Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 40, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 February 1908 — A CROWN OF FAITH [ARTICLE]

A CROWN OF FAITH

CHAPTER XIX. The refreshment room was full of people, many of whom were standing up round the counter where Miss Worthington was paying for the breakfast. Mrs. Wycherly had not been able to perceive, on account of the crowd, that Ella had not joined that lady; and it war thus that the young woman contrived to leave the station, and so found herself in a suburb of the town of Evershoit before she was missed. She feared that she must be discovered unless she could contrive to put physical distance between herself and* her mother. The easiest and safest way to effect this was certainly the railway; but, as it was, with her mother at the Eversholt station, it seemed to her as if all the lines in England were blocked for her, for surely Mrs. Wycherly would soon set all the telegraph wires in the kingdom vibrating with the story of her flight. Ella knew enough of the world and of the law to be aware that if she applied to the authorities, her mother would have no right to imprison her for life, but until she was of age, her mother would have the right to place her wherever she pleased, and three years of irksome imprisonment seemed inevitable. Ella said to herself, fervently, that she would rather work as a housemaid,Ja girl of all work, in some shabby-genteel family, such as she had read of in novels, but had never met in the somber splendor of her life, than be found by her mother, and conveyed to the Italian prison house. She was in a narrow lane, wita pretty, old-fashioned houses of various sixes lying back in gardens luxuriant with the fruit, flowers and foliage of golden July. On either side were verdant hedges of hawthorn, close-clipped, thick, impenetrable. Trees waved their branches on the garden sides of these hedges.' Where Elia stood in the lane, she could see that the blinds were down in all the front windows. As yet only a stray housemaid or so was astir. No mistresses or masters seemed to be awake in any of the peaceful looking dwelling. The instincts Of youth naturally prompt the lad or the lass; cast for the first time alone on the world, to suppose that world a kindly patron, a beneficent friend, a bountiful .mother. Hitherto, strangers and outsiders had only shown smiling faces to Ella Wycherly; she had no idea that sneers or frowns are what the world emphatically deals to the poor and the friendless.

Upon her the white-blinded windows seemed to look like pitying eyes. She would have entered one of the pretty gardens and have knocked at on of the neat hall doors if people had been astir, but as they were not, she just passed up the road swiftly, and soon found herself in the high street of the town. It was a -pretty old high street, with a market cross, an ancient town haU, which dated from the reign of Elizabeth, and Bombers of gable'poiated roofs and protecting fronts, picturesque as an engraving of some Norman street corner. No shops were yet open, but the milk carts were about, and a few dogs ran hither and thither, and in the center of the road strutted a golden-breasted cock, and four brown, demure hens. It was strange that a feeling of security had come to Ella since she left the lane with the gardens and the pretty houses. She was not afraid that her mother would find her now, and yet what could have been easier than for the coachman and three or four railway porters to set off in quest of her, and find her? It so happened, however, that although by this time Mrs. Wycherly and Mias Worthington had missed Ella, they had not mentioned the fact to anybody except their confidential servant, the coachman. He and Mias Worthington hud gone different ways in search of Miss Wycherly, but it happened that neither of them had followed her up the pretty lane, or into the quaint, old high street of Eversholt. Ella paused before a gate, on which was a brass plate, thereon the words were engraved, “Establishment for Young Ladies." Beyond the gate was a large, trim lawn, flowerless but verdant. A number of large evergreen shrubs grew in a great, circular bed in the center of this lawn. A tall, square, red-brick house was at the and—a house with many windows, green Venetian Minds, White, clean steps leading up to the door. * “A school,” said Ella to herself, "where young ladies, so-called, are educated —the daughters of the country attorneys and chief tradespeople, I suppose.’* Ella turned up Bes pretty lip a little. She, with her mother’s pride and her father’s hauteur, inherited a something warmer, and sweeter, and nobler, of which she was as yet ashamed. It was a fine thing to Im- able to trace the ancestors back on both sides as far the Norman Conquest, and to know that all her fathers had been Jords of the sod for centuries. It was a very fine thing, though what good it was likely to do her on this fine morning, when she stood before the gate of Uckiield House, it would be difficult to say. For instance, she could not aak to see the lady principal, and then thus address that individual: '* "I ash ot good birth. I have Norman Sood in my veins. My father ia a great ndowner; but I have run away from home, because my mother wishes to shut me up toe life—or, at least, -until lam of age—in a sort of prison, and I prefer to work for my bread. Let me. teach Germnn and music in your school." If Ella said that, the lady principal would want to know who the great landowner was, or would not believe Ella’s ktory; and K she knew, others would know, and her mother would find her again. No; Ella must keep the secret of the Norman ancestors and the blue blood to herself. Bhe must oat deep too young persons whose parents wore in trade. If she wantsd to teach mnme and German she must hold her peace about her antecedent*—dkat wan certain. Whenever a young lady to required suddenly to sopgty besmtf and

