Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 August 1892 — A WOMAN'S INFLUENCE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A WOMAN'S INFLUENCE

BY LULU JAMISON

Chapter vr. SOME VJEWB OF POVERTY. When Brian descended to the breakfast room next morsing; he found Margaret alone. J She was standing near the open window, and so intent upon arranging some lilies in a Bowl tjist.she did;, not notice Ms presence until he was close beside her. • ■ "i.: i His voice recalled her absent thoughts, And, looking .ifbvrjttt start, the warm blood mounted to her brow, notwith- * tending her effort to control the momentary weakness. “I did not expect to see you so soon.” ehe said, in answer to his “Good morning.” “And I did not expect to see you alone. We are both disappointed—l most agreeably. Will you allow me to assist you? No? Perhaps you doubt my ability. I shall improve it by watching you; Or, better still, I shall taire advantage of this opportunity to tell you that I am sorry I ever came here. ” “That is a poor compliment to Miss Hilton and me,” replied Margaret, with an attempt at lightness, and an absorbing interest in Her task. "You know what I mean,” he returned, with some warmth. “You know why the very sight of you is painful forme. You seem happy enough, but I am utterly miserable. ” “Hid you sleep well last night?” she broke in, with questionable irrelevancy, placing the flowers, which she could make no further pretext of fixing, in the middle of the table. “No, I didn’t sleep at all,” was the rather short reply; “I was haunted.” “Haunted! How unpleasant! I wonder why they don’t bring in breakfast • Will you ring that beil by you, please?” “No, no! Walt orie moment, Margaret. I dare say the coffee isn’t ready, or the Steak isn’t cooked, or something. I don’t like my, breakfast half done; besides, I’m not hungry.” “But I am; I’ve had a long ride this morning.” “■4’ou didn’t use to ride at S’conset. Confound that hole! How I wish it had been swallowed Up before 1 ever saw It! Why did you deceive me, Margaret? You told me your name was Smith. ” “And so it was while I was there. Others knew me as Miss Smith, why shouldn’t you?” She colored in spite of herself. “You’might have told me afterward,” he continued, reproachfully. “What a difference it would have made!” “I understand,” she replied, with not a little scorn, and Brian,, feeling that he had committed himself again, was about to say something in his own vindication, when the door opened and Miss Hilton entered, thus putting an end to the tete-a-tete. He saw Margaret’s expression of relief, and his heart sank accordingly. But during breakfast she talked to him so pleasantly and naturally that he began to feel less depressed. He was,even planning a quiet hour -with her .during the morning, when she arose from the table,'with the words: “I think I shall rids over to The Cedars, Miss Hilton. I haven’t seeh Aii.ce sinoe my return, you know- • I am sure, you and cousin Brian, will have .lots to talk over, so I’ll leave him in your hands,’’ Miss Hilton noticed the change that fa sid over .Brian’s countenance, but she answered quite cheerfully: . “Very well, my dear.. You mustn’t neglect your friends. Brian and I will have a nice, quiet morning together. Don’t let. the Colonel keep you toolong.” > 4 t •. “After., your remark about the quiet morning, I think I’ll spend the day,” was Margaret’s quiet rejoinder, as she passed through the door which Brian held open for her. Twenty minutes later she had mounted her horse, and was following the well-kept road through the busy little town. But though she was nodding every" few minutes to the people she passed, her thoughts were far from her present surroundings. Certain ideas had obtained lodgment in her mind and refused to be displaced For The first time, the possibility that her uncle had looked forward to a union betwetn her. cousin and herself came to her with a certainty that was absolute pain, Bho recalled many incidents and allusions,many half-forgotten conversations, which received a deeper meaning from this new possibility. She remembored that often, in speaking of Brian, her uncle had said a good wife would be his salvation, that home ties would bind him to a more useful life, and that his most earnest desire was to see his wayward son well and happily married. But she remembered, above all, that when her uncle lay dying he had awakened, after many hours of unconsciousness, to say, in accents which only her ear could catch: “ God will bless and guard you, Margaret. Don’t forget Brian, and be good to him for my sake. ” The request had sounded oddly then, but now it had a new meaning. Was her uncle looking into the future even then, or d;d he in his dying moments enjoy the happy delusion that his hopes were realized.' Margaret was trying to answer this paipfui question when she reached her destination—a handsome, moderh-look-ing house, surrounded by stately cedars. Bunning up the broad staircase, with the air of one familiar with the surroundings, she paused before a halfopened door, with the words: “May I come in, Alice?” For answer, there was a glad cry; the sound of a chair falling, followed by rapid footsteps, and a pretty girl of a brunette type rii3hed into Margaret’s arms and kissed her with affectionate impetuosity. “Oh, I aan so glad to see you,” she cried between her spasmodic caresses. “You dear child, you’ve been away an age. You look pale, too, or perhaps it’s this black dress. .Come right in. Everything’s mussed as usual. There, take my big chair, : and consider yourself quite privileged. So that wretched place didn’t quite kill you?” “No,” laughed Margaret, allowing herself to be placed In the chair in question. “I am very much alive, as you see,,.. You and Miss Hilton really amuse m-; your ideas of S’conset are as different from the reality as night from day. It is a whole host of delights in itself. I am really not an object of sympathy, so your pity has all been thrown away.” “So it has, you bad girl. Why didn’t you tell me before. I might have saved some- Still I’m glad to see you back. 'Uncle will be delighted. He has been positively unbearable, and I do hope your presence will improve hiis temper.

Oh, I had quite forgotten. Your cousin is with you, isn’t he? Is he nice? How does he like things, and how do you like him?” Alice moved nearer to Margaret, and taking her hand, laughingly gazed into her faoe. “Yes, he is home. He came yesterday afternoon, and Well, it is simply unendurable. Fancy the position of playing hostess to a man who feels you have .taken his birthright. Yet, there are people in this place who think me fortunate. Some persons never see beyond the surface." “Well, don’t think about it, my dear,” said Alice, consolingly. “It isn’t your fault. lam anxious to see your cousin. His return is all over the neighborhood, of course. I’m afraid it won’t please Mrs. Downs. She may think poor dear Aify’s chances lessened thereby.' He has pined to a mere skeleton during your absence, Margaret.” A contemptuous expression passed over Margaret’s face. “I do wish some one would marry him and carry him off to another neighborhood,” she said. “I am so thoroughly tired of seeing him around. He may be the paragon his mother thinks him. I daresay he is. He hasn’t brains enough to be otherwise. But I prefer a little wickedness to want of sense.” “Don’t be sarcastio discussing Alfy, my dear. He is a very nice, girlish young man, and his bank account will reach from here to the Gulf of Mexioo." “Perhaps if it were shorter he might be better," commented Margaret. “Money causes all the trouble in the world. ” “The want of it, you mean,” suggested Alice, sagely. “It Is a wonderful power, no doubt. It makes beauty more beautiful, virtue more virtuous, and greatness more great. The very thought of it makes me wax eloquent. Seriously, my dear, poverty is the meanest thing under the sun. Nell agrees with me there. I had a letter from her this morning, and to cheer you I will read it." “How is Nell?” asked Margaret, smiling at a thought her mind conjured up. “I don’t see that plaque she painted. Have you become unappreciative of her genius?” “No,” returned Alioe frpm the depths of her desk, where she was hunting for her letter. “But uncle gave me that tovply li|sls landscape on the ; left there, by-Alice's plague, the contrast between It and her indigo lane and impossible trees was startling, even to my inartistic eye. I stood it for a few days, but at last nature would Mar no more, and the plaque now reposes in my trunk, where the sun can not fade or the dust injure. Here’s her letter. “My Dear Alice: At last I am sitting down to answer your letter, and acknowledge its welcome inclosure. My head is buzzing the things I have to say, but I’ll begin at the beginning. Gratitude before everything in my category, I will therefore thank you for your Check. I spell it with a capital, you Observe. I don't know that it is correct according to the rules of orthography, but under the laws which make us important or insignificant in proportion as we are rich or poor, it is perfectly in order. Henceforward I shall adopt it as showing my deep and abiding respect for money. “This particular money came in quite apropos. We had been getting our summer wardrobe (I use this word advisedly, as it sounds more imposing than enumerating details), and you will not have to strain your imagination much to bring to-mind the painfully emaciated condition of the family purse. It looked extremely humble, .1 assure you, despite the fact that poverty is always proud. But the moment your check arrived, what a change! It immediately swelled with pride, like the fabled frog whose picture I used to admire so extraV,agantly, and though it has been considerably depleted since, it still remains fat, .■ > ■

“Now, Alice, a word of advice. Keep in with the old bear and make him leave you some money; for, horrible thought,the Beynoldses seem to be growing poorer. I think it a decided mistake on the part of mamma and papa to have had so many children. But I have noticed that this mistake is common among poor people. I suppose they want numbers somewhere, so they make up in babies what they lack in dollars. If matters don’t mend with us, shall go to writing stories; I always did think I had a talent. “In your last letter you mildly inquired if we liked our new flat. My dear child, the question was superfluous. Flats weren’t made to be liked; hot the cheap flats, at least, and those are the only kind we indulge in. Our present one is a narrow tunnel, probably a trifle broader than the road which is popularly supposed to. lead to eternal bliss. We have daylight at each end and varying degrees of twilight in the middle, and our bed-rooms are so small that Bess, being a girl of resources, kneels upon the bed to say her prayers and prevent me from tumbling over her feet, which, to say the least, are not in proportion to our apartment. “Speaking of Bess, I’m dying to know if she ever mentions Mr. Spencer in her letters to you. That man is my abomination, and I shiver at the possibility of such a brother-in-law. He likes her, I know, for he comes here nearly, every night, sits in our best chair, which he has nearly worn out, and talks through the biggest nose it has been my fortune to see. Altogether he is odious, and if Bess marries him, she is no sister of mine. “Allusions to marriage and such giddy subjects remind me of what I consider a most important piece of news. I have a devoted follower, a painfully verdant, callow, youth, with brains so few as to be scarcely worth noticing, and a bank sccount so long that—well, that, like charity, it covereth a multitude of sins. He is so enraptured with me, that my red hair is golden in his eyes, from which fact you may estimate the extent of his imagination. “ ‘lf he only had a little more sense,’ I find myself saying morning, noon and night, but with all the possibilities that cluster around that‘if,’ the unwelcome fact still obtrudes itself. HiS mind is a vacuum, and I, like nature, abhor a vacuum. “Sometimes I wonder if his pocketbook can fill the place where His brain ought to be. As the question Is a momentous one, pray give me the benefit of your advice. Meantime, I continue : to be the sun of his existence, the star of his night, and a few other luminaries. And as, also, you must be thoroughly tired of me by this time, I will say good-by, for the present. Everybody joins me in love to you. More in my next Nell.” “P. S. Being a woman, my letter wouldn’t be complete, without a postscript. So here it is: Give my love to Miss Margaret when you see her. I suppose she is as sweet and as pretty as ever, for I know her good fortune hasn’t spoiled her. ” Margaret flushed and smiled at this allusion to herself. “Just as bad as ever,” she commented. “Nell will never be staid nor dignified.” “That is what mamma says. We are

