Democratic Sentinel, Volume 12, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 April 1888 — SHE'S SO GIDDY. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

SHE'S SO GIDDY.

BY ABBIE C. M’KEEVER.

“Papa, I want some money." “So do I, my pet, a good deal.” “I know, but I am in sober earnest. Pu-g—he’s a bad doggie, a dreadful fellow, and he quite spoiled my best hat, and Ido need-a new one so much.” “Where was your best hat, pet, that naughty Pug found it?” “On the floor,” said Susan, her elder sister, “she keeps her things there generally. ” “Now Susan, what a fib! But it

must have rolled off the bed where I’d laid it, and it wasn’t a very nice one, papa, because Susan, as my elder, hands down her old things to me and calls them new—for me.” “Ruby, my child, how can you!” “But mamma, you know it was true in this instance. Wasn’t my best hat, that Pug chewed up, one of Susan’s old ones on a new frame?” “It was a lovely hat, and you are a dreadful girl to talk so to papa,” exclaimed Susan, a little hotly. “There! Susan, dear, don’t! You’re old enough to know better than to quarrel with me, and I’m young enough to wear your old things, and look lovely—at least Harry Fane says so,” smiled Ruby, roguishly. “Harry Fane is—oh, as dreadful in his manners as you are. I do wonder that papa encourages his attentions.” “Do you, papa?” laughed Ruby. “ ’Cause if you do I can guess why. His father’s rich, and —and, he’s a splendid fellow. But, papa, you know I cannot attend Easter service without a new bonnet. I’ll make five dollars answer.” “Five dollars’ don’t grow on bushes, pet; but here it is, and Ido wish you’d .stop fussing and quibbling with your sister.” “She ought to have got married long ago, and there’d been only me to have dressed then.” “Ruby!” But her mother’s horrified exclamations and reproofs were quite lost, as the girl, with a merry, teazing laugh, ran out of the room, the five-dollar bill held fast in her hand. “She’s only in fun,” said the father. “Susan, you are too old to mind such teasing. It’s a pity you couldn’t take it differently.” With which comforting (?) remark the old gentleman took up his newspaper and began to read, while Susan, aged twenty-eight, and anything but handsome, bent her head over her sewing to hide her silly tears. Suddenly her father lowered his paper and said:

“Susan, my dear, don’t you want a new Easter bonnet? Here is a five for you. I don’t like to appear partial. ” “But my best hat was not turn up, papa. ” “Never mind; keep the money. I dare say you ve none too plenty. 5 *

They were practicing for the service on the morrow, and the grand anthem soared and fell; the organ seemed full of a hundred-voiced sweet songsters under the skillful touch of Susan’s slender hands. “How grandly she plays, and, oh, what a voice!” whispered one of those who lingered at the door. “She does such good work, too, among the parish. Nearly all her wages as music teacher go for charity. But, oh! isn’t that little sister a beauty?” “A badly spoiled one, I should say, from the way that she snapped at her sister a moment ago.” The night set in darkly, and a slow rain was falling. Dr. Rupert Fane could with difficulty see the way in the dense woodland through which ran a country road. Slush, slush, and splash, splash! “Goodness me!” he thought, ruefully, “why can’t folks be sick in pleasant weather? Old Granny Simpson’s no worse, I dare say; for fear she is, however, I could not refuse. What’s the matter, Dobbin?” “It’s only I, Susan Clare, Doctor.” “In the name of Moses! child, what are you doing here at this time of night? Goodness! get in my gig, at once—there’s plenty of room. Now, tell me what it means?” “I have been at Granny Simpson’s, and—and—she will not need you now, for she is dead. ” “Dead! yojj don’t say so! Dead! Well, I knew she was liable to go at any moment. Poor old lady! Who did you leave with the little granddaughter?” “Mrs. Smith and her son Joe. Everything is arranged for the funeral day after to-morrow.”

“Indeed! Did she have any money! I thought ” “She had a little, and we took up a small collection so she can have a resting place that is paid for.” “You are very kind and brave, Miss Susan.” “Oh, no, I made no sacrifice; don’t mistake me. It was only an Easter bonnet went in as my share.” “Some women folks would call that a good deal; but here we are at your gate! Your feet and skirts must be wet. You’ll be sick; go in and change at once.” The doctor’s prophecy was correct. Susan was ill on the morrow and could only speak in a whisper. “I’m sorry,” she said to Ruby, who was bowing and smiling at a lovely image in the mirror, “but you will certainly have to take my place in the choir.” “On Susan, I can’t! Harry is to be

there, and I know I’ll make a mess of it. You must go.” “No; it is impossible. Come and go over it in the parlor, there is plenty of time.” , Ruby managed to do passably, but Susan saw them depart with dread. “She’s so giddy—oh, dear; how my head aches!” Doctor Fane looked up when the notes of the opening anthem first begun. He was a music lover as well as his son who sat beside him. “What’s the matter with the music?” he said to Harry in much surprise. “That’s not Miss Clare?” The boy merely shook his head and tried not to hear the discords, musing: “I thought she could do better than that, and with such splendid opportunities how careless she must have been. ” But when all was over, the bad music was soon forgotten at sight of the beautiful face under the “killing” bonnet—at least by Harry Fane. While the doctor made it a special point to call that very afternoon, for he knew Miss Susan must be ill. “Oh, no, I’m not,” croaked Susan, blushing; “it’s only a—a little cold.” “Serious things come from colds, frequently; but, Susan, my dear, I didn’t cbme altogether profess onally—that is—oh, pshaw! I want you to be my wife, that’s all.” Susan regarded him in extreme astonishment, and had indeed lost even her hoarse voice. “I’ve admired you always, and—and last night when you told about your Easter bonnet, your lost Easter bonnet, I knew then that I loved you and had loved you a long time. ” — 5 “Susan, are you going to be my atep-

mother ?” laughed little Ruby, pinching her sister’s hot cheek. “Do you think I’ll mind you a bit better than I do now ? I won’t, either, unless Harry makes me; but I’m awfully proud of you since you have made up your mind to marry that nice, rich doctor. I don’t admire old maids, though, of course, I always loved you. But the future Mrs. Rupert Fane is a somebody, indeed.” “Children,” said the father, laying down his newspaper, “you’ll never change your natures, and it’s only an old story after al!, that from what I can learn, came of two Easter bonnets —one that was purchased and one that was not, eh?” Ruby clasped her hands in delight. “Yes, papa, you are correct; but which one was the prettiest?” Her father answers, ser.ously, “Susan’s, my pet. ”