1899 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
679 
The Everyday Cinderella. 
Some sweet, modest, unselfish girl, 
who does not regard herself as remark¬ 
able either in mind, appearance or man¬ 
ner, will ask, “Where is there a place 
for a girl to-day who is not beautiful or 
talented, who cannot play or paint or 
sing, cannot permit herself to write an 
essay for a literary club, and has no 
ability for leadership?” 
For such a one, says the Woman’s 
Home Companion, the history of an 
everyday girl who met fulfillment, and 
wrought from common material a won¬ 
derful life-fabric may be offered. She 
was the plainest of a family, and as she 
grew to maidenhood, gave no sign of 
possessing anything that would not seem 
possible to the most ordinary person. 
Her sisters had each a “gift.” One 
could sing, another paint, and a third 
wrote acceptable verse that had appear¬ 
ed in a local paper. But nobody ex¬ 
pected anything great from “Miss Mar¬ 
garet,” and she never dared to hope that 
she could fill any place of importance 
even in the smallest Circle. 
As is often the case with the incon¬ 
spicuous girl of the family, she became 
a general helper, and having no unusual 
mental or physical endowment of special 
value of her own, she was called to as¬ 
sist those who had, and to fill gaps in 
the home service made by them. She 
learned through all this to get away 
from herself, and in effect said, “I can¬ 
not do this, but my sister can.” As 
soon as she could accept this she was no 
longer a lonely girl, but imagined that 
she had a sort of partnership in the 
achievements of those whom she helped. 
She began to try her hand at painting, 
and found that she could copy the forms 
and colors of the flowers of the garden. 
She set herself to practice music, and 
could accompany herself upon the piano 
as she sang in the twilight a little ten¬ 
der song. She read good books—and un¬ 
consciously cultivated her taste to a del¬ 
icate point, so that she could readily 
distinguish first-class literature from 
that which was second-rate. All of this 
became of interest to her for the sake of 
those who had been thought gifted. 
Let it not be imagined that she had 
never experienced a regret that she had 
herself been overlooked in the distribu¬ 
tion of gifts; there were bitter moments 
when she suffered on account of the 
fact, but this was before she had given 
herself wholly to the purpose of forget¬ 
ting her loss and helping others. As 
soon as this became a fact, she began to 
receive of the blessedness of giving, and 
the mental and spiritual enlargement of 
her compensative worked itself out¬ 
wardly, so that she became a very at¬ 
tractