Mercy puzzled herself for several minutes 
at the riddle of expressions on her sister’s 
face, and finally concluded— 
“ You have such a spirit, Nora!” 
“ I know 1 have. If 1 hadn’t I should be a 
mere stick,” answered Nora, with something 
of contemptuous implication in her beautiful 
eyes. Upon which Mercy withered quite 
dry, and looked lifeless. 
“All!” trembled Nora, steaming on more 
rapidly after casting the stick off her track. 
“ She shall regret that she ever insulted me. 
If other women have, made their own for¬ 
tunes 1 can make mine. She shall learn 
better names for me than ‘scheming bag¬ 
gage’ and 1 forward minx.’ ” 
“ O, Kora !” cried the younger sister in 
disnjay, “ Mrs, Barclay didn’t call you 
those? Why, Nora, I should think she 
Would talk to Jot:,” proposed AIercv, hit¬ 
ting upon a better plan for maternal pro¬ 
cedure. “ She can certainly see it is Joe 
who is the 1 forward’ one.” 
“As if I would marry her son!” solilo¬ 
quized the queenly girl, staring into va¬ 
cancy, “or any other farming booby, and 
plod along furrows all the rest of my life. 
No, I have hope of better things.” 
“Mr. Wi i.dman said,” proffered Mercy, 
in some embarrassed contortions, “ that you 
anti I will soon he able to teach.” 
Nora threw a look of sneering scorn 
as lant, the yomiger’s eyelashes. “ What can 
a man, a student schoolmaster, as adaptable 
a - india-rubber, at college one term and 
leaching bumpkins the next, know about the 
delicacy of our position? You may enlist 
with him, and go about the country peda- 
gogiiing; as for me, 1 want to get into the 
world at once.” 
.Mercy's eyes filled with tears, but some 
indignation shone therefrom, like pebbles in 
a brook reflecting the sun. 
“1 didn’t say anything about enlisting 
with Mr. Wildman,” she declared warmly, 
“but I know he is a gentleman. And he 
would help us to procure schools, that we 
might go away from here honorably.” 
“ And that old farmer who owed father 
thirty dollars and brought it to us last month, 
is a gentleman in his way, and could help 
us to procure situations as ‘ hired help,’ and 
we might leave honorably in that manner. 
In short, we might depart in many ways 
very satisfactory to other people hut not at 
all so to ourselves. Now,./ am going to take 
us away from here to-night) to such a future 
as we are both adapted to. No one can help 
us so well as we can help ourselves. If I 
had been our lather,” said Nora, so excited 
that she saw nothing ludicrous in her sub¬ 
junctive mood, “ I’d have managed my affairs 
better than to have thrown two young girls 
penniless upon the world for everybody to 
take advantage of their orphanage! ” 
A kaleidoscope of expressions that had 
been flitting over Mercy’s face now settled 
themselves into a picture of filial tenderness. 
“O Kora bird!” she exclaimed piteously, 
resorting to the pet name which was the only 
curb she had for her high-spirited sister, “how 
can you speak so about dear father?” 
The elder did not explain by what process, 
mental and physiological, site had been en¬ 
abled to deliver such opinion; but. moving 
softly, began to pack an old carpet-suck with 
as much nerve aud dispatch as a veteran 
deserter. 
Mercy, uncertain and astonished, fell like 
a leaf eddied into the current of her strong 
sister’s will, and clung to the worn quilt as 
that leaf would have staid itself upon a bit 
of moss. 
“ O, Kora, what will Mr. Barclay say in 
the morning?” 
“ He’ll say ' It’s a pretty cold morning.’ ” 
“ But O, Kora, what will Joe think?” 
Here Kora’s burning eyes so concentrated 
themselves on Mercy’s protruding foot that 
the latter drew it. under her drapery to es¬ 
cape the consequences of a focus. 
“ You had better change your shoes, little 
love,” she said, sollly ; “ those are. too thin.” 