all a lively set. I dare say they think my nest is feathered, but ” Alioe shook her head doubtfully. “Uncle la so overbearing at times, and I was never noted for mildness of temper. Sometimes I get perfectly raving, and then there's a grand scene. Indeed, you wouldn’t laugh if you were In my place. “There is his bell now. He is awake, and I suppose he wants me. Evidently he’s in a bad humor. Gome with me, Margaret. He will want to see you, and besides your presence may be as oil upon the troubled waters.” Alice hurried' off, while Margaret waited to get her hat and gloves. When she reached the head'of the stairs she heard the Colonel’s high-pitched voice, evidently answering some proposition from Alice. 1 “Go back? I’ll go back when I choose. Miss. I’ll not be dictated to. I’ll— Bless my soul! if there isn’t Margaret. When did you get here, ohild? Just now? Well, well! I’m so pestered and bothered. I can hardly see you. Come here and let me have a good look at you. ■ At this in vitation Margaret came down the steps, and the old gentleman, despite her blushing remonstrance, took her face between his hands and kissed her 6n each cheek. “So you’ve been away, and come back as pale as ever, ” he added, holding her from him and looking at her earnestly, “I believe we could have done better for you here. I’m glad to qee you, ohild, mighty glad. Missed you like the devil. By the way, I hear you’ve got that young scamp with you. ' I doubt If he had one foot off the train before some of these confounded tattling women published it to the neighborhood. If I were the husband of some of them, I’d hang or shoot ’em. What are you giggling at, Alice? Nothing? Well, have more sense. Come over and take dinner with' us, Margaret. No company, you,.know. Only yourself and Brian, if you choose to bring him. I want to see the boy. I suppose he’s grown , out of my recognition.” • The old gentleman disappeared in the library as he made this last remark, and Margaret turned to Alice with, a smile. “I must be going,” she said. “I’veleft my cousin, you know, and I must nqt be inhospitable. Please come pyey soon, Alice. Miss Hilton sent her lave and a special invitation. ” Alioe stood on the ppreh for some minutes after Margaret was gone. “If I should turn prophetess,” she said, half aloud, I would say ” She did not complete her sentence, but, smiling to herself, went into the house, [TO BE CONTINUED, l

■,, ’ v 'v-'. imS ’'■•'■■4^ r ; A Duel to the Death. A most vindictive duel was fought during the reign of Louis XVI. by a colonel of the French Guards. This; gentleman was boasting of his good fortune of never having been obliged to fight a duel. Another officer expressed his surprise with some indirect allusions to the lack of courage, ob-. serving: “How do you avoid fighting when insulted?”. The colonel answered that he had never given offense, and that no one had ever presumed to insult -him. Moreover, that on such an occasion he would consider the character of the person who had wantonly insulted him ere he demanded satisfaction. Upon this statement his interlocutor, in the most insolent mauuer, struck him in the face with his glove, saying: “Perhaps, sir, you will not consider this an insult.” • ■ The colonel calmly put on his hat and walked out of the room. Thei following morning he sent a challenge to his aggressor. When they came to the ground the colonel wore a patch of court plaster of the size of a crown-piece on the cheek which had received the blow. At the very first lunge he wounded his antagonist in the sword > arm, when, taking off the plaster, he cut off an edge of it with a pair of scissors, and, replacing it on his face, took leave of his adversary, very politely requesting he would do him the honor of letting him know when he recovered from his wound. So soon as he heard he was able to hold a sword the colonel called him out again and wounded him a second time, cutting off another portion oi t ie patch. In like manner he called him out, fought and wounded him until th« plaster was reduced to the sizeof a shilling when the colonel yet once more challenged him and ran him through the body. Then, calmly contem plating the corpse, he observed: “I now may take off my plaster.