444 
MOORE’S RURAL MEW-YORKER. 
4UNE 22 
liis work went so far behind as to make it 
impossible to catch up; and when the year 
was ended, he found that ho had expended 
over two hundred dollars more than his 
farm had yielded him. 
“ Of course, a few years more such as this 
has been will make us very rich some day!” 
he said to bis wife, as he shut his account 
book with a suddenness that made her start 
with surprise. ‘‘Of course, 1 say, Mrs. 
Couktnkv, wo shall yet bo very rich from 
the profit of our farm; if, like a crab, we 
continue to go backward; eh, my dear.'' 
“ I wouldn't, pot so down-hearted about it 
if I were you, Sears. Remember this is 
only the first year; and then, you know, 
you had bat little or no experience, and an¬ 
other year you may go far ahead of your 
best anticipations. Two hundred dollars 
isn't so very much after all, is it ! when you 
take into consideration that j’ ou had so 
many new things to buy. 1 shall be able to 
help you much more the com!up year. 1 
don’t intend to keep but one girl; I have 
learned so much in the past that L know I 
can do with less help.” 
Now, the idea or LAMIA Courtney pet¬ 
ting along with only one girl seemed so per¬ 
fectly ridiculous to her husband that he 
just stretched himself out at full length and 
laughed at her until sin; act ually cried, be¬ 
cause she did not liko the idea of his think¬ 
ing that she could not do anything. 
“It’s just, the way with t hese city men,” 
she said. “They’re never home, and they 
don’t know anything about it. J’m sure 
that during the past year 1 did a great, deal 
more work than Ann, who always made a 
fuss, as though she was doing a great deal, 
when all the time she required more wait¬ 
ing on than anybody else in the house.” 
“There! there! little puss, don’t take It 
so to heart seeing what a bad effect his 
laughing was really having upon his wife. 
“ Of course 1 believe you can work—J know 
you do, any way; but it. did seem rather 
funny to think of those dainty, white hands 
of yours (which no one in the city ever saw 
ungloved, save in your own home) Splashing 
about in greasy water and soap-suds. 1 
confess the idea of it quite took my breath 
away, and it was the t ickling sensation in 
my throat, caused in my trying to get it 
back again, that set me laughing.” 
Laura Courtney could not cry any more 
after this speech. She had a keen sense of 
the ludicrous, and the Idea of a tickling in 
her husband’s throat, caused by losing Ids 
breath, and then trying to regain it, making 
him laugh, was quite too absurd; so she had 
to laugh too, winch she did until Sears 
brought, her to task, by chiding her for do¬ 
ing the very thing she had accused him of 
but a few momontR before. 
Somehow the laugh had done them both 
good; for when Sears arose he went over 
to where his wife sat and kissed her, and 
she noticed that, the cloud had left, his face, 
and where it had hung all day liko a pall 
there were smiles like sunbeams now, that, 
danced about in their own light. So while 
her husband was doing his chores she sang, 
for her heart was lull of gladness and her 
faith in the future was strong enough to let 
her wait and see w hat it, had in store for 
them without counting on possible failures. 
Such as this woman are they who win 
crowns of life purer than gold, aud by their 
faith a home eternal in the heavens, which 
the All-Giver bestows on those whose trust 
is in Him— believing that without He wills, 
not one of His beloved children shall faint 
by the wayside. 
Chapter II. 
Laura Courtney kept her word; and 
when Ann’s month was up she was told that 
her services would no longer be required. 
Ann did not like this at all, and declared 
that “ she’d make them pay her wages for 
the whole year.” But as Mrs. Courtney 
had only engaged her by the mont h she told 
that lady “She oould do as she pleased 
about trying that, but of one thing she was 
sure, she should not stand any of her impu¬ 
dence, and the quicker she loft the better 
it would be for all concerned.” 
With one or two sharp speeches Ann went 
off to her room, where, having packed her 
things, and among them some half-dozen 
stolen articles, as Mrs. Courtney after¬ 
wards found out, she took her departure. 
Laura Courtney found that the task she 
had imposed on herself was indeed much 
greater thau she had at first supposed. 
There was an immense deal of work to do; 
and it did seem to her as if she would break 
down under it. It was the Spring of the 
year, and the children were not very well, 
go that she had frequently to be up nights, 
and the little sleep she got, together with 
the work, begun to tell fearfully upon her. 
Sears noticed this and begged that she 
would let him get her another girl, but she 
was a decided woman when once she had 
made up her mind, and she was determined 
to see what this year could be made to bring 
forth by a thorough practice of economy. 
Was it economy? I question If It is true 
economy to wear one’s self out at hard la¬ 
bor, and such, too, as one has not been ac¬ 
customed to, when there are those that can 
be had who are used to the hard paths of 
life. It seems to mo that there are mauy 
mistakes made by women like Laura 
Courtney, in believing that they are help¬ 
ing their husbands by giving all their 
strength to tho needs of the present, and 
by so doing laying the foundation for an 
after-life of uselessness and misery, when 
from overwork they find t hemselves broken 
down in body and mind. 
Laura Courtney found before the year 
was half gone that she had not done tho 
wisest thing. The woman who attended 
t o the dairy was efficient., and did all in her 
power to lighten the labor and mwko it easy 
for Mrs. Courtney. But there was such a 
constant accumulation of little tilings that 
must, be done that she fairly grew sick at 
heart, when she dtired think of them. Once 
or twice she had half resolved to tell Hears 
that, she lmd not acted altogether wisely; 
but she knew how everything plagued him 
aud how much was going wrong about the 
place, and so she determined not to com¬ 
plain, even if she died by holding out to tho 
end of the year. 
To fell the truth, things had gone worse 
thus far on the farm than in the past year 
.1 list when he most needed its work one of 
his valuable horses was taken sick and died. 
Here was a clear loss of over two hundred 
dollars, for although he could buy a cheaper 
one than this, he had twice boon offered 
that, amount for this one, and onoeonly the 
week before it died. Then one of his cows 
fell in jumping over a fence and broke her 
leg and he had to kill her. His land, too, 
was poor; and no matter how much work 
was put on it, it would be some two or 
three years at best before it would begin to 
yield well. 
1 vo half a mind to give the whole thing 
up," he said to Laura one evening, when 
lie came in more tired than usual; “I don’t 
see how it is ever going to benefit my health 
this trying to make bread out of stones! 
Why, this worrimont, of mind that I've had 
since wo came here would have been the 
death of any common man.” 
Laura Courtney was of much the same 
opinion; indeed her own troubles of late 
had caused her to wish many times that her 
husband would come to some such decision; 
but this had been one of her “good days,” 
so she bit her lip and fully determined that 
no word of complaint should fall from her. 
When her husband bad finished his supper 
he went out to go to the post-office, which 
was about half a mile from his home. 
“ I may be gone a little longer than usu¬ 
al," he said, “ l want to stop and see Mr. 
Meredith about that wagon he talked of 
selling; so don’t sit, up for me, my dear, 
after the usual time of retiring; there’s no 
knowing when he will get through talking; 
he is what, the people about here call ‘long 
winded,’ you know.” Then he kissed the 
children aud his wife and went out. 
After he had gone Mrs. Courtney pre¬ 
pared the children for bod. There were 
t wo of them— Louise, the oldest, nearly six, 
and Jennie, not quite three. It was no 
easy task to get these little ones quieted 
down at bed-time. Indeed they usually 
took this time for one of their romps, and ' 
about all the mischief they oould think of 
they contrived to narrow down into the 
half hour their mother took at this time. 
They had not half finished their play when 
Sears Courtney returned. He had stop¬ 
ped at tho post-office on his way down, 
where he had found a letter in a black- 
edged envelope, addressd to his wife. Ho 
was somewhat, frightened at first, for to him 
there was something chilling in the touch 
of one of these somber-looking envelopes. 
“ I wonder why people will persist in pa¬ 
rading their grief in all possible placesV It 
seems to me that it, is not necessary to fill 
the minds of others with constant sadness 
by these reminders of death. Is it not 
enough that the sorrows of each one come 
soon enough without having always to share 
in those of others?” 
lie opened the door that led to the nur¬ 
sery, aud called to his wife to come down 
at, once. He had a letter which he feared 
contained bad news. Laura came down 
immediately after she had put the children 
for the twentieth time into their beds, and 
having called Mrs. DorrANCE, the cook, 
to stay with them. 
Mrs. Courtney took the letter from her 
husband and opened it. It was from her 
fathers youngest sister, who had married 
when Laura was yet a child, and gone to 
the far West. Since her marriage they 
had heard but occasionally from her, and 
then nothing definite. In these letters she 
had alluded to the health of herself and 
husband, and stated in a general way that 
they wore prospering. When Mr. Rich¬ 
ardson—Laura’s father—had died, she hod 
been telegraphed to, but, owing to tho ill¬ 
ness of her husband, could not cotne. Since 
that time she had not written but once, and 
Laura had begun to forget that she ever 
had no aunt for whom she was named. Tho 
letter read thus * 
“My Dear Niece:— You will see by this 
letter that I have been deeply afflicted. M\ 
husband died suddenly about two weeks 
ago. He was its well, apparently, up to 
within an hour of his death, as at auv time 
during his life. He died of heart, disease. 
