Rensselaer Republican, Volume 27, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 June 1895 — POOR LITTLE JANET. [ARTICLE]

POOR LITTLE JANET.

POOR little Janet! The great solitary house seemed full of resounding echoes —the * shadows clung darkly to the room where her adopted father had died —the birds drooped, without singing on their perches, and even the tropic ferns and white-blossomed gardenias in the conservatory made her think, with a ▼ague shudder, of the wreath they had Just laid upon his coffin-lid. He was dead, the kind, silveredhalred old man whom she had loved so tenderly, and she was all alone In the world. “Well, Miss Janet,” said Mrs. Farquharson, the hard-featured Scotch house-keeper, meeting the pale, heavyeyed little girl, as she wandered forlornly about the deserted rooms, “what are you going to do now?” “Do?” Janet Amory looked vaguely at her. “What shall I do, Mrs. Farquharson? I shall go on with my music and French, I suppose, after a little; and PH begin that course of English history that Uncle Ethan always wish-*d-me to undertake. I’ve always dreaded Rollin and Hume, but now it will •eem,” the quick tears starting in her eyes, “as if it were doing something for him.” Mrs. Farquharson looked rather curiously at her. “Miss Janet,” she said, “don’t you know? Haven’t they told you?” “Told me what, Mrs. Farquharson?” “That you’ve no more right here than I have. That your adopted father was bo real relative to you. That you must go away.” “Yes, I know,” said Janet, solemnly. “We were not related. But Uncle Ethan always told me I should be provided for in his will, just the same as If I were his own daughter.” “Child! there is no will.”

“He sakl he should make one!” said Janet, still calmly assured that her Uncle Ethan, as she had called the eld man, would never leave his little eosset lamb to the mercies of this cruel world. “And I don’t doubt,” said the housekeeper, “that he intended to make one. ®ut he failed to do so.” Janet looked puzzled. Poor child! ■he knew as little of the legal machinery of the world as she did of the fianscrit alphabet. “Even then,” she said, “how can all this affect uA?” “The property all goes to the heir-at-law, don’t you see?” said Mrs. Farquharson, impatiently. “And I?” gasped Janet. “You have —nothing,” was the v*eply. “But," hesitated the poor girl, “what am I to do?” “That’s your lookout,” said the Scotch woman, brusquely. “I have no right in this house?” faltered Janet “Except as the heir-at-law chooses to allow you to stay here,” Mrs. Farquharson replied. “And the money I gave the lame beggar at the door yesterday?” “It wasn't yours to give.” “And the new mourning that Madame Doyle is making for me?” “Well,” said Mrs. Farquharson, doubtfully, “I suppose the estate will pay for it, but legally, they are under ao obligations to do so.”

At the drawing-room door she met a •ervant with a card on a silver tray. Was it her imagination, or did the man really look at her with eyes of contemptuous pity, as she took up the card and read the name of “Mrs. Otto Carisbrooke?” Her eyes brightened, her heart gave •n upward throb. “Why didn’t I think of her bejfore?” she asked herself. “Charlie .Carisbrooke asked me to marry him week before last She will give me a home until I have one of my own. I—l don’t think I care much for Charlie Carisbrooke, but I must do something or go somewhere at once, It seems.” Mrs. Carisbrooke was a plump, simpering young matron, in a seal Jacket, diamond eardrops and a French hat, all rosebuds and blonde. She was “so •orry for dear Janet;” she hoped there ■was some provision made; it was “so unfortunate,” she said, “that this sad event should happen just at the beginning of the ball season. And now, if darling Janet wouldn’t consider her intrusive, what were her plans for the future?” Janet lifted her large, tear-dimmed eyes to Mrs. Carisbrooke's face. “I was thinking,” she said, “of combi* to you, Mrs. Carisbrooke, for the present.” Mrs. Carisbrooke recoiled a little, •he had heard there was no will. “Of course,” said she, “I should have been delighted, only Mr. Carisbrooke’s •iaters, from Omaha, have Just arrived, to spend the winter with me, and I Haven't a spare chamber In the house. Bear Charlie, too—but, perhaps you’ve »ot beard of his engagement to Miss Aoldthred, the banker's daughter.”

