Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 40, Number 52, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 March 1908 — A CROWN OF FAITH [ARTICLE]

A CROWN OF FAITH

CHAPTER XX. Ella saw a great, yellow on was painted, in ( red letters, the words: ‘‘Dobson’s Waxworks.” A cShple of strong- horses were grazing in the thick grass which l grow at the side of the lane. They were unharnesxrtl, and .seemed to be enjoy.ng themselves thoroughly. A' cotrple of lads', with very brown faces, sat on a sloping bank on the other side, devour. ii iiuge pieces of bread and cheese, and uo.v and then drinking cider from a stone oi/.tle. Immediately under the hedge sat two women on the shady side of fifty; they were upon cane chairs; between them was a big drum turned up on one end, and serviug as a tea table. Home blue delf cups and plates, a little black teapot, a loaf of crusty bread, a piece of fresh butter, a bas.n of white sugar; and an odor, iragrant and pleasant in the fresh air of the summer afternoon, announced that these ladies were partakiug of tea.- : —• —.-

As for the ladies, one was very stout, and the other was very lean. The stout one wore a scarlet handkerchief across her breast, a sensible, brown holland dress, and a black apron. This lady's head was bared to the summer sky. It was not a handsome head. The hair upon it was fast turning gray, and was not arranged with that nicety which is desirable in the coiffure of lady; but her ruddy face beamed, absolutely beamed, with good nature. Perfect conteutment sat on the smiiing lips, and iiie small blue eyes twinkled merrily. This was Miss Eliza Dobson —Liza, as she was called by her sister, Miss Matilda. The sisters were the sole proprietors, or proprietresses, of Dobson s Waxworks, which they had inherited from their parents twenty years before. They were fast making their fortunes, and purposed, in a year’s time, retiring to a rural solitude, where Miss Matilda, the younger and more genteel sister, hoped to cultivate roses, chickens, chiffoniers and other elegancies of polite life. Miss Matilda had a long, thin, melancholy face; it was not unkind, out it Tanked the genial -goorlrrcss ofhersister’s, Tilda wore a muslin dress, and a black lace jacket, which the dust of the roads had whitened. She wore a hat and black feather. Her face was browned and roughened by exposure to weather —a face which assumed a poetical melancholy of that sort which provokes laughter in the fun-loving. “We ain’t got no neighbors. That’s true, Tilda; for we carries our home on wheels with us. But, for my part, I think gossiping neighbors a handrance when there’s work to do. vVe ve had a deal of change all our days, and seen a deal of things; had it in our power to help a starving fellow critter now and then, at a pinch; and next year we are to have a pretty little ’ome of our own, where you shall keep chickens, and have ever so many red geraniums in pots in the winders.”

"I hope,” said Miss Matilda, “as we shall have a sofa, such as 1 saw once at Birmingham, covered in crimson velvet, and with a reg-lar spring. Ah! when I no longer has to walk in and tell the public the sorrers of poor Queen Mary of Scotland, I shall enjoy peace of mind.” “I trust you will, Tilda,” observed stout Miss Eliza, cutting off a nice piece of crusty loaf and covering it with butter. “Now, Tilda, do eat ; just a relish of potted shrimps. You don’t eat enough, my dear, to support you.” “I was always one as never cared for the pleasures of the table,” said Miss Matilda; and she struck the impromptu board —the circular top of the drum, where the feast was spread—with her parasol. It emitted a hollow sound; and the effect of the whole scene and speech was so droll that Ella Wycherly burst Into a loud and ringing laugh. The Misses Dobson, looking up, beheld with amazement the young and beautiful and highly bred face, radiant with merriment. Both ladies smiled. “Dear me, what a pretty creature!” said Miss Matilda. “Bless me!” observed Miss Eliza ; “perhaps the young lady would like a cup of tea and a slice of the crusty loaf. If she would, she’s welcome.” Now it happened that Ella waa excessively hungry, and this hospitable offer was not displeasing to her. It seemed, indeed, that Ella had lived several years since the night before. She had learned already something of the under strata of humanity—those whom she had hitherto classed Indiscriminately in her own mind as “the lower orders.” The savage old woman at the cookedmeat shop, the inquisitive old man In the smock, and now these eun-burned itinerant show people—how different they all were from eaoji other; and yet, they all belonged to (he “lower orders." The Misses t)bbftdh were kindly, genial, tender-hearted women. Ella soon got on famously with them. The young heart craved sympathy. Most of Ella’s hauteur and pride were on the surface. Before long she was squally sailed upon a chair‘before the “dram,” drinking a strong and fraarrant cup as tea, euMched with epeam, which Mias Dobson poured oat of a bottle. , • v She was eating bread and hotter and* potted shrimps with,appetite, and laughing at tbs oddly sentimental and ungrammatical phrases of Miss Matilda. When tea was over, Mias Elisa washed up the things very nicely in s blue delf basin. Ons of the lads brought Cold water from a neighboring spring, which bubbled fkom trader a hank on the other side of the road. >

Ella offered to dry tha teacups, which office she performed deftly.. Hiss Matilda obliging her with a clean, soft cloth. Afterward, Miss Eliza packed them all In a box with some clean straw. “And now," said Ella, “I suppose I must say good evening, Miss Dobson; but I’m sorry to say it I wish, instead, I waa going away with you.” She said it without a thought; but the Misses Dobson exchanged glances full of meaning

“Why, my dear,” said Miss Eliza, ‘'anybody could see with half an eye as you was a young lady born And bred, not used tb' living with people such as we aro . .** ' i ■ , ■ “Not but what,” observed Miss Matilda, with a sigh, “we ’ad a haunt as kep’ a genteel bonnet and millinery establishment in Bristol, and kept two maid-ser-vants at the time of her death; but, being a single person, left all ber money to build a chapel, forgetting her nearest of kin.” “She' did as she liked with her own,” observed Miss Eliza, “knd we have done very well without her money. But about yourself, my dear—are you out of a situation, my dear? Wouldn’t a place as a governess suit you now?” “I thought so this morniug,” replied Elln frankly; "but s.ncv I have seen you, it has struck me that I should like your kind of life, ridir.g about in a caravan, and enjoying your meals in the open air, and using a drum for a table, immensely. It will be so different from anyth.ng I have ever done before, and, somehow, the air always puts me iu spirits; it always did put ine in spirits. Could you not put me to work in some way—to wash up tea things or something?”

The young lady paused, rather at a loss to know in what way her services might be rendered useful to the Misses Dobson. ' . ' . :' " ■ . “I should not think of putting you to do servants’ work,'’ said Miss Eliza thoughtfully; “but there might be a way iu which you could be a great benefit both to me and my sister. You see, Tilda have not had the benefit of a hedducation, so to speak. We can’t read but very little, either of us; and Tilda it is who dresses in a long, green silk and a white shawl, and always a fashionable bonnet, and walks in and tells the public the history of the different characters iu waxwork which we displays. Now, you would krfow all about ’em yourself; for Tilda, having learned it off by heart, don’t know much about it. You could describe the sorrers of Mary of Scotland, and the French queen, whose 'ed was took off -because she did not knew - the--difference between bread and plum cake. vVe’ve got her there, with her hair all powdered, and a blue-silk dress, embroidered in pearls. Her name was Maria Annette —or something like that.” “Marie Antoinette,” said Ella demurely. “That’s the very party,” replied Miss Dobson; “and there’s a lot more of them. I dare say you can play the planner, now ?”

“Oh, yes,” returned Ella. "Hire one when we enter a town, and let me play to the public while they are arriving; and when a certain number are assembled, I’ll come forward, and talk to them about the sorrows of Mary of Scotland.” "It ih a splendid thing!” cried Miss Eliza; ”and, my dear, we’l make you up a nice little bed in a cupboard, and you shall have a wash-stand, and a large drawer in which to keep your things.” “I haven’t got anything to keep, Miss Dobson. I have run away e rom home, and I have brought nothing with me. My mother wished me to go to a very severe school, so I have run away. However, I have a gold watch and bracelet which I mean to sell, and I will buy necessaries, without which one cannot be comfortable.” “And we’ll give you five shillings a week, and your board,” said Miss Eliza. Thus it was arranged, and the heiress of the Wycherlys set off\that very night in the caravan, with the two kindly in the caravan, with the two kindly women. Nothing could be more absolutely circumspect than the lives of these bumble folks; they were regular in attendance at church, cleanly, industrious, honest.

CHAPTER XXI. Ella was gone. Chance favored her ;' for, notwithstanding the diligent search which was made by Miss Worthington and the coachman —notwithstanding the inquiries which were made, and the rewards which were offered—no trace of the young lady could be found. Telegrams describing her flashed from one end of the kingdom to the other; but Ella had —so it appeared—as effectually eluded the power of her mother as it she had jumped into tMfe river, which ran deep close to Eversholt. After a few days’ weary search, Mrs. Wycherly returned, looking ghastly 111, to Wyvfcely Hall. A . Lionel Leigh had suffered all the tortures of a lover when separated from his beloved. The sudden departure in the night of Mrs. Wycherly, Miss Worthington and Ella could only admit of one interpretation—they had taken her to tha cruel prison house of which Mrs. Wycherly was the foundress. He did not miaa them at first—that is to say, that, when they did not appear at breakfast, he merely imagined that they had breakfasted in their rooms; but as the day , waned, and his pqpil asked what in the world had become of his sunt And cousin? Lionel understood the magnitude of the event. * .

Then came whisperings among the servants, and aoon the truth became palpable —Ella had been removed by Urfiat abn oaf amounted to violence; and would be ever aee her again? Knowing her hatred and abhorrence of the life destined for her, he felt convinced that.A* would ball with d«Ugbt any means r 'sf escape. But he remembered, with a.fklif. that the aapficioua Ella had not even told him the name ot tbe village near which the house founded by Mrs. Wycberly was situated; nor tbe name of the chief town of the district. To seek her out and rescue her—even at the rlak of ‘hit life—was hia impassioned v«t deliberate Intention. U* only lingered on at Wjrcherly that he might gather acta pa of information from word* dropped her and there. Presently came the news—chiefly through Marsh, the coachman, writing to his friends in the house —that Miss Wycberly had run away, and that, having aet detectives to seek her out, the missis was coming home.

Lionel's blood ran odd whan ho heard this news. He was sitting under a largo cedar in a retired part of the lawn, appearing to read, but, in reality,. feeling despairing and wild. He had heard these rumors in the morning. The idea of Ella wandering about, exposed to insult, or, perhaps, dead — who could say to what wild act she might not be driven by this last cruelty on the part of her mother ? —appalled and yearly maddened him. He was ready to go to the end of the world to meet her; but he might be walking from her instead of toward her. While Lionel mused thus he saw a tall, broad figure approaching him, taking long strides In a couple more minutes or so, Dr. Dundas stood before him. “Lionel Leigh,” said the Scotchman, “I -» i , .ii QrVyjpn TCMIn YVvrhprlv is now.” Looking up into the piercing gray eyes, Lionel saw that they were watching him closely. “I, Dr. Dundas? I would give my life to know.” ; “I>on’t do that,” returned the doctor, with his grim smile, "because I think yon might make more use of it. I know you are over head and ears iu love with her, and she with you; so I supposed she might have let you know where she has hidden herself.” “Dr. Dundas, she has no love for me; only a kind of liking for a poor tutor." “liah! I know all about ihat. The girl is a coquette; but she has a heart—a warm, deep one. I have watched her from a ch.ld. She loves you - . Wait; she will write to you—l jun positive of it. Give her a little time; then tell me, will you?” “What! and betray her, Dr. Dundas?” Dr. Dundas sat down on the grass by the side of Lionel Leigh. “My dear fellow,” he said, “it is time you and I understood one another. lam your friend : I am on your side. I do not even think Ella Wycherly —little .witch as she is—at all too good for you. You have my leave to marry her as soon as you like. It was to further that end that I brought you into this house,” Lionel looted in amazement at the burly Scotchman. (To be continued.)