things Tor grafted,” said Ethel saucily, as Ned drove up, the rattle of the wheels drowning the sound of her voice. “But it is ‘yes,’ is it not, Ethel?” and she could not say to him “nay,” neither did she wish to. “Yes,” was the answer, as she danced merrily away toward the house, while Sidney Fields drove away through the dawning sunlight, his heart bounding lightly, and a knowing smile lurking on the proudlycurved lips. “Ethel,” said her uncle that evening after the duties of the farm and household were completed, “When do you want-to go on your visit to Aunt Barbara's ? ” The two were in the sitting-room where Ethel was just lighting the evening lamps. “I don’t see how I can go this fall, uncle. The grapes will soon be ripe and the peaches will have to be attended to. It seems too bad to think of visiting now. ” “I know there is work to be done that the girls cannot do,” said Uncle Morton, “but you know next month Randall Whitney will be here on his long-promised visit, and I thought maybe you would want to go away. Y>ou remember what you said last spring,” and the old man rocked softly back and forth in the big arm-chair. “Let him come, uncle. I cannot afford to let all the fruit go to waste on his account." “Better say, Miss Ethel, you cannot afford to leave the new happiness that has come into your young life. Well, girlie, lam glad you are not going. I would hardly know - how tot entertain him alone.” Just thpn Sidney Fields.; sauntered in from piazza, hS'had bdriff sitting, hiddeir-by jtw vines-innd the early chair elos4 -tM;tdr eftf W have a conseasiGn »Rto . •' I have been living'iiwbuj? Souse' almost three I mouths unadFan ivad as I an imposter.®# “What!” cried Mr. Morton, as he sprang to his feet, “you’re a rascal; a scoundrel!” “No. Mr; Morton, not quite a rascal, only Randall Whitney, the son of your old friend, Richard. ” t*. Uncle '* Morton stood- ■ spellbound. Ethel leaned against the mantle, her face flushing and paling by turns. “Randall Whitney!” ejaculated the old man; “and you have been my hired man for three months!” “Yes; Miss Ethel here would not receive me as a visitor, and as I was determined to spend my vacation here, I borrowed another name and came as a hired hand.” Crossing over to where Ethel stood, white and still, he led her to Uncle Morton. “Uncle Morton, Ethel has vowed she will never marry Randall Whitney, but I love her so sincerely that I am willing to take the name of Sidney Fields henceforth, if with your consent, she will be my wife.” Uncle Morton sank down in the arm chair. “The girlie must do as she pleases.” Ethel stood blushing, but no word left her red lips. “Forgive me, Ethel, for my deception,” and Randall Whitney drew her out ifato the silver moonlight “You must say ‘yes,’ for I am a visitor now, and it will never do to be rude to company.”

Now hsr laugh rang out merrily. •And I dreaded your coming so much. I thought you proUd Overbearing, and would be ready to make sport of our plain, country ways.” “And I,” said her companion, “dread to meet Mr. Morton’s old-maid housekeeper, who would not have any visitors at Morton farm.” When the Christmas bells rang out their glad chimes, Ethel left the old home as the wife of Bandall Whitney, and Uncle Morton went with them. Ned Brown and cherry-cheeked Susan were married and took charge of the farm, where every summer the “folks from the city are greeted as welcome visitors, and from where, Ethel declares, she was won ‘in spite of herself.’”—Chicago Ledger.