Janet colored blgb. “He asked me to marry him not a fortnight ago,” said she, quickly. “Oh, yes. I know!” said Mrs. Carlsbrooke. “But you refused him, dear, you recollect?” “fro, I did not,” said Janet; “I only asked time to consider Ids proposal.” “Oh, well, It amounted to the same thing!” said Mrs. Carlsbrooke, glibly. “At least, he understood It so. And .Miss Goldthred w*Ss very much in love with him, and it’s a very desirable mutch aH round. By the way, my dear, Airs. Prickett has Just lost her companion—and I was thinking what a very delightful situation it would be for you.” Janet Amory bit her lip. “I. do not regard it in that light.” said she. “To be a drudge to the whims and caprices of a deaf, ill-tempered old woaia-a. ftt ten dollaTs a tnontß^^’ Mrs. Carisbrooke rose up with a toss of the rosebuds and blonde.

“Really, my dear,” said she, “It Is your business to conquer this false pride of yours. Good-by. Pray command me, If I can be of any service.” “Stuck up little minx," said she to herself. “As If Charlie were going to mairy a beggar out of the streets! For that is exactly what she is, in spite of aH her airs and grttces.” —— Poor Janet, left alone in the gloomy silence of the great drawing-room, burst into a passion of tears. , “I’ll go to Mr. Moneybags, the bank director,” thought she. “He always used to say he loved me like a child of his own He will at least advise me what to do.”

Janet put on her sad little crape hat with Its thick veil and its buckle of jet, and bade Michael, the coachman, drive her to the bank. Mr. Moneybags received her with a cold nod, as he glanced at his watch. “Very sorry,” said he, “but I’ve only five minutes to spare. A most unfortunate thing, Colonel Ethan’s dying without a will. But Colpnel Ethan never was a business man.”

“I was thinking—” began poop Janet, with a” failing Heart. “I dare say—l dare say,” said Mr. Moneybags, hurriedly. “Sorry I’ve no time just at present. Accept my best wishes. Wheeler, show in the gentleman from Nevada.” Once more Janet found herself rebuffed. Alas! what a wide gulf lay stretched between the rich heiress of yesterday and the penniless girl of today! She was walking quietly home—crying softly behind her thick crepe veil, when James Aldrich came up to her side —honest James Aldrich, whom she had liked and laughed at, and who had surprised her so much, six months before, by toiling ber that he loved her. As if she cared for James Aldrich, wh« couldn’t waltz like Charlie Carisbrooke, nor sing baritone solos like Paul Romayne, nor quote poetry like Claud Nevers. And yet—there was something lovable about James Aldricji, after all. “Janet,” said he, “you are in trouble. Can I help you?” “No!” she cried out, passionately. “No one can help me. No one cares for me any more now.” “I do!” said James Aldrich, quietly drawing her arm within his. “Little Janet, stop crying. Trust your future to me. I’ve just got an appointment to a good place in the custom house—and when the letter came, Janet, I thought of you. Oh, my darling! my darling! I have loved yo*u so dearly all these years! Only promise to be mine, and I solemnly swear to you that you shall be sheltered from all life’s storms, so far as my'faith and love can shelter you.”

She looked up at him through her tears. How good and noble he was! How true and constant! Why had she never known him before, as he really was ? And then she put her cold little hand in his.

“James,” said she, “I am not half good enough for you, but ” “Let me be the judge of that,” said he, with an infinitely contented air. They walked home together, discussing the relative merits of “flats” and country cottages, Irish and German help, and cheap styles of furniture. For they had decided that it was best to be married at once, and go housekeeping in a small way. On the drawing-room threshold, Mr. Tapley, the lawyer, nflet them with an excited face.

“Miss Amory,” said he, scarcely pausing to greet young Aldrich, “allow me to congratulate you.” “Thanks," Janet answered, rather coldly, as she wondered how Mr. Tapley had already become cognizant of her engagement. “The most unexpected thing In the world!” cried the lawyer. “Yes,’’said Janet; “I think myself that it was rather so.” “How did you hear of it?” said Mr. Tapely. “Just what I was going to ask you,” replied Janet, with a faint smile. “We have only been engaged half au hour.” “Oh!” said Mr. Tapely. “H’m! ha; you allude to—ahem!—a matrimonial engagement. In that case I may also congratulate this young gentleman,” wringing poor James Aldrich’s hand until the knuckles cracked. “But I am speaking of Colonel Ethan’s will, found in au old tin box, with a quantity of papers which we were about to burn as useless. And which—prepare yourself, my dear young lady—constitutes you the sole heiress of his large property.” And so Janet’s troubles were over at last, and Charlie Carisbrooke, who didn’t marry Miss Goldthred, after all, lost his chances with the heiress-and Mrs. Otto’s name was stricken remorselessly off her visiting list, and the great Ethan acootant was withdrawn from Jfr. Moneybags’ bank. And no one was quite satisfied except James Aidrich and hi* happy little wife—London Tid-Blt*.