Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 November 1883 — WANTED—A AUGHTET. [ARTICLE]

WANTED— A AUGHTET.

“An actress, sir ? Never!” said Mr. Philander Greentree in a voice that made the windows rattle in their frames. ' And "Never” echoed his meek little ■wife, but in so faint a tone that it didn’t disturb in the least the fly that was sitting on one of the pretty white puffs on her dear old head. “And if you persist in being in love with the young woman, you must cease to be an inmate of my house,” shouted Mr. Greentree. “And if you marry her, by heavens! I’ll scratch you.” “Yes, we’ll be obliged to scratch you,” added the old lady as mildly as she had apoken before, looking at the same time as though it would be utterly impossible for her to scratch any one tinder any circumstances whatever. Not that they meat scratching in the common sense of the word; scratching the young man’s name from his uncle’s will was the punishment they threatened. “And I’ll never give you a penny,” thundered Uncle Philander. “Oh, William, think of that!—not even a penny,” said Aunt Tamasin. “And I’ll adopt a girl—l will, by heavens!" the old man went on, growing more and more angry every minute. “No more ungrateful boys for me. And she’ll marry to please us, and her children shall be our grandchildren.” “My dear boy, consider,” entreated the old lady. “How dreadful, how very dreadful, for us to hate strange grandchildren.” “Uncle and aunt—l suppose I must call you mother and father no longer,” said the young man, slowly and firmly —“I am truly sorry to vex you, but I have plighted my faith to Miss Fieldbrook, and I cannot and will not break it. She is, an actress, but as good and lovely a girl as ever trod the earth—sweeter and lovelier than any girl it has beenjny lot to meet. Andif you would only allow me to bring her here—” “Bring her here !” repeated his uncle, stamping about the room in his rage. Here, where your mother— l mean your aunt Tamasin—has lived in quiet, virgin—l mean quiet, holy—l mean quietness and peace, sir, for nearly half a century ? How dare you even think of juch a thing, sir ? An actress capering around these apartments! Good “’Twouldn’t be exactly right. William, you know,” said aunt Tamasin. “I never was a caperer, and at my time of life I don’t think I could get used to one. I don’t, indeed.” “Oh, you dear, funny old mother—auntie—" began Will, with a smile, but encountering his uncle's wrathful eyes and frowning brow, he grew serious again, and said: “Well, if you postively refuse to receive Eva, I suppose we must part. I am very, very thankful for all you have done for me since I was left a fatherless and motherless boy; but give up the woman I love for a thoroughly unreasonable prejudice of yours I cannot and will not. And so good-by. Uncle, will you shake hands with me?” “No, I won’t,” replied Mr. Greentree, brusquely. “Aunt, will you let me kiss you ?” “Of course I will, my dear boy,” said Mrs. Greentree, “And if you change your mind, come back to us directly. We start for Greentree Cottage in a few days, you know, and I shall keep your room ready for you there all summer.” “No, don’t, auntie, dear,” kissing her not once, but three or four times, “for i shall not change my mind, and perhaps being one of the prettiest rooms in the house, my room may be chosen by your adopted daughter. And I hope from tiie bottom of my heart that she may spend as many happy hours there as I have. Good-by. Good-by, fath—uncle.” But Uncle Philander answered not by look or word, and as the hall door closed after his nephew, he exclaimed again: “An actress! By heavens! the boy’s gone mad, and I wash my hands of him. forever.”

“Don’t say forever,"’ begged Aunt Tamasin. “Forever's a long time—a very long time, Philander. And, oh dear! how I shall miss him I Such a good child as he has always been ever since he came to us fifteen years ago ! Better in some things even than you. Philander; for you know you always say I,ad words when I lose my spectacles, Vhich he never did. but looked for them time and again with the patience of an angel.” And taking«ofl" said spectacles, she proceeded to lose them onee more by laying them on the back of the sofa, whence they dropped to the floor, behind it, where, with the dreadful “depravity of inanimate things.” they Remained snugly hidden, while she wept silently in her large lemon-verbena-Bcented silk handkerchief. A few days, aftpr Will Greentree bade them “good-by” the old coppie were, installed for the summer season in their comfortable country house, Greentree Cottage. And to Greentree Cottage came, before they had been there a •week, this note frdm one of their oldest and mostiniimate friends: r New York, June 20, ISB2. My Dear Tamasin and Philander—You told me you will remember, just as you were twSYinr the city, that you would like to receive into your home this summer some