butter, she naturally thinks of becoming a governess, unless she is gifted as an artist, who hopes to sell her pictures; an authoress, who hopes to sell her stories; or an actress, who desires to go on the stage. It seemed to Ella feasible that she should live in a lodging in the town, call herself Miss Clairmont, and give lessons at two guineas a week at Uckfield House. She knew Lionel Leigh was paid one hundred a year for being tutor to her cousin. Why should not she gain half as much for teaching numbers of stupid girls every day? Ella nodded at the red-brick bouse and the green Venetian blinds. “I will come back,” she said, “when I have some money in exchange for this heavy bracelet and watch. Somehow, I do not feel a bit afraid. It is glorious to be here.” Indeed, the sweet, fresh air of the summer morning had an exhilarating effect upon Ella. She felt strong enough, daring enough for anything; only she was hungry. She had been too much agitated to eat her biscuit at the refreshment room, and she had not remembered to put it into her pocket. “I wish some of the shops would open,” thought the young lady. “I believe I have half a crown in my purse.” So Ella walked on down the high street. Soon her patience and perseverance were rewarded. She perceived a little shop, with teacups and loaves of bread and pats of butter in the window, laid on clean, white cloths, and covered with fresh, green leaves. “Hot coffee and rasher, 6d,” was printed on a card. Ella, holding her pretty head aloft, and feeling like a princess in disguise, entered the small shop. The whole thing seemed to her now like a page out of a romance which she was enacting herself. A very cross-looking old woman, wearing a large poke bonnet, came out from the small parlor behind the shop, and looked at Ella as if she suspected her of the wish to steal something. It will be remembered that Miss Wycherly wore the plainest of brown hoi land traveling suits, and the old vender of hot breakfasts had not keenness enough to penetrate the disguise, and recognise the girl’s air of distinction. * "If you please, 1 want some breakfast,” said Ella, with a condescending smile. “You can have what you pay lor,” said the old woman, with an ugly sneer. “Oh! of course. Do you think I would eat your breakfast and not pay for it?” asked the young heiress. The color deepened on her cheek. It was the first time one of the humbler classes had ever spoken to Miss Wycherly, save with subservience and submission. She could hardly believe her cars when the ancient crone, with a peculiar grin, which showed sharp, yellow fangs—a grin that really seemed to extend from one side of the black bonnet to the other, observed : *- ■-

“When I see the color of your money, I’ll know whether you mean to pay. I don’t trust no strangers, I don't, whatever the master may do.” “Strangers!” Ella drew herself up straight as a dart. q “You are insolent, madam.” She was on the point of adding: “Do you know wl|O I am?” but she checked herself. Was not that exactly what she wished to conceal? Nevertheless, Ella was in a towering passion with this horrible old woman. She produced her half crown. “What do you charge for a cup of qoffee, some bread and butter, and a fresh boiled egg? and where can I have my breakfast?” "You can have ’em for ninepence,” said the old crone, “if yon’ll pay first.” “Pay first!” said Elia, flinging down the half crown in a rage. “Pay yourself, and give me my breakfast at once.” Tbs old creature took up the half crown, and peered at it curiously. “Is it a bad one?” she asked. “ ’Cause if it is. I’ll have ye in the lockup afore you’re half an hour older. I know what it is; sharpers coming in with the early trains, and swindling we tradefolks.” She tried to bend the coin; but finding it genuine she tossed it into the till, and gave one and ninepence to Ella. “If you’ll go and sit at the table in the back room. I’ll bring you the breakfast in five minutes," she said. Ella walked through the shop and into the aforesaid back room. It was a carpetleae little den, with two not over-clean deal tablee, and four wooden benches, two to each square table. At one table sat a man in a smock, eating cold fat bacon and brown bread. By his side was a bowl of hot tea. He was an old ipan, with white hair, and a kindly, ruddy face. He made a great noise over bis bacon, and drank up his tea with a mighty rushing sound. The dainty heiress watched him as she would have watched some new and curious animal of which she bad read, but a specimen of which she had never seen. He looked up and nodded to the young girl. “Hope 1 see ye well, mtosT' “Quite well, thank you,” said Ella, trying to smile affably. “Be come to Eversholt to look for a place, miss, or to visit a friend, if I might be so bold as to ask.” “Decidedly, the manners of Evershok require- improving,” thought Ella; but she resolved to be truq to die peasant character, which it seemed that her bolland dress and her loneliness represented to these Eversholtrrs. “I am looking for work,” she said, smiling. ’ “And what sort, now? You don’t look like ons for a dairy farm; or etoe I do know a farm not two miles from here where they would give nine’ pounds, and all found, to a young girl to help in the dairy. Wages to rte-about twro." “Ah! that's more than I am worth," cried Kila, entering suddenly into the fun of the thing. “I don’t understand dairy wort well enough." “Maid of all work?” suggested the old man. ’Aecatne I have a sister what keeps