What 1 want, most to writo about, is where 
my future home is to be. 1 would like to 
make it with you, Yon have always seemed 
very dear to me since you were a little wee 
babe, and T gave you my name. I have suf¬ 
ficient means with which to support myself, 
and good health, so that I will not be any 
expense to you, and may be of assistance. 
All that 1 require is a home where I can feel 
that I am welcome. More when I see you. 
Please write at once. Your loving Aunt. 
“Laura Wilrey.” 
“What shall we write in answer?" said 
Hears, when his wife had finished reading 
the letter. 
“ Why, that she may come, of course. 
You wouldn’t have me deny the only rela¬ 
tive I have, on ray father’s side, the com¬ 
forts of a home, would you, my dear? ’’ 
“ No! of course not; what do you take mo 
for—a barbarian, I wonder?” 
“Not at all; but then you wanted to 
know what to write; as if there could be 
but, one answer.” 
So Aunt Laura was informed that she 
would be welcome, and that henceforth she 
might consider their home as hers. 
Chapter III. 
About two weeks from the time Aunt 
Laura’s letter was received, the stage 
stopped in front of the Courtney's home, 
aud a lady dressed in deep mourning was 
seen by Mrs. Courtney to hastily descend. 
She would have hurried out to meet, her had 
her hands been free; but she had been help¬ 
ing the cook with the baking, and her hands 
and arms were covered with Hour. Before 
she had hardly timo to think, the door 
opened, and the sweetest of voices was 
heard calling, “Laura.” 
" 1 hadn’t, time to knock, my doarl I was 
so anxious to see you that I oould not, wnit, 
for that formula to be gone through with. 
Ever since your dear, kind letter reached 
me I’ve just been wild to come. 1 knew by 
the kind words I found therein that I should 
indeed bo welcome here. ’ 
The driver came in just then with the 
trunks, and for a t ime all conversation was 
dropped in order to attend to him. When 
he had gone, and Aunt Laura had divested 
herself of her things, they both sat- down in 
the two great easy chairs t hat hud once be¬ 
longed to her father’s home, and poured 
out the story of their lives since they had 
been separated. When Aunt Laura spoko 
of her dead husband, tears filled the eyes 
of both, aud after that time he was not 
alluded to by either, because of the sorrow¬ 
ful feelings tho mention of his name would 
call forth. But in Aunt Laura’s heart 
there was laid away a tender memory of 
him she had loved so well, and he would 
never be forgotteu. 
When Sears Courtney came in from the 
field that day, to his dinner, he found Aunt 
Laura a very agreeable person, and his 
heart was glad within him that his home 
was to be hers as well. 
“If things only would go right on the 
farm, now,” ho said, “ I think we should bo 
about the happiest family In this part of 
the laud. But there is no use in denying it, 
my dear, things do go confoundedly wrong; 
and unless there is a decided turn in 
fortune’s wheel in our favor, we shall not 
be able to meet our payments, and then the 
mortgage will be foreclosed and we shall be 
homeless.” 
“ Always looking on tho dark side. Sears. 
Don’t yon believe you would be just a little 
more happy if you should try to look over 
or under these dark clouds, instead of right 
at them? It seems to mo that you would 
find them edged with sunshine if you did." 
“ If f could. But then I haven't your 
faith, my dear; and things that seem but 
trifles to you seem the ‘Old Man of the 
Mountain’ to me; and I cannot throw 
trouble off as you can. We are differently 
constituted, you see.” 
“ Well, let us hope for tho best. It won’t 
make us oue jot better off to borrow trouble, 
any way. “Sufficient to the day is the evil 
thereof ’ is a good proverb, notwithstanding 
you don’t like proverbs, my dear.” 
Sears Courtney went out to his work 
that afternoon with a lighter heart than ho 
had had for many a day. Somehow these 
talks with his wife always did fill him with 
new courage aud cause him to wonder if 
there had not been some mistake when 
woman was named the weaker vessel. But, 
use all t he courage he could muster, and 
strength into the bargain, he could never 
make that farm pay. The land was poor 
and had been worked to death before it fell 
into bis hands, so t hat when the time came 
again for harvesting he found that his crops 
would not meet his expenses by over ono 
hundred dollars. From this time he was 
so disheartened that it did seem as if he 
would break down entirely. He began to 
wear the look of a man whoso cares were 
weighing him down to the very earth. 
