dropping of a careless stone. To-nlglit she 
was flushed, tremnlous, excited. 
“ By the way,” said her father, pausing at 
the door as lie passed through the hall, “I 
met that young minister—Hayes, you know 
— this morning, and asked him up to 
dinner.” 
“ But I don’t know,” responded Yesey, as 
lie passed on, her eyes growing wider and 
wider in dismay," 1 don’t know him at all. 
And to-night of all nights 1” she half-sob¬ 
bed, pulling at the flowers in the porcelain 
vase before her, until the one red rose drop¬ 
ped all its petals at her feet. 
It was to be the last of the pleasant even¬ 
ings that had brightened ull the winter. 
Darrel Winslow and his mother were com¬ 
ing to dine with them once more before 
going home. They had been boarding at 
the hotel just above, two or three months. 
Yesey had built so many hopes upon this 
evening. But now- 
She was fastening a bunch of daphne— 
sweet-scented, velvet-leaved—into her belt, 
when Paul entered the room. “Passing 
fair I” he said to himself, at a glimpse of the 
bent head. 
“ The Rev. Paul Hayes I” announced the 
servant. She turned quickly, not catching 
the name, hearing only the sound of feet and 
the opening of the door. But the flush upon 
her face was not for him. The mahulresse 
with which she hesitated and then came to 
meet him was something strange in Vesey 
—graceful, self-possessed. 
“ I—I am Miss Welles," with rather un¬ 
necessary frankness. “My father will ho 
down in a moment. lie was unusually late 
from town to-night." The last words were 
uttered with her grandest air, in her efforts 
to compose herself. 
“ But haughty and cold," Paul added, 
mentally, as he turned away to meet her 
father. 
Then, at last, Mrs. Winslow and Darrel 
came. 
Who the- is this man?” looked out 
of Darrel's eyes, as Vesey, grown suddenly 
shy, presented him to Paul, and Paul to 
Darrel’s mother. 
“ So glad, I'm sure,” murmured, Mrs. 
Winslow, effusively. “ Always delighted to 
meet our clergy. Hayes, did you say ? And 
where-” 
Vesey interposed. It would never do to 
chill the air, already frigid, with theological 
differences. Mrs. Winslow was a stanch 
cluirchwoman. Paul, she knew, was of an¬ 
other faith. 
“Let me wheel your chair to the fire. 
There—so.” She seated her in triumph. 
The gentlemen gathered in a knot at a little 
distance. 
“ And you really go home to-morrow ?” 
Vesey said, silting down beside her. 
“ Yes. I’ve done all my shopping. My 
mauve poplin came home to-day, There is 
nothing to wait for now; and Darrel does 
not care to slay. The opera season is over, 
you know.” 
So it was for the gaycties of the town lie 
had lingered week after week, she thought, 
with a sudden sinking of the heart. Oh, 
how blind she had been 1 His careless laugh 
came across the room just then, as if to 
mock her. 
“ You’ll not como back before another 
season ?" She could not hide the pain that 
quivered in her voice. But the limp little 
woman crushed into the depths of the arm¬ 
chair by her side did not heed it. 
“No," she replied, simply, “I suppose 
not.” 
The gentlemen joined them. 
“ Sit down here by me,” said Mrs. Wins¬ 
low to Paul, motioning to the chair at her 
side. 
“ It is of no use,” whispered Vesey to Dar¬ 
rel, with a hysterical sound between a laugh 
and a soli. 
“ What is of no use?" He followed her 
away from the fire. 
“ Trying to avert grim fate. Your mother 
is determined to discuss church matters with 
Mr. Hayes. What will she say to find he is 
not in the succession at all? That lie simply 
cures for the souls of our butcher and baker, 
and-” 
“ Candlestick maker," suggested Darrel. 
