2l6 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
March 25 
JANET THORN'S TEMPER. 
MBS. F. M. HOWARD. 
Chap. VI. 
He counted the money, then produced 
the mortgage, that instrument of torture 
which has in its power so much of unhap¬ 
piness and dread to the luckless debtor, 
cancelling it with swift, bold strokes 
of his pen, then handed it into Janet’s 
hand. 
“ There, you can use it for curl papers 
if you like,” he said, “ and now what do 
you think of ‘ Thorndale ’ as an experi¬ 
ment ?” 
“It has been the happiest experiment 
I have ever had the privilege of trying,” 
she answered brightly. 
“ My predictions were not so far off 
after all,” he continued. “ There was a 
man in here only yesterday asking me if 
I had Thorndale farm on my list of sal¬ 
able property. I asked him what he’d 
be willing to give for it, and he said 
$4,000 without a moment’s hesitation, so 
you see my prophecy has come to pass.” 
Janet’s eyes grew soft and humid with 
tears of happiness. “ I could not believe 
what you said at the time, and as I look 
back it seems like fairy work, or, as 
father used to call it, luck.” 
“ No luck at all, except the common- 
sense luck of brain work combined with 
good, honest endeavor. I tell you, Miss 
Janet, brain and brawn go hand-in-hand, 
and command success wherever they go 
—perhaps not always so speedily as in 
your case, but there is no real success 
worth having without earnest thought 
and active, unwearied endeavor. I’m 
proud of you, Miss Thorn, and when any 
of the anti-women fellows come around, 
croaking about Grandma Eve and the 
inferiority of the female sex, 1 say to 
them, ‘ Look at Janet Thorn if you want 
to see a business manager. She’s got more 
business ability in her little finger than 
some men have in their whole bodies.’ I 
shut them up every time, for every body 
knows who’s the hub of the Thorndale 
wheel, though Jimmy’s a good boy—T am 
not saying anything against Jimmy, but 
he hasn’t the vim to make things a-hum- 
ming success by himself, and he probably 
knows it as well as I do.” 
“ But he has improved wonderfully, 
Mr. Graves,” Janet said eagerly, and 
blushing vividly at the hearty words of 
praise, “ indeed you give me too much 
credit for our success. I never could 
have accomplished it alone.” 
“ That’s right. I like to see a becom¬ 
ing modesty—after all, we outsiders can 
see where the motive power lies and 
judge for ourselves. But as my advice 
has proved worthy in one instance, I 
want you to take a little more of it. You 
have reached a point now where you can 
afford to rest, and you mubt not overdo 
energy and ambition. I don’t want to 
see you an old, broken-down woman be¬ 
fore your time.” 
She faced him laughingly. 
“ Do you see any symptoms of prema¬ 
ture old age about me, Mr. Graves ? ” 
“ No. Not yet. Your open-air work 
has given you a wonderful color and per¬ 
fect physical health ; be sure you keep 
them—that’s all.” 
Janet repeated most of the conversa¬ 
tion to her brother, as they sat again in 
their favorite spot under the tall tree on 
the hill. They loved the spot for the 
beauty of its outlook, its spreading shade, 
and often resorted to it for a quiet chat, 
and Jimmy had made a comfortable seat 
under the tree for Janet, of an old wagon 
seat, the springs of which were too worn 
to be quite safe for driving. 
The city had now outgrown its former 
boundaries and was creeping toward the 
farm. 
“See, Jimmy, what changes have taken 
place in the years we have been here. 
That empty space below is now quite 
filled with pretty dwellings, and over 
yonder a miniature city is springing up 
around the new factories.” 
“Yes, Janet,” Jimmy’s eyes followed 
his sister’s finger, pointing toward the 
south. Electric cars were passing to and 
fro, drays running, and other signs of 
business activity were plainly visible, 
“ but, great as the changes are, they are 
not so great as those which have taken 
place in our own lives. Five years ago, 
when we sat here and you planned, I 
had no faith.” 
“ But you gave me works, brother, and 
that was even better than faith.” Janet 
laid her hand lovingly upon his coat- 
sleeve—these years of colaboring had 
brought the brother and sister very 
closely together. “Do you remember 
our compact? You have performed your 
part of it nobly; have I mine?” She 
looked up in his face anxiously. She 
had tried very, very hard indeed to be 
patient and gentle under difficulties, for 
success had not come without many trials 
of patience, but, as she looked back, she 
could recall many failures. 
“ Yes, sister, you have. Perhaps you 
do not realize the change in yourself so 
much as we do, but you are not the same 
Janet you once were.’’ 
“ I hope not, Jimmy. I am thoroughly 
ashamed of that other one as I remember 
her.” 
*• And yet I do not know as it was so 
much temper after all. Father and I 
were two heavy bodies in the way of 
your progress, and your very soul was 
struggling in the bonds of inertia. In 
too many cases your wrath was a right¬ 
eous indignation.” 
“Thank you, Jimmy, you are kind to 
patch up my deficiencies so neatly, still 
I wish I had the power to recall some of 
my sharp words.” 
“ Do you remember that little wild 
bird that came into the house one day ? 
How it beat and tore its wings against 
the window pane; then you opened the 
window and it found its way out and in 
a few moments it was singing in the oak 
tree, perfectly content and happy in its 
natural sphere. That was you, Janet, 
struggling to get out into the free air of 
effort and accomplishment.” 
“ How I wish father might see what 
we have done ” 
“ Perhaps he does,” Jimmy replied. 
“When I go to his grave over yonder and 
try to think of him as there, I cannot 
feel that he is in that spot at all, but 
sometimes when I am out about my work 
or in my bed at night, a sense of near¬ 
ness to him comes over me, strangely 
and sweetly. I am sure, Janet, that he 
knows, and is glad to see us happy and 
useful.” 
“ Then he knows too how sorry I am,” 
whispered Janet, her eyes turned rever¬ 
ently toward the cemetery. 
“ Yes, Janet, I believe he does. Pos¬ 
sibly I am fanciful, but it comforts me to 
think so.” 
The season of 1891 was an unusually 
fruitful one. The tree which was barren 
was indeed an exception, and Janet’s 
peach trees came into bearing with quite 
unexpected results. There were apples, 
pears and plums also in abundance, 
while the berry bushes quite outdid their 
previous record. 
“If any one had a-told me I’d a-been 
parin’ peaches off’n our own trees this 
quick, I sh’d a told ’em it wasn’t pos¬ 
sible. I thought J’net was as crazy as a 
loon when she planted them pits a-cal- 
culatin’ she’d ever eat fruit off the trees 
from ’em,” said Mrs. Thorn, as she sat 
with a panful of luscious peaches in her 
lap. “ Jest look at that now, ain’t that a 
beauty ? Light green flesh an’ rosy 
around the pit as a watermelin, and so 
perfectly freestone too. I declare the 
more I eat of the delicious meller things, 
the more I want.” 
“Just my ca«e exactly,” Jimmy helped 
himself to another choice specimen, 
“ but, mother. Janet sent me in for you, 
to come out and decide on the width of 
the front porch.” 
“ La me, Jimmy! it’s you’n J’net that’s 
a-buildin’ the house.” Mrs Thorn put 
aside her pan in a mildly remonstrative 
manner. “ It isn’t for me to dictate how 
it’s fixed I’m sure.” 
“ But we shall enjoy it the better if 
you are perfectly suited in all respects,” 
replied Jimmy, dutifully lightening the 
weight of the pan by the abstraction of 
another peach. 
Yes, it was true. Janet’s long cherished 
ideal of a house was being built, or rather 
the old one so remodeled into a capacious 
and convenient dwelling that it was 
scarcely recognizable. They were living 
in the milk room temporarily, but the 
new home was nearly ready now for 
occupancy. 
Janet and Jimmy had studied over the 
plans all summer and there was very 
little in the line of convenience or good 
taste which had been omitted, and it was 
the product of their own labor, the 
fruition of hopes realized. 
Mrs Thorn stood with her hand slipped 
ihside Janet’s arm, her air of meekness, 
andithe look of broken-down old age con¬ 
trasting more sharply than ever with 
her bright, ruddy-cheeked daughter, 
whose keen eyes took in every detail of 
the new house with such pride. 
The mother decided the question of 
the porch in her own characteristic 
fashion. “Just as you think best, J’net,” 
and as she leaned on the strong young 
arm, a wistful expression stole into her 
faded eyes, and again she repeated the 
old, well worn phrase, “What would* 
your Pa say, J’net?” 
THE END. 
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