r 
my sewing, thinking that my aunt would be 
back in a moment to finish clearing the 
table, and that I should be allowed, during 
the afternoon, the place of ft guest. Air. 
Mare hall spoke to me aud asked me to piny 
backgammon. It was the only game of 
pleasure that I knew, and I was delighted 
at the thought. I put down my sewing, and 
he brought the board and arranged the 
game. Juba sat in a corner of the sofa with 
some embroidery. J ust as wc wore ready to 
play, 1 looked up and saw that the table 
still stood spread with its linen clotl), aud 
the crumb-cloth had not been taken up. 
Julia glanced at it the same moment, and 
then turned serenely hack to her em¬ 
broidery. 1 put down the dice box timidly 
“ ‘ Excuse me,’ said I, ‘ aunt is not coming 
back, and the table must be put in its 
place/ 
“ 1 took off the cover and carried it into 
the kitchen, aud then came back, pulled 
down the leaves of the old-fashioned tal >le, 
and was going to put it up at the side of the 
room alone, when Mr. Marshall arose and 
did it for me. 
“ Then 1 took up the crumb-cloth, carried 
it out and shook it, and put it in its place in 
the hall closet, and all the time he stood and 
watched me, as if in surprise. When I was 
ready to sit down again lie played very 
badly, lie seemed to be absent minded. 
“ Tie came to the house two or throe times 
after that, but not to spend an evening alone 
with Julia. Pretty soon he did not come at 
all, and Julia used to cry out and be so cross 
that she made the whole family uncomfort¬ 
able. 
“ One day be drove up to the door in a 
splendid sleigh, for it was winter time, and 
the sleighing was very good. Julia was sit¬ 
ting at the dining-room lire 
“ ‘ There,’ said she, jumping up, ‘ lie’s come 
to take me to drive. Now, 1 won’t go a step 
unless lie asks my pardon for staying away 
so long/ 
“ Her mother showed him into the parlor, 
and he asked for me I went in wonder. 
He asked me to go and ride as coolly as if I 
had been in the habit of driving with him all 
the days of my life; aud there was some¬ 
thing in Ids manner that would not let me 
refuse. I went, and lie asked me to marry 
him. 1 waited three years for him, for he 
was not settled in business then; then we 
were married, and 1 have been happy every 
day of my life since. 
11 One day be told me why lie bad not mar¬ 
ried Julia. ‘1 was pleased with her, ’ said 
lie, * but when 1 saw her let you, n guest, 
leave your employment wiili a gentleman to 
do her mother’s work, while she sat doing 
nothing hut embroidery, 1 knew she was in¬ 
dolent and selfish, and she never looked pret¬ 
ty to me after that moment. If it had not 
been for that crumb-cloth, Nannie, 1 should 
probably have married her, and been as 
wretched as I am now satisfied.’ 
back to life. She had much to live for, after 
all, for now Lot’s mother was kind,—not 
tender and loving as she might be, but gen¬ 
tler and pitiful. And Hose learned in the 
sick room to call her sister, and once out of 
the old groove of cold formality, she never 
got back to it. 
The first time Annie was able to ride out, 
Lot drove her to a beautiful eminence a quar¬ 
ter of a mile from the house, where workmen 
had cut down some of the trees, and were 
engaged in making excavations. 
“ What is going on here?” she asked, in 
differently. 
“ The foundation for our new home. Oli, 
Annie, wc an going to begin now, and live.” 
Thankful team were in Annie’s eyes, and 
thankful love in her heart. The past year 
was a dream. This was their true bridal-. 
To-day there is a handsome home, with 
garden and orchard, on the site then laid out. 
Annie has grown round and tosy , her yellow 
hair is a shade darker, and three blooming 
children call her mother. She has never 
done much work with her hands, but I wish 
you could see the way she works with her 
head. She plans for in-door and out. They 
keep one good girl, and have all the new¬ 
fangled kiiehcu utensils m use, for she docs 
not believe in wearing out muscle when wood 
will do the work better. 
She runs the sewing machine and plays the 
piano, toadies her children and superintends 
her well ordered household Lot has had 
chances to become a politician, but bis wife 
loves the country, and so does be, and be 
votes the right ticket on election days, and 
leaves the Government in other bands. Pose 
is married to a farmer, and lives in the old 
home Her mother spends the time alter¬ 
nately with daughters Rose and Annie, 
and becoming somewhat garrulous in ha¬ 
ck! age, is never tired of talking of “ An¬ 
nie’s children,” “Annie’s home.” When 
she holds her up to Rose, who is faded at 
thirty from overwork, Rose answers, “ You 
didn’t, always think so, mother,” and the 
old lady say's, “Ah ! but that was before she 
learned to work.” 