“ Yes, for aught I know. I have tried to 
keep them apart, but-” 
“Extremes will meet. I believe there is 
an attraction between the poles. But what 
does it portend, this invasion? Arc you 
about to assume a stuff gown and plain lion- 
net? Or do you propose to bring him iuto 
the true church? Not a bad addition, 
should say,” fixing his eyes upon Paul, who 
had won the respectful attention, at least, of 
his rather light-minded audience in the arm¬ 
chair. 
“What were you saying?” Vesey asked, 
absently. Her eyes had followed his. “ How 
he chanced to he here? Oh ! father has met 
him occasionally, and so asked him to dinner. 
I was sorry lie came to-night.” 
“ Ah ?” Darrel looked down upon her with 
a conscious air. She had spoken truer words 
than she intended. She went on as though 
she had not heard him—as though the color 
was not flaming her face. 
“ Because I knew you would have little in 
common, and thought it might he awkward 
for ns all. It does not matter.” Nothing 
did or ever would any more. A gray wall 
seemed to shut out all beyond this night. 
“But 1 am not to he defrauded of my 
rights. I am to take you out to dinner, am I 
not? You surely won’t throw me over at the 
last, Vesey?” He bent his head close to 
lrer face. 
“ I don’t know ; you can sit upon one side 
and Mr. Hayes upon the other, if he will." 
She moved away towards the others; lean¬ 
ing over his mother’s chair she pretended to 
listen, smiling assent; to what, she never 
knew. She was thinking how pleasant she 
had hoped it would be, with only Darrel 
and his mother here—they four around the 
tire in the twilight, Darrel by her—of the 
words she had thought he would speak. 
There was a ring hanging upon his watch- 
chain. It fitted her linger. lie had tried it 
once in jest. 
“Vesey!" called her father. And then 
she knew the others were rising—that din¬ 
ner was announced. 
“I hope you and Mrs. Winslow have be¬ 
come friends,” she said to Paul, as they were 
going out. 
“ One hardly gets so far as that in a half- 
hour's chat,” he answered pleasantly. 
“And just before dinner,” added Darrel, 
from the other side. “ That’s the time to 
make enemies, Miss Vesey.” 
“ Then do hasten to be served, gentlemen, 
lest you quarrel.” 
“ And the cause ?” queried Darrel in her 
ear. 
She turned away from him to Paul. And 
yet what should she say ? What do people 
say to ministers? she asked herself help¬ 
lessly. And to young ministers above all ? 
Oil, if he had not come! If lie would only 
go! If they would all go, and leave her 
alone with her disappointment and shame! 
How she passed that long dinner hour she 
never knew. She talked of trivial things, as 
we all do, though beneath the out ward calm 
our very souls are seething. She dared not 
speak of others, lest she break this crust. 
Paul judged her. She has found her low¬ 
est depth, he said, when she chanced to name 
a ribbon. Her spirits rose ; buoyed by her 
iglit words and laugh perhaps. When they 
were back in the drawing-room, and the 
others fell into the quiet, desultory Chat that 
follows a dinner, she alone could not be still. 
Her cold hands refused to lie quietly in her 
lap, as shapely white hands should. Her 
feet beat an impatient waltz under her gown. 
She glanced at Darrel. lie had thrown 
himself back in an easy chair, his hands 
under his head. There was no feverish glit¬ 
ter in his eye. lie looked simply bored. 
He yawned furtively. She pushed her chair 
hack. “How stupid we are: It’s the lire, 
l think. It always dulls everybody but 
itself. Will not some one sing or play?” 
Aud she sat down herself before the piano. 
She struck a quick, sharp chord. “ 1 
could dance to-night!” She had forgotten 
the young minister and his probable preju¬ 
dices. lie caught, a glimpse, just then, of 
the flushed, intense face. But in an installl, 
with the minor chord that followed, it 
changed. Tears rushed to her eyes. “ If 1 
hadn’t lost my slippers,” she breathed to 
herself. Her back was to the Others. Only 
Paul saw the sudden saddening of the face, 
the fall of the wet eyelids. 