“ Nora,” appealed Mercy, in a last ex¬ 
treme of terror, “ where are we going ? ” 
“ We are going to the city to be sales¬ 
women until we make our fortunes ” 
“But I never heard of anybody making 
a fortune that way,” said Mercy, examining 
the plan as one would examiue a death- 
machine, by no means desiring to grasp it. 
“Miss Dickinson was a shop girl once, 
and look at her now.” 
“ But she was talented. We have no tal- 
onls that l know of,” disclaimed Mercy, 
positive as far, at least, as she was concerned. 
Nora reared her splendid head and gazed 
with the effulgence of a star of first magni¬ 
tude across the milky way under Mercy’s 
eyelashes. 
“ Ain’t 1 handsome, Mercy Fleet?” 
“ Yes; oh, yes.” 
“ And shan’t I do something with my face ? 
Born to reign, shan’t I find my kingdom?” 
She made her toilet, noiselessly as she lmd 
made up her baggage; the tireless air did 
not chill and discolor her as it chilled and 
discolored Mercy’s weaker figure. 
“Come, little love,” she whispered, drop¬ 
ping a shawl around this figure and covering 
it with a faintly-blue hood, “ I have the six i 
five dollar bills that old farmer paid us in 
my bosom. We are all ready. They’re 
sleeping below. One bold push, a few steady 
endeavors, and we shall be independent wo¬ 
rn eu.” 
The spirit of Nora Fleet was truly a 
splendid one ; but it was yet undisciplined; 
it knew nothing of true heroism. 
The little love hung her beseeching 
strength on her sister’s arm, and tried to find 
reasons as weighty that would impede the 
headstrong girl. But she was whisked up 
and drawn after the siren. 
Moonlight seemed frozen to the window; 
their tallow candle sputtered like a laboring 
traveler. Nora puffed it out and waited till 
its last spark had died. 
Four small feet made little noise in a sleep¬ 
ing homestead. Deft fingers undid and re¬ 
adjusted familiar fastenings. A smooth sheet 
of snow covered the ground. Their crack¬ 
ling footsteps flew over it, sounding very like 
culprits’ footsteps. Mercy stopped sudden¬ 
ly and drugged once more at Nora’s arm. 
“O, Nora bird, I never can leave yon. 
But do not let us go. Come back, Nora !” 
Kora’s reply was to grasp Mercy Fleet 
by the shoulders and shake that, small indi¬ 
vidual until her molars rattled in her jaws. 
Thereafter she flew on. bird-like indeed, car¬ 
rying under her wing her chicle, whose un¬ 
willing feet alternated very briskly. 
The sharp air ihat brought out splendor 
on Nora’s cheek, chilled her sister’s whiter 
life-current. Nora’s mettle was up. They 
ran silently until Mercy’s breath was short, 
and her eyes starting out with the exercise. 
When the homestead had gone down in the 
distance Nora brought up a halt. She 
clasped the smaller one in her arms and 
kissed the frost-bitten face with great ten¬ 
derness. 
“ Little love, did the shaking hurt you?” 
“ Oh, no,” panted Mercy. 
“ Aren’t you provoked at NoRA-bird ?” 
“ Oh, no,” panted Mercy again, “ I’m only 
faint.” 
“ We’ll go slowly, now. The night train 
isn’t due at Bunker Station until ten. We 
have over an hour in which to walk the 
next mile.” 
As tlioy trod on, a brazen clamor grew 
upon the air. 
“Some one is coming in a sleigh,” whis¬ 
pered Mercy. 
“ I wish the moon weren’t so bright,” mut¬ 
tered Nora, in regal annoyance. 
“ Do you think it can be Joe following 
us V” proposed Mercy. 
Nora did not deign to enter on a discus¬ 
sion, but pulled her sister out of the track, 
and they stood muffled in a drift until the 
sleigh should pass. 
The traveler, however, did not pass them. 
He drew up short and scrutinized their 
sphinx-like shapes in some astonishment. 
“ Mias Kora Fleet, is that you?” 
“It’s Mr. Wild man,” whispered Mercy, 
fluttering. 
“ And Mercy with you ? Why, what has 
happened at home?” 
“ Nothing has happened, Mr. Wild man,” 
replied Nora, audaciously. “ May 1 trouble 
you to drive on, that we may step out of 
this drift, and continue our walk ?” 
“ No, you may not trouble me so,” re¬ 
torted the gentleman, springing from his cut¬ 
ter. “ But yon may immediately relieve my 
mind by stepping into this sleigh aud giving 
an account of yourselves. Why, lit tle Mer¬ 
cy, how cold you are,” 1m murmured to her 
alone, as he wrapped her in tlie robe by his 
side. 
Mr. Wildman was himself hastening to 
catch the night train; tor his school had 
closed a few days before. With seductive 
tact Nora at once turned her position toad- 
vantage, and made him a confidant, and so 
entangled the young gentleman in his chiv¬ 
alrous sympathy as to [dace liiin In a very 
awkward situation. He found himself aid¬ 
ing and abetting two young runaw ays, w hile 
he strongly condemned their design; w hid¬ 
ing them in his sleigh toward the station, 
because the irresistible spirit of Nora willed 
it, when his horses’ head ought to he turned 
back to Barclay farm. The shivering little 
girl, tucked under the robe, appealed strong¬ 
ly, though silently, to Ids sffnse of the right. 
But there was something in Kora’s adven¬ 
turous spirit akin to his own. He both ad¬ 
mired and was disgusted with her, and so 
wavered in his contest against her. Mercy 
had been his favorite pupil; her violet, face 
and trustful ways, her eagerness to cultivate 
herself, and all the sweet scent of her char¬ 
acter had quite tilled his volatile mind some¬ 
times. 
The three were shortly huddled around a 
station-house stove. Mr. Wildman dis¬ 
patched the horse and sleigh to be properly 
sheltered until their owner should call for 
them next day. 
“ It is not too late to repent,” he solemnly 
at tempted to exhort the glowing Nora, with 
a wicked appreciat ion of the affair flickering 
behind his moustache. This wickedness 
quite flickered out when he regarded Mer¬ 
cy’s cloud-white face in the enshrinement of 
her faded blue hood. “ Let me drive you 
back. 1 can take the next train.” 
“ No, tickets! ” cried Nora, as a train 
thundered distantly through the night. 
So tickets they had; and the adventurers 
with their perplexed escort stepped upon a 
vibrating platform and into a crowded car 
of which the heavy atmosphere and glaring 
lights quite bewildered Mercy, but filled 
Nora with delirium at. her liberty. Her 
beautiful face refreshed many sleepy eyes. 
She wore coarse garments, but wore them 
graciously; she had draped her bright-col¬ 
ored shawl and arranged her hood ties with 
such unstudied taste as to give her gipsy 
style the best possible expression. The con¬ 
ductor, following the glow of that excited 
face lie had met on the platform, roused 
from comfortable seats two fat gentlemen 
and a man with a cross baby (that hardly 
gave him an opportunity to claim the seat, 
to be sure,) and our party settled itself there¬ 
in for a night ride. 
Nora threw up a window and watched 
the darkness whirl by. Mercy shivered 
under her shawl and rested her weary head 
against the cushion what time it was not 
made to bound like a ball by the motion of 
the train. She grew paler as the hours 
waxed later. Nora, the exuberance of her 
sensations having subsided, slept on one 
plump arm and the seat in front. 
Young Wildman watched the swaying 
head in its sorry game near him until his 
compassion overcame his delicate scruples. 
“ Let me make a pillow for you, little 
Mercy,” he begged, adjusting his traveling- 
shawl against his shoulders. Mercy’s waxen 
face crimsoned piteously, and she cast a 
helpless, appealing look toward Nora, who 
had brought her against this dilemma. But 
that young lady was as sound asleep as the 
most experienced traveler, and the little 
creature was fain to accept the solution that 
was easiest, which she did with a degree of 
respect and trustfulness highly flattering to 
Mr. Wildman as a schoolmaster. 