Laura Courtney tried every way in her 
power to cheer him, but to no purpose. 
“It seemed,” he said, “as though I never 
could make another effort. Besides, I am 
not gaining in health here; so where is the 
use in trying to keep the form any longer?” 
Aunt Laura noticed how changed he was 
from the cheerful man who greeted her 
with such an enthusiastic welcome, and 
wondered in secret what could he the cause. 
Hhe resolved, too, upon asking her niece 
for nil explanation of her husband's sad and 
worn-out look. Accordingly, one day while 
they wore sitting alone, she asked Mrs. 
Courtney to tell her all about her hus¬ 
band’s trouble—“ for I know, my dear, that 
he has trouble. No man ever looked so de¬ 
jected unless there was some deep cause— 
one, too, out of which he cannot see his 
way.” 
Then Laura Courtney drew her chair 
closcr to tho side of her Aunt, and told just 
what the matter really was, and how that 
she feared Hears would break down ent ire¬ 
ly if there was not something done to ease 
lii* mind in regard to the mortgage. 
“Nothing will be more easy, my child, - ’ 
said Aunt Laura. “ 1 have a plan that will 
forever relieve your husband from the cares 
of farm life. I have feared for some timo 
(hat it was too hard for him here. I have 
never told you that my husband died a rich 
man, but he did. When «he estate was set¬ 
tled 1 found that there was left forme a lit¬ 
tle more than one hundred and fifty thous¬ 
and dollars. There! don’t look so surprised, 
child, it’s true. 
“ Well, of course you know unless I marry 
again—which 1 never shall—all my money 
will some dav go to yon, or your children, 
should you outlive me. What 1 propose to 
have vou do is this:—buy a cottage some¬ 
where. large enough for your wants, and 
about four acres of land, and sell thi, miser¬ 
able apology for a farm. Then hire a suffi¬ 
ciency of help to do all your housework. 
Thou let your husband do farming on a 
errm 11 scale and ill a genteel way on his four 
acres of land, and his health will comeback 
to him- 1 don’t believe that working from 
nmi n until night with the cares of a farm 
ever did bring one single man back to health, 
all the doctors in the land to the contrary. 
We will keep a horse, of course, or perhaps 
a pair of ponies, and a phaeton, aud wander 
at will ‘over the hills and far away,’ and 
banish care to the winds.’ 
‘•But. Aunt. Laura, this would be too 
much for us to accept of you,” said Mrs. 
Courtney. . . , 
“Why 60 ? Haven’t I enough and to 
spare? As I said, at my death all 1 possess 
will he yours. Now I propose to see just 
how you will use my money while I am liv¬ 
ing. “I think there are more mistakes made 
in keeping money through a loiq? life by 
those who are rich, and t hereby letting those 
who have just claims upon them suffer for 
the want of it, knowing in the end that it 
must, be theirs, thau can ever be made by- 
sharing it with them while one is alive, and 
can see the amount of good it Is doing. Ho 
I intend to give you fifty thousand dollars 
now — that is for your mime —and if it will 
make you and your husband happier aud 
freer from care than you are now, then will 
1 be sufficiently rewarded.” 
That evening, when Sears Courtney 
came in to his evening meal, his wife told 
him of Aux/r Laura’s generous gift, and 
how rich she really was. The poor fellow 
was nearly unmanned, aud almost cried. 
It seemed so hard to him to be compelled to 
lose all the money he had by this unlucky 
speculation. But here was an unexpected 
war out of all difficulties; aud this woman, 
who at first, lie had feared to have enter his 
home, had saved him from ultimate want. 
He had indeed entertained an angel un¬ 
awares. , , ,. , . 
It. was not an easy matter to dispose of 
the farm. Those who lived in the place 
knew how utterly worthless it was in com¬ 
parison to other farms. But at. last it was 
sold, though much below what Bears 
’ Courtney had paid for it; yet he con-id- 
, ered that, the bast of the bargain was Ins m 
being able to get rid of it. at all. 
What need of prolonging our stoi} lne 
end has come. The Courtneys are treo 
' from care; Aunt Laura ts happy feeing 
them happy; and 1 might 
• after chapter urging those who, 
are rich, to go and do likewise scatter 
! their wealth so that its fruit might be seen 
l by them ere the dark seal of death had 
? ciosed their eyes forever, But what would 
it avail v 