Barbara Loyd is a doctor’s wife, and lias 
moved to the city. Every summer she visits 
Annie, and every winter Annie visits her. 
Each thinks she has a little secret of the 
past from the other, but I think that true 
monitor, the heart, has hinted out each care 
quite plainly. At any. rale, theirs is a friend¬ 
ship that only death can break. 
1 have not written this to discourage those 
who work, but to show that all have not. the 
same needs. A horse would starve to death 
on glided oats, and that which would be a 
round of contentment, to one person would 
be the tread-mill of death to another. One 
of the blessed results of humanity is that 
our children are not like us. They will not 
walk In the groove we prescribe for them, 
but find new ways and worlds for them¬ 
selves, and perfect a great plan by deviating 
into originality. There arc no two faces and 
no two souls of the great human family pre¬ 
cisely alike. 
against his mother’s accusation of “ shiftless¬ 
ness,” which she heard as plainly as though 
she had been in the same room. A stab in 
tlie dark is the crudest kind of a wound. 
“ Annie’s room ” was tin*, butt of Mrs. 
Slayton's ridicule; Lot had bought her a 
pretty ingrain carpet, and out of a white 
muslin dress she had deftly fashioned some 
embroidered curtains for the windows; a 
pretty etagere, made of old cigar boxes, pur¬ 
chased for a trifle in the city, and edged and 
put together with ornamental cone work, 
held the pretty trifles she had amassed in 
years past, and a paper holder of crimson 
merino hung above it with such papers and 
magazines as they took, for in this Lot was 
no niggard. He read, and read much and 
well; but somehow modern ideas came to a 
standstill on the threshold ol that house. 
There was not what his mother called a 
“new-fangled thing” in it, except Ann re’s 
sewing machine, and she used that for the 
benefit ol the family. There was no patent 
churn, or wash boiler, or washing machine, 
or perforated dish pan, or labor-saving ma¬ 
chine ol any kind, and the whole home, with 
the exception ol Annie’s room, was furn¬ 
ished as primitively as if limy belonged to 
a past generation. Often would Annie, 
clasping Lot’s arm, fondly look up iu his 
face and ask, “ Lot, are you poor?” and he 
would conscientiously answer “ No," but 
think it folly to explain to his little wife the 
extent of his means, and she was too timid 
to press the matter. 
Outside of the family Annie had found a 
true friend. She was the minister’s only 
child—a wild, dashing girl, with a heart as 
warm and true ns ever beat. She had loved 
Lot Slayton, and the young man was 
aware of it, but he had made no sign, and 
not even Annie then suspected it She was 
prepared to dislike ANNIE as cordially as 
Mrs, Slayton did, but somehow the little 
helpless creature won her love at first sight, 
and she had not. known her a month before 
she was ready to fight her battles with the 
world, if needs he. She was strang, brusque, 
and with a dark, volatile beauty that, by 
contrast, suited Annie; and the pair became 
earnest, loving friends. But not even to 
Barbara Loyd did Annie tell of the 
troubles that were crowding her heart and 
paling her cheeks,—the constant friction of 
household dislike. Lot loved his mother 
and feared her, and, as Annie never com¬ 
plained, be shut liis eyes to the truth aud 
thought it would all come out right. If only 
she was “ ordered in ” to play for his amuse- : 
ment, and his heart got entangled in the i 
meshes of her golden hair, and was lost to 
him forever. 
He had never seen a girl like this—se 
small, and dainty, and winning. Rosy- 
ehceked country girls, with rude health and 
boisterous spirits, lie was used to ; but this 
little creature that lie could crush in bis 
great band, like a canary bird, she puzzled 
and bewitched him. 
A few times he went to see the merchant 
“ on business,” then lie called for Annie 
alone, and soon ho knew he might ask and 
not be refused; and when be gathered the 
light form to his heart, and kissed again and 
again the silken yellow hair, be vowed that, 
no act of his should ever dim her life or 
make those blue eye9 weep. 
They were married immediately, almost 
without preparation, and lie did not. think it 
necessary that, his mother and sister should 
be present, as lie would Lake her right home. 
The merchant and his family were sorry to 
part with her, for she fulfilled her duties 
well, and was worth the money they paid 
for her, and they made her several handsome 
presents and a congratulatory speech, and 
gave them a ride in their carriage to the 
church they were married in, and afterward 
to the depot, where they took the train lor 
home. 