As the hours rolled on, and the train shot 
on, with its throb, throb, the young man felt 
all the time another throbbing of a white 
temple against his shoulder. He traced the 
wlioi’e outline of that girl’s pure face a hun¬ 
dred times, the contour of her forehead, the 
round of her chin, the fringing of her eye¬ 
lids, the delicate shape of her lips. It was 
unaccountable how that cross-like face, sim¬ 
ple, sweet, tender, moved him, and brought 
his sins to mind. His college scrapes looked 
more impish than elfish by its light; it 
brought out some ilgly spots on his man¬ 
hood that made him recoil. Yet Mercy was 
only a weak little woman, drooping uncon- 
cious in his prote c tion. 
“ She’s just what 1 need,” lie muttered. I 
have said he was an impulsive young man. 
While he held the slight, burden a desire 
seized him to claim and save her from the 
uncertain fate into which her headlong sister 
was hurrying her. "She magnetized him; no 
woman could keep him above himself so 
well as she. Though he was poor, was not 
yet through college, though his profession 
and independence looked a long way off, he 
debated the question t hrough all those hours. 
That she would be his lie never doubted for 
an instant. What masculine egotist ever did 
hesitate to believe in Ills own power? 
He had not decided the question when the 
two girLs reached their journey’s end, and 
lie was obliged to leave them, aud change 
ears for his own home. Nora roused her¬ 
self from slumber, and was ready for emer¬ 
gencies, bill Mercy clung in mute fright to 
his arm as lie led her to a waiting-room. 
The great depot, was like a nightmare to 
her. Lights and crowds, and trains, and the 
Babel of noise spun her head around in their 
Whirlpool, until she was almost too dizzy to 
see. 
Young Wildman gave Nora some direc¬ 
tions about a hotel, told her where to look 
for a cab, and was searching his pocket for 
his card, saying, “ I command you to report 
to me how this Iiarem-scarnm scheme, which 
you know 1 have not sanctioned, succeeds,” 
when lie caught sight of an engine puffing 
along a distant track, and darted from them 
toward the fast retreating car, without a 
good-by. 
“ Now, little love,” said dauntless Nora, 
seating her trembling sister, “ you must re¬ 
main just here until I come for you.” 
She went out to engage her conveyance, 
exuberant aud undismayed through the 
crowd at, the depot. What could daunt 
Noua ? Not adventure, certainly. 
Mercy cowered in her place and grasped 
the handle of her carpet-sack firmly, as if 
she felt, her specific gravity about to be over¬ 
come, and the baggage might serve as bal¬ 
last ’to keep her down. Nora was gone 
long. An ugly, rod-whiskered man came in 
and stared at her. Though he dkl not even 
think of the lonely child, her nervous terror 
saw hideous meanings in his face, as King 
John’s remorse saw crime in Hubert’s. 
Nora’s injunction was forgotten ; she crept 
shaking from the room. Immediately she 
was entangled in a crowd, of which not a 
single being heard or heeded her piteous 
cry of “ O, where's Nora ?” Suddenly such 
a clang and clamor and horrible discord 
smote against her brain that she actually 
I screamed. It was a gong announcing the 
arrival of another train, but Mercy accepted 
it as an alarm. She rushed to assure her¬ 
self it was not her sister who ivas crushed, 
struck her foot and fell on the track herself 
before the slow and heavy and smooth-rolling 
monster.—[Concluded next week. 
»»>- 
“ DARLING.” 
BY MAY WHITNEY. 
You see, this was all we knew about her. 
When we gathered up what was left after 
that dreadful railroad accident there was 
only a handful of curls matted together aud 
stained with blood; something that must 
once have been a face and head,—neck and 
shoulders and chest mutilated and gory,— 
one little hand and arm still in its place, the 
other torn away and gone,—feet and limbs 
disfigured utterly; clothing once rich and 
tasteful tattered and soiled; no name any¬ 
where,— no one claiming the remnants of 
mortality,—nothing whatever to signify who 
and what it had been. 
“ Who was her father? 
Who was her neither? 
Had she a sister? 
Had she a brother?" 
None could tell. A delicate chain of gold 
was round the neck, holding a tiny locket, 
crusted with jewels, but bloodstained like 
the rest,—and in it a curl of black hair 
threaded with silver, and one little word 
“ Darling.” 
That was all. There were twelve others 
who were killed, but all of. them were 
claimed by some one, or could be identified, 
except this little waif; and after the excite¬ 
ment of the railroad disaster had abated, 
and the friends who had been bereaved by it, 
had become used to grief and loss, and after 
many weeks of waiting for some one to 
come and say “ She was mine,” we took the 
little coffin from the damp, cold vault and 
put it down beside our own darling in t he 
church-yard,—and above it, where the while 
marble gleamed, we carved her name: 
“ darling.” 
Whose darling ? No matter. Somebody’s 
house was bereft of its light aud joy. Some¬ 
body’s heart yearned in vain for the clasp of 
the dimpled arms. Somebody’s lips quivered 
and whitened and shrunk away because the 
rose-bued cheeks and mouth could no more 
lie kissed. The hands that provided, and 
the hands which fashioned those costly and 
beautiful garments, clasped each other con¬ 
vulsively lu prayer or despair—somewhere. 
The head from which that curl of silver- 
threaded hair was severed, tossed night after 
night restlessly upon its pillow, day by day 
whirled and throbbed and ached—some¬ 
where. The house which had been glorified 
by such an angel presence, which had re¬ 
sounded with laughter and song and pat¬ 
tering feet, was now dark and silent—some¬ 
where. 
Strange that, no one had ever come to seek 
the little lost one! We had all tried our 
best to find her parents or friends; we had 
left no stone unturned; wo had spared no 
expense,—remembering how wo had once 
lost just such a gleam of heaven. 
And so, being quite alone, we gave our¬ 
selves up to vague wonderings and fancies, 
and in our sweet dreaming said sometimes, 
“It is our own lost lamb come hack to rest 
beside her brother and sister down there 
among the daisies.” And when we gathered 
flowers there was always a garland for 
“ Darling’s ” grave; her basket and urn 
were kept greenest of the three if any were 
best; and in our hearts we adopted her as 
our own. 
We had some reason to feel tenderly to¬ 
ward every stray waif which came within 
our keu. When our first baby came to us, 
like all the unwise we entrusted our treasure 
with servants; and one sad day which we 
had spent joyously at a pic-nic miles away 
by the sea, our babe, carried by our nurse 
across a bridge, sprang from her arms as 
she leaned against a rail, and fell into the 
river below, sinking from sight forever. 
So we learned with terror from her affright¬ 
ed lips. And though we believed it must be 
true, and though days after a little body 
floated upon the shore, we had gone on lov¬ 
ing it in every little child which came with¬ 
in our knowledge. Two others had since 
come to us, and gone back to heaven again. 
All this was years ago; and to-night I 
have reason to thank God that before this 
news about “ Darling's” parents reached 
me another grave was added to the three in 
the churchyard; for the dear spirit could 
hardly have borne as well as 1 the dreadful 
blow. And beside, she, the mother, had 
found her own long ago in heaven, while I, 
here in the earth-fog, could not see or know. 
I am old and gray, too, and the blow is 
lightened now because I shall soon join them. 
If it had come then, if vve could have 
known the truth, we should have done—just 
what we did with “ Darling,” and grieved 
just as we did, with the added pang of cer¬ 
tainly. 
And so think what I must have suffered 
when that man came to me to-day,—an old 
man, bent and withered and creeping along 
feebly just this side the golden gate, with 
hair as white as my own,—and confessed 
to me: 
“ I stole your darling years ago, because I 
loved its mother and hated you for winning 
her away. I bought your servant with gold, 
and the tale she told you was a lie. I gave 
up my life to your babe, and cared for her 
more tenderly than any mother. And be¬ 
cause I learned to love her as I loved no 
other being, I became softened, and purified, 
and repentant; and the inevitable cross was 
laid upon my shoulders by the angels, and 
1 looked up to God through tears and said, 
‘ Thy will be done.’ And not daring to 
come with the child lest your joy should 
strike me dead. I sent her with the story by 
a friend who perished on that fatal train. 
The secret might have died with them, but 
that to-day, standing beside her little grave 
where you had carved her own sweet name 
which I gave out of my affection, a vision 
came to my soul whispering of forgiveness 
from the Father of Mercies and pointing me 
to the only atonement I could make.” 
The man has gone again. I could do no 
less than forgive, being so nearly ready to 
regain my own ; and, sitting liere in Ihe 
double twilight, of age and cvc, 1 think of 
all the darlings in the world stolen away 
from their lawful homes and perishing where 
none can know ; of darling loves ruthlessly 
snatched from the breast which quickened 
and warmed and cherished them; of baby 
hopes deprived of their natural food, and 
crushed out of recognition; of heavenly 
aspirations ground into earth and clotted 
with gore and hidden away under the 
daisies. 
Whose darlings are they all? and who 
shall confess to have been the cause of their 
ruin and death? Where are they buried? 
Does any tender hand 
"Garland their urns with white roses ?” 
No matter. Somebody,— everybody,— 
will at last find and know their own, and 
go in at the pearly gate grand and glorious, 
saying, as I do to-night, “This was my 
Darling.” 
(Hit Naturalist. 
(Si 0 cgu 
IS THE MOLE USEFUL? 
Last spring a workman on my farm called 
my attention to the effects of the moles on 
the corn soon after it was up. The young 
corn upon the ground was yellow aud per¬ 
ishing, and investigation proved that the 
grain was gone—eaten by the moles. They 
will also eat. potatoes. 1 have known them 
in my garden to nearly destroy otherwise 
flourishing peanuts. This year 1 planted 
Lima beans and some other varieties along 
the borders of my garden walks. On ex¬ 
amination 1 found that these little borrow¬ 
ers liacl ruined the whole length ot some of 
my borders. My gardener said that they 
ate the planted beans. They certainly dam¬ 
aged them seriously. 
It may be true that they eat worms, slugs, 
&c., in preference to grain and the roots of 
vegetables, but it is believed by those of long 
observation that the}' eat many kinds of 
vegetables, Ac., that they find in the ground. 
It is also true that they are not to be trusted 
to protect our vegetables from the insects 
they are said to feed upon, because if they 
do not come near the vegetables they cannot 
be said to greatly protect them; and if they 
do come near them they ruin them by their 
undermining channel. Again, as their travels 
and searches are always subterraneous, they 
do not protect plants materially, from the 
fact that the main pests of the plants are on 
or above the surface. Furthermore, to be of 
service in protecting vegetables, they would 
need to go over (or under,) ail the ground, 
so as to inspect it all, and discover and 
destroy all that might be threatening the 
vegetation; whereas they only run their 
hidden paths at considerable intervals, ex¬ 
cept when they themselves are so numerous 
as to render the destruction of the crop cer¬ 
tain.—w. A. 
-♦♦♦- 
Death to the Greeu Fly.—An English florist 
gives the following as sure death to the green fly, 
«s well as many other insects that Infest house- 
plants:—" Dissolve two pounds of soda and one 
ounce of bitter aloes, and when cold, add one 
gallon of water. Dip the plants into thlssolution, 
and lay them on their sides for a short time, and 
the insects will drop off. Syringe the plants with 
clean, tepid water, and return them to the 
house.” 
-*♦«- 
Japan Silk Worm Eggs for France. —The 
Prairie Farmer says:—“Two tons of silkworm 
eggs lately passed on the Pacific railroad from 
California eastward, bound from Japan to 
France. They left Yokohama, Japan, Decem¬ 
ber 2d. In this shipment were seventy-eight 
packages, valued at $800 per package." 
The best preventive Is to go through the orch¬ 
ard v<nv aud clean the trees of aud destroy the 