I young* girl—the more friendless the better for your purpose—with a view, should she prove lovable and entertaining, to adopt her. Strange as it may appear, you had not been gdne more than two hours when I met» young girl who I think will suit you to a charm. She is pretty, of cheerful disposition, tolerably well educated, and naturally very clever; is an orphan and (her grandmother and only relative, with whom she lived, having died three weeks ago) homeless. I have Spoken to her about your wish, and she is perfectly willing—nay,’ anxious—to come to you. And I am sure her companionship will add to your happiness, and help you to forget the disobedience of your self-willed nephew. Anyhow, receive' her as a summer guest for my sake, for I loved and lost her mother; that is, she married the other chap. Faithfully yours, James Townly. Mr. Greentree’s face brightened as he read this note. “There, my dear,” he said, handing it to his wife, “Townly —he always was the best and most reliable old ehum a fellow ever had—has already found our daughter. For this girl will certainly please us, being heartily approved of by him. Pretty, clever, and cheerful.” 1 “Yes, so he says,” said his wife; “but he needn’t have called poor William bad names, for all that. And I won't give her the boy’s room. There’s so many trousers and boots and base ball and fishing things in it, that couldn’t be of the slightest use to her, and would only be in her way.” “Do : as you like about that, my dear,” rejoined Mr. Greentree, who, to tell the carded one, and anxious to have some young life in the cottage; “but see that the ropin she is to have is got ready immediately, for I shall telegraph to Townly to send her at once,” And he did. And the result of the telegram was that the very next morning Miss Zerelda Ardemann made her best courtesy to the old lady and gentleman who wanted a daughter. An never were an, elderly couple so quickly and entirely bewitched by any fair maiden as were Philander and Tamasin Greentree by this same violeteyed, golden-haired, sweet-voiced, pretty Zerelda Ardemann. And as day followed day, and week followed week, she became more and more dear to the*n. She went through the house from*morn until eve, warbling like & bird, and when evening came she sat at the old-fashioned piano and sang the quaint old English ballads that Tamasin used to sing in her youth, while Philander, brave in swallow-tail-ed, brass-buttoned blue coat turned the pages of —the- music— with gentle hand. She tripped lighly over field and meadow every day, and culled the loveliest of wild flowers, which with a grace that was her own she arranged in vases and shells, and whatever she could find to hold them, until each room looked like a fairy bower. And many a beautiful poem she repeated with rare skill in the gloaming, bringing the happy tears to the eyes of her delighted listeners. “Ah! if Will had only made her his choice!” the old lady would say to her husband at least a dozen times a day. “By heavens! if he had,” that impulsive individual would say, “he wouldn’t have waited long for my blessing.” The summer passed pleasantly, very pleasantly, away, and the advent of autumn found Mr. and Mrs. Greentree more in love than ever, if that were possible, with their charming guest. “And do you think you would like us well enough to call us father and mother, and to promise that when you give your whole heart to some one else you will not forsake us?" asked Mrs, Greentree of Zerelda one sunny September day. “I know I could—l know I do,” answered the girl, emphatically, “But I have a confession to make to you that I fear will turn you from me.” i “My dear, it inust be something very terrible to do that. But make it at {once, and have it over.. Philander! Philander 1 Zerelda has something to tell us which she fears will make us love her less. Please come and hear it.” Philander dropped the newspaper he was reading on the porch, and stepped into the dining-room through the open window. Zerelda stood in the center of the room with drooping head, but as soon as he entered she tossed back the little ringlets that tried to shade the brightness of her eyes, placed her two little hands in the lace-trimmed pockets of her dainty apron, danced lightly across to where the old couple were now seated side by side, and said, in a voice fraught with innocent cheeriness: “After all, what I have to tell isn’t so very bad. I have amused you both since I came here, haven't I ? And I can go away at once if you wish me to go.” And then, dropping gracefully on one knee, and folding her hands in pretty entreaty, she said: “Please, sir, and please, ma’am, I am an actress, and my stage name is Eva Fieldbrook. But all that your friend Mr. Townly told you about me is true.” “An actress!* exclaimed Mr. Philander Greentree. “Eva Fieldbrook!” said his wife. “Then you are the girl that Will 1—” began the old man.

“That Will—” Repeated the old lady. “That Will—.the same,” replied Zerelda, demurely, still kneeling. Please forgive me for beixg that girl.” Put Mr. Greentree, without another from his chair and tore out of the room. Ze.relda sprang to her feet. “I’d better begin packing at onee,” she said, with userious face. “I’m sorj-y to havp vexed him so much. But indeed it wasn’t my scheme at all. Mr. Townly and Will made it up between them. They thought that if you knew me you w ould-—” “And We do,” interrupted the old lady, laying her hand lightly on her arm to detain her. “Don’t yon do anything in haste, my dear. You don’t unstand Mr. Greentree as well as I do. Sometimes when he seems most angry be is most pleased. I'm sure Jie don’t want you to go away.” “Of course he don’t. Who said he did?” asked the old gentleman, entering the room hastily again. I’ve just sent a telegram to Will telling him important business calls him here. That's Another name for you, my dear—important business. Not as pretty as either of the others, but well find a fourth before we get through that will suit you bbst of all—Zerelda Greentree. How do you like that ?” -

“And I shan’t have grandchildren the least bit strange after all,” said Aunt Tamasin, a bright smile lighting up her dear good bld. face.— Harper's Weekly.