Home! Annie Slayton scarcely knew 
the meaning of the words, she had been 
orphaned and alone so long, and she began 
now to wonder what kind of a place she 
was going to so suddenly, and what kind of 
a future awaited her; but she was a woman, 
and had learned to trust and wait. 
An old-fashioned chaise waited for them 
at the terminus, and a farm hand drove 
than to the house, which was dark, for the 
kitchen was at the back, and did not look 
very inviting. 
Rose opened the door when she heard the 
wheels- She was a rather plain girl, with 
brown hair, and a pleasant, face somewhat 
freckled She did not kiss her brother, only 
shook hands with him, and then looked with 
bashful surprise at the bride. 
“ This is your new sister, Rose,” said Lot, 
rather stiffly. Then lie added more softly, 
“ Her name is Annie.” 
Ro9e put out her hand, which Annie 
shook. There was no word of welcome. 
Mrs. Slayton stood within, and received 
them much as Rose had done. Annie won¬ 
dered why Lot did not kiss his mother 
How would she have been surprised to know' 
that it was years ami years since that inter¬ 
change of affection had taken place between 
tli cm. 
She began to realize that this was not an 
atmosphere of love. She looked at Mrs. 
Slayton’s stern, uncompromising face, at 
iter angular figure, and thought of tlie pic¬ 
ture she bad drawn on the way of a plump, 
matronly woman, who would draw her to 
her bosom, and call her daughter. Poor 
little thing! Tlie good home food almost, 
choked her, in tiie cold, hare kitchen, — not 
cold for want of fire, but cold for want of 
associations, —of tlie grace that a blooming 
life sheds—for tlie lack of real comfort. Even 
Lot seemed silent and different, at home, and 
ceased to caress or notice her like a lover; 
while tlie words perpetually rang in her 
cars, — “Lot, help your wife lo this,” or 
“would your wife like that?” — until he 
looked up and said coldly, “ Call her Annie, 
mother.” 
She could not understand the sensation 
that name caused. Rose burst out weeping 
and left tlie table, while Airs. Slayton’s band 
shook as if in an ague fit. Annie looked 
inquiringly at. Lot, who said, in a low tone, 
“ We had a sister named Annie.” 
The tenderness of her heart asserted itself 
tlieu, for she saw Iris lips tremble, and knew' 
how deep were tbe feelings of this friend 
God had sent her. 
“ I will be more than a sister to you, Lot,” 
she said, raising his great hand to lier delicate 
pink cheek. 
Then she looked wistfully at the mother, 
and louged to go and put her arms around 
her neck, and say, “1 will be a daughter 
Annie, to you,” bat her heart sank at the 
stolid look on the white, set face. “ She lias 
steeled her heart against me,” she thought 
“ Can 1 ever win an entrance there?” 
It seemed not, then and after. Rose was 
shy and end>arrassed. Annie dressed better 
than she, and was accomplished. — could 
draw and paint, play on the piano, when she 
had one, and do all sorts of dainty things: 
but site could not work, and Rose despised 
her for that. She even declared that she 
should hate to scrub and wash, as they did; 
and when she went to the length of hiring a 
strong-armed girl to do her washing and 
y Lot’s, the storm fairly hurst. Mrs. Slayton 
\ sent the girl home; thanked goodness she 
l wasn’t brought up to be ashamed of work; 
ft and herself did the washing, rubbing away 
lx "ii Annie’s dainty muslin fabrics as if they 
v had souls to be worn out of them. 
I And Ann re cried all t he forenoon, and 
rd told Lot she had a headache, which w as 
y true, but said not a word to justify herself 
THE POWER OF A WORD 
A mother on the green hills of Vermont 
was holding by the right hand a son, sixteen 
years old, mad with the love of tlie sea. 
And ns lie stood by tlie garden gate one 
morning she said —“Edward, they tell me 
—for I never saw tlie ocean—that tlie great 
temptation of a seaman’s life is drink. 
Promise me, before you quit your mother’s 
hand, that you Yviil never drink." “ And,” 
said he, (for he told me the story,) “ I gave 
the promise, and I went tbe globe over, Cal¬ 
cutta and the Mediterranean, San Francisco, 
and the Cape of Good Hope, the north pole 
and tbe south ; I saw them all in forty years, 
and I never saw a glass filled with sparkling 
liquor that my mother’s form by the gate 
did not rise up before me, and to-day I am 
innocent of the taste of liquor.” 
Was not lhat sweet evidence of tlie power 
of a single word? Yet that is not half. 
“For," said lie, “yesterday there came into 
my counting-room a man of forty years.” 