look after them, and do a bit of scrubbing and sweeping; half a crown a—week to what she gives.” *’l am not worth that, either,” said Ella, with-a laugh; “I should get out of patience with five small children. Why, while I was scrubbing the kitchen, some of them would climb on my back, and tumble in the scrubbing pail. I’ve seen that happen lots of times.” And so she bad in the cottage kitchens of the poor at Wycherly. ‘‘Here comes my breakfast,” she exclaimed joyfully, as the cross old woman appeared with a cup of coffee, a roupd of wheaten cake cut open, a pat of butter, and an egg. "Thank you,” said Ella. "Ton needn’t thank me; 'tie paid for, else you wouldn’t get it.” “That’s true,” said Elia, beginning ravenously upon the bread and nutter; "so I won’t thank you any more.” The old dame growled something inarticulately, and Ella went on with her breakfast. When she bad finished, she went out into the street. Signs of life were many in the town of Eversholt. By this time shops were open, carts were rolling, a few people were afoot. The little town was waking up to the morning sunshine and the business of the day. Ella Wycherly knew that her mother, Miss Worthington and the coachman were searching for her al! over the town. If she walked about as a young stranger In a brown hoi land drees, and not very smoothly plaited hair—traveling all night does not conduce to a fresh and neat appearance—she must inevitably be pounced on by some of those who were searching for her. Wherefore, Ella resolved she would hide for the remainder of the day. But where? ■ "Ah! I will go on; I will get out of this town; I will find a high road and some fields; and I will go and sleep under some trees. I feel horribly sleepy; It must be delicious to sleep out in the open air!” Ella walked on at a swift pace toward where the trees showed green at the other end of the town; and soon she was in a leafy lane, with great hawthorn hedges on either side of her, and meadows behind the hedges—meadows where cows were browsing, or lying down under the trees, preparing against the beat of the day. Ella went and looked over a stile; she saw a large hayrick under a clump of trees; beyond was a five-barred gate, leading Into a narrow lane, which branched off from the Jane where Ella stood; oa the other aide of that lane were farm buildings and a substantial house, In which dwelt the farmer, owner of the rick, and the trees,"and the one meadow into which Ella was gazing. “I will go and lie down under that rick, and listen to the rustle of those trees, and I will fall into the soundest, sweetest sleep!” said Ella to herself. She soon put her resolve into execution. She bad k not slept once during all the last night’s weary journey. She coiled herself up between the thick hedge and the broad haystack; the elump of trees hid her from anybody who might stand at the stile. There she lay, in a bed of wild thyme, soft grass and clover; and there she slept for hours and hours, tindisturbed and unseen. Voices woke her at last—voices on the other side of the thick hedge which separated (he meadow from the lane. “Bunsbury Fair we are bound to make a good thing of, Tilda; we always does at Bunsbury; it’s a nice little town, is Bunsbury. Come, It ain’t so bad; we’ve over forty-five to put in the bank from this last round, and all expenses paid.” "All expenses!” said a melancholy voice; “and what expenses do us two lone women go to? Liza, where’s our comforts?—where’s our furniture, and our little garden, and flowerd, and chiffonier, and feather beds, and chickens and rabbits, and rose trees, and geranium pots, and all the comforts of a settled home, as is required by two lone women as never had husbands, nor children, nor nothing of our own? Sometimes, Lise, it puts me out of patience to bear you talk as if we ought to be cheerful —we, that has nothing but toil, and lives in a caravan, and has got neither neighbors nor friends!” Ella began to burst with laughter while listening to the drawling lamentations es the speaker. She was full of curiosity. She arose, and peeped cautiously oyer the hedge into the lane, herself hidden by the branch of a large elm which grew close to the rick. (To be continued.)