“ Such wonderful spirits!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Winslow. “ So light-hearted Vesey always 
is 
But he fell into 
now he had decided to stay. It seemed 
there was a sequel to the book. He was 
templed to fall in love with her upon the 
spot. “ If she’s acting, she is far more clever 
than I thought; and if she is really indiffer¬ 
ent, I’ve been a conceited fool.” 
“ Good-night! and good-by, it must be,” he 
said, detaining her hand when they separat¬ 
ed. “ We shall take the early train.” 
The flush had died out of her face. She 
looked worn amt tired. Upon the whole he 
was not sorry he had decided to go. 
“ Good-by,” she said quietly. 
“You’ll come and make us that visit in 
the summer, Vesey? Oh, my gloves and 
my veil!—thank you,” began Mrs. Winslow, 
fussily. 
“ I don’t know. Perhaps so.” 
“ Of course you will.” 
“ To be sure,” added Darrel. “ I shall come 
for you myself.” 
They were gone at last. She turned away. 
“But Mr. Hayes? Vesey!” 
She had forgotten his existence. 
“ I’m afraid 1 am rude.” And she put out 
her hand. “Good-night; but indeed I may 
confess now that 1 have a wretched head¬ 
ache, and—and—” That was all she said. 
The play was over—[Concluded next week.j 
— Scribner's Monthly. 
-- 
THE MANAGING- WIFE; 
Ezua Newton had just finished looking 
over his yearly accounts. “ Well," asked 
his wife, looking up, “ how do you come 
out?” 
“ I find,” said her husband, “ that my ex¬ 
penses during the last year have been thirty- 
seven cents over a thousand dollars.” 
“And your income has been a thousand 
dollars?" 
“ Yes. I managed pretty well, didn’t I?” 
“ Du you think it managing well to exceed 
your income?” said his wife. 
“ What’s thirty-seven cents?” said Mi*. 
Newton, lightly. 
“ Not much, to be sure, but still something. 
It seems to me that we ought to have saved 
instead of (idling behind.” 
“ But how can wo saveon this salary, Eliz¬ 
abeth? We haven’t lived extravagantly. 
Still it seems to have taken all." 
“Perhaps there is something in which we 
might retrench. Suppose you mention some 
of your items.” 
“The most, important are house vent, one 
hundred and fifty dollars,and artielesot food, 
live hundred dollars.” 
“ How often have you been in the habit 
of presenting your hills, Mr. Williams?” 
“ Once in six months,” was the reply. 
“ And I suppose you sometimes have had 
bills?” 
“ Yes, onc-tbird of my profits, on an av¬ 
erage, are swept oil by them.” 
“ Aud you could afford, l suppose, to sell 
somewhet cheaper for ready money ?” 
“Yes, and 1 would" bo glad if all my cus¬ 
tomers would give me a chance to do so.” 
“1 will set them an example, then,” said 
Mrs. Newton. “Hereafter whatever arti¬ 
cles shall be purchased of you will be paid 
for on the spot, and we shall expect you to 
sell as reasonably as you can.” 
This arrangement was also made with 
others, who, it is scarcely needful to say, 
were very glad to enter into the arrange¬ 
ment. Ready money is the great support 
of trade, aud a cash customer is worth two 
who purchase on credit. 
Fortunately Mrs. Newton had a small 
supply of money by her which lasted till the 
first monthly installment from her husband 
became due. Thus she was enabled to carry 
out her cash plan from the beginning. 
Another plan which occurred to her as 
likely to save expense, was to purchase arti¬ 
cles in lurgequnnlities. She had soon saved 
enough from the money allowed her to do 
this. For example, instead of buying sugar 
a few pounds at a time, she purchased a 
barrel, and so succeeded in saving a cent or 
more on the pound. This, perhaps, amount¬ 
ed i? but a trifle in the course of a year, but 
the same system carried out in regard to 
other articles yielded a result which was by 
no means a trifle. 
There were ot her ways in which a careful 
housekeeper is able to limit expense which 
Mrs. Newton did not overlook. With an 
object in view she was always on the look¬ 
out to prevent waste, and to get the full 
value of whatever was expended. 
The result was beyond her anticipations. 
At. the close of the your, on examining her 
bank book—for site had regularly deposited 
whatever money she bad not occasion to use 
in fine of these institutions—she found that 
she had $150, besides reimbursing herself 
for the money used during the first month, 
and having enough to last another. 
“ Well. Elizabeth, have you kept within 
your allowance?” asked her husband at this 
lime. “ I guess you have not found it so 
easy to save as you thought for.” 
“ I have saved something, however," said 
his wife, “ hut how is U with you ?” 
“ That’s more than 1 can say. However, 
“ Just half.” ' 
“ Yes, and y,u‘H admit that we can’t re- 1 I have not exceeded ray income, that’s one 
“ Al» 1” responded Paul, 
a revery. 
Darrel leaned over her. “ What has come 
to you?” 
“How? Why?” She did not pause in 
her playing. 
“ You’re simply glorious now. You hard¬ 
ly need a crown.” 
Her hands went wrong. A quick clash— 
a discord—then she went on. She was 
growing strong ; equal to the strife. There 
is nothing so deathless us a woman’s pride. 
It had risen at last. Her hands flashed 
over the keys, throwing off sparks of the 
wildest, gayest music. 
“Not that!” Darrel whispered. “Play 
something soft and low. Do you forget it 
is our last evening? You’re not sorry after 
all, then!" for her face never changed. She 
laughed—a low, quiet ripple in her throat. 
“Sorry? Oh yes;" lingering over the 
last word. And still her hands toyed with 
the keys. "But one can’t cry at bidding, 
you know; I dare say I may to-morrow.” 
And again the low laugh welled up in her 
throat. She looked up fearlessly, it had 
been all busies she knew now. But at least 
lie should not triumph in her shame. She 
had worn her heart upon her sleeve; but 
though it bled, lie should not know it. She 
might indeed cry to-morrow, but not now. 
As for the man, he experienced anew sen¬ 
sation—of doubt, mingled with amazement. 
He had read her, as he thought, like an open 
book. He even fancied he had cut the leaves. 
“Poor little mouse!” lie had said to himself, 
“I really must go away. She is certainly 
growing fond of me." He alinost wished 
trench there, Elizabeth. 1 like to live well. 
I had enough of poor hoard before I married. 
Now l mean to live as well as I can.” 
“ Still we ought to he saving up something 
against a rainy day, Ezra” 
“That would lie something like carrying 
an umbrella when the sun shines.” 
“ Still it is well to have an umbrella in the 
house.” 
“ I can’t controvert your logic, Elizabeth, 
but 1 am afraid we shan't, he able to save up 
anything this year. Whan I get my salary 
raised, it will be time enough to think of 
that.” 
“ Let me make a proposition to you,” said 
Mrs. Newton. “ You say that one half of 
your income has been expended on articles 
of food. Are you willing to allow me that 
sum for the purpose?” 
“ You guarantee to pay all hills out of it?” 
“ Yes.” 
“ A ml relieve me of all care on that point ?” 
“ Yes.” 
“ Then I will shift the responsibility upon 
you with pleasure. But I can tell you be¬ 
forehand you won’t be able to save much 
out of it.” 
“ Perhaps not. At any rate I will engage 
not to exceed it.” 
“That’s well. 1 shouldn’t relish having 
any additional hills to pay. As I ani paid 
every mouth, I will at each payment hand 
you half the money.” 
The different characters of the husband 
and wife may be judged from the conversa¬ 
tion which has been recorded. Mr. Newton 
hud but little prudence or foresight. He 
lived chiefly for the present, and seemed to 
fancy that whatever contingencies might 
arise in the future, he would somehow be 
provided for. Now trust in Providence is a 
very proper feeling, but there is a great deal 
of truth in the old adage that God will help 
those who help themselves, and In propor¬ 
tion as they are disposed to help themselves. 
Mrs. Newton, on the contrary, had been 
brought up in a family which was com¬ 
pelled to be economical, and although she 
was not disposed to deny herself comforts, 
yet she felt that it was desirable to procure 
them at a fair price'. 
The lime at which this conversation look 
place was at the commencement of the 
second year of their married life. 
The first step which Mrs. Newton took, 
on accepting the charge of the household 
expenses, was to institute the practice of 
paying cash for all articles that came under 
her department. She accordingly called on 
the butcher and inquired: 
good thing. I find that I have exactly spent 
all. But L can’t see how you have saved 
anything. Wc have lived full as well, and 
1 don’t know hut what better than last year, 
when we spent five hundred.” 
“ It’s knack, Ezra,” said his wife, smiling. 
She was not inclined to mention how 
much she had saved, She wanted some 
time or other to surprise him with it when 
it would be of some service. 
“ She may possibly have saved up $35,” 
thought Mr. Newton, “ or some such trifle,” 
and so dismissed the matter from his mind. 
At. the end of the second year Mrs. New¬ 
ton’s savings, including the interest, amount¬ 
ed to three hundred and fifty dollars, and 
she began to feel quite rich. 
Her husband did not think to inquire how 
she had succeeded, supposing, as before, that 
it could be but a very small sum 
However, lie had a piece of good news to 
communicate. His salary had been raised 
from a thousand to twelve hundred dollars 
He added, “As 1 before allowed you onc- 
half my income for household expenses, it is 
no more than fair that 1 should do so now. 
Thai will give you a belter chance to save 
up a part of it than before. Indeed, I don’t 
know how you have succeeded in saving 
anything tints far. 
As before Mrs. Newton merely said that 
she had saved something, without specifying 
the amount. 
Her allowance was increased to six hun¬ 
dred dollars, but her expenses were not 
porportionully increased at all, so that her 
savings for the year swelled the aggregate 
sum in the savings bank to six hundred 
dollars. 
Mr. Newton, on the contrary, in spite of 
his increased salary, was no better off at the 
end of the third year than before. His ex 
penses had increased by a hundred dollars 
though he would have found it difficult to 
tell in what way his comfort or happiness 
had been increased thereby. 
In spile of his carelessness in regard to his 
own affairs, Mr. Newton was an excellent 
man in regard to business, and Ids services 
were valuable to his employers. They ac 
cordingly increased Ids salary from time to 
time till it reached sixteen hundred dollars, 
lie had steadily preserved the custom of as 
signing one-half to his wife for the same pur¬ 
pose as heretofore, and this had become such 
a habit that he never thought, to inquire 
whether she found it necessary to employ 
the whole or not « 
Thus ten years rolled away. During all 
this time Mr. Newton lived in thesamehired 
house, for which he had paid an annual rent 
of one hundred and fifty dollars. Lulleiiy, 
however, he had become dissatisfied with it. 
Itjnul passed into the hands of a new land¬ 
lord, who was not disposed to keep it ju the 
repair which lie considered desirable. 
About this time a block of excellent houses 
were erected by capitalists, who designed to 
sell or let them as they might have an oppor¬ 
tunity. They were more modern and much 
better arranged than the one ill which Mr. 
Newton now lived, and he felt a strong de¬ 
sire to move in one of them. He mentioned 
it to Ids wife one morning. 
“What is the rent, Ezra?” inquired his 
wife. 
“Two hundred and twenty-five dollars for 
the corner house; two hundred for either of 
the others.” 
“ The corner one would he preferable, on 
account of the side windows.” 
“ Yes, and they have a. large yard besides. 
I think we must hire one of them. I guess 
I’ll engage one to-day; you know our year is 
out next week.” 
“Please wail, Ezra, till to-morrow before 
engaging one.” 
“ For what reason ?” 
“ I should like to examine the house.” 
“Very well, I suppose to-morrow will he 
sufficiently early.” 
Soon after breakfast Mrs, Newton called 
on Squire Bent, the owner of the new Mock, 
and inlimuluij her desire to be shown the 
corner house. The request he readily com* 
plied with; Ml'S. Newton was qnile delight¬ 
ed with all the. arrangements, and expressed 
her satisfaction, 
“Are these houses for sale or to let?” slit 
inquired. 
“ Either,” said the owner. 
“The rent is, I understand, $225.” 
“Yes, I consider the corner house worth 
at I arsl $25 fnore than the rest.” 
“ And wliul do von charge for the house 
to n, cash purchaser," asked Mrs. Newton 
with subdued eagerness. 
“Four thousand dollars cash, was the re¬ 
ply; and that is but a small advance upon 
the cost.” 
Very well, I will buy it of you,” added 
Mrs. Newton, quietly. 
“What did 1 understand you to say?" 
asked the Squire, scarcely believing his ears. 
“I repeal, that 1 will buy this house at 
your price and pay you the money within a 
week.” 
“Then the house is yours. But your hus- 
jand said nothing of’liis intention, und in 
fact I did not know ”— 
“That he had the money to invest, I sup¬ 
pose you would say. Neither does he know 
it, and i must ask you not to tell him for the 
present.” 
The next morning Mrs. Newton invited 
tier husband in take a walk, but without 
specifying the direction. 
They soon stood in front of the house 
which lie desired to live 111. 
“ Wouldn’t you like to go in ?" she asked. 
“Yes. It’s a" pity we huve’nl got the key.” 
“1 have the key," said his wife,mid forth¬ 
with walked up the steps aud proceeded to 
open the door. 
“ When did you get the key of Squire 
Bent?” asked her.husband, 
“ Yesterday, when l bought the house," said 
his wife, quietly. 
Mr. Newlon gazed at his wife in profound 
astonishment. 
“ What on earth do you mean, Elizabeth,’ 
he inquired. 
"Just, what T say. The house is mine, 
and what, is mine is thine. So the house is 
yours, Ezra." 
“ Where in the name of goodness did you 
raise the money?” asked her husband, iu 
amazement still as great as ever. 
“ 1 haven’t been a managing wife for Ira 
years for nothing,” said Mrs. Newton, smil¬ 
ing. 
With some difficulty Mrs. Newlon per¬ 
suaded her husband that the price ol the 
house was really the result ol her savings. 
He felt when he surveyed the commodious 
arrangements ol the new house, that lie had 
reason to he grateful for the prudence ol Ins 
wife. 
-- 
A STORY OF THE WAR. 
In the cemetery at Nashville, Tennessee, 
a stranger was seen planting a flower ovei a 
soldier’s grave, lie was asked, “ W as join 
son buried there?" 
“ No,” was the answer. 
“A brotherV” 
“ No.” 
“ A relative?” 
“ No.” 
After a moment the stranger laid down a 
small board which lie held in his hand, am 
said • 
“ Well, I will tell you. When the 
broke out I was a farmer in Illinois, 
wanted to enlist, but I was poor and 1 • 1 
a wife and seven children. I was dratttu. 
I bad no money to hire a substitute, a) - 
1 made up my mind that 1 must fr ‘ a '' - 
pom* sickly wife and little children a s 
to tight the enemy. Alter 1 had g“t a lieudy 
liich 
go 
for von.’ lid did go in my place, and in the 
battle of Oliicknmanga he was worn d d • 
B hospital. But alt't 
and was hurled hen*, anil 
tongut me enemy, aim > &■*■ 
to go, a young man whom 1 knew, cm ic 
me and said, ‘You have a big bumy J >. 
vom* wife could not take care ol. t 1 t 
to Nasli- 
laken to Nashville hospital. But alter long 
sickness he died, and was b 
ever since 1 have wanted to come 
ville and see Ills grave; and so l *nv<*< 1 
alt the spare money I could and >cs •) 
I came on, and to-day 1 fotuul my <■ 
friend’s grave.” . . i,: 9 
With tears of gratitude running uo«» 1 
cheeks, he took up the small boat* 
pressed it down in place of a tombs • 
Under the soldier’s name were written on jr 
these words: 
“ HE HIED FOR ME. ’ 