“ Do ) r ou know me ?” 
“ No.” 
“‘Well,’ said he, ‘I was once brought 
drunk in your presence on shipboard, you 
were a passenger, they kicked me aside; 
you took me to your berth and kept me 
there till I had slept off the intoxication; 
you then asked if I had a mother. I said I 
had never known a word from her lips A on 
told me of yours and the garden gate, and 
to-day I am master of one of the packets in 
New York, and I came to ask you to come 
and sec me.’ ” 
How far that little candle throws its 
beams! That mother’s word on the green 
hills of Vermont 1 God be thanked for the 
mighty power of a single word! 
SHAKING THE TABLE-CLOTH. 
“ How did you come to marry Air Mar¬ 
shall, Aunt Nannie?” 
Mrs. Nannie Marshall wasn’t my aunt, 
but, I had called her so for many years, for 
she was the kindest and truest friend 1 ever 
had. She sat silent, knitting busily and 
smiling a little before she answered me 
“It all came of shaking a crumb-cloth,” 
said Aunt Nannie. 
“ What! did yon trip him up in Us folds, 
and bring him down on his knees to you ?” 
“No; I’ll tell you. When I was four 
years old my mother died. I don’t know 
whether children of that tender age gen¬ 
erally remember their mothers as I remem¬ 
ber mine, or not; but when I was so little 
that T sat in a high chair at tlie table, 1 
would watch the chairs filling up around it 
with ihe persistent hope that niy mother 
would conic and sit by me; mid I did not 
relinquish this hope after I was old enough 
to comprehend death, buL clung to it, pray¬ 
ing Christ to work a miracle, as iu the .old 
Bible times, and let my dear mother appear 
to iny longing sight. 
“Never was there a more affectionate or 
imaginative child, and my youth was a 
dreary time. My grandmother, who had 
charge of me, meant to do her duty by me, 
and in tlie usual acceptance of the term she 
did. 1 was fed and clothed, and she taught 
me as well as her limited means would 
allow- But she never manifested any affec¬ 
tion for me. She was one of t hose kind of 
people who think kisses and caresses fool¬ 
ishness, and though I can look back now 
and remember proofs of a secret tenderness, 
she never kissed or caressed me when I Yva9 
a child. 
“ I grew up starved for love. After I was 
fourteen years I grew to look ior it from 
whence all girls look for it, from a lover. I 
read romances—1 built air castles—yet so 
ringing from the roam lielow. And I was 
very sure that I never could be pretty, and I 
thought that nobody would ever love me. 
“ One day Air. Marshall came to dine. 
Extra attention was given to the house and 
dinner. My aunt had been very wealthy for 
a short time when first married, and from 
her husband's failure she had saved a few 
things Yviiich gave the house an air of 
means and style — some articles of line table 
silver and some handsome oil paintings, I 
remember. 
“ With my assistance she served the dinner 
herself, and managed to be richly dressed to 
appear at table. She was cool and stately, 
but I, who had lingered until the last mo 
ment in the kitchen, making gravies and 
serving up vegetables, was so tired that I 
could hardly speak. I never did talk much, 
though, so it was not noliced, apparently. 
Air. Marshall conversed of books, pictures 
and music, all of which Julia was acquainted 
with, and it was agreeable to listen to them. 
I was sorry when the meal was finished. 
“ Air. Marshall turned to look at the pic¬ 
tures on the wall when he arose, and after a 
few moments aunt commenced clearing the 
table. The dishes were put through a slide 
in the cupboard into the kitchen. I helped 
her do this. Julia stood looking out of the 
window. 
“ AVhen tlie table was cleared of the dishes 
my aunt went out. I sat down and took 
death; and that afternoon, when it was ne¬ 
cessary to take the little baby from its moth¬ 
er’s arm, and bear it away forever, she took 
Annie in her arms, and told her other own 
similar experience long ago, and when she 
laid her back on her pillow, there was mois¬ 
ture in tlie hard eyes, and for the first time, 
she kissed the pale brow. 
Annie lived. I really must give Barbara 
the credit of it. There was so much vitality 
about that breezy girl, that she infused some 
of it into everybody she came near, and An¬ 
nie caught the infection and came slowly 
Four Good Habtts — punctuality , accu¬ 
racy, steadiness and dispatch. Without tlie 
first time is wasted; without the second, 
mistakes the most hurtful to our own credit 
and interest, and that of others, may be 
committed ; without the third, nothing can 
be well done; and without the fourth, op¬ 
portunities for advantage are lost which it is 
impossible to recall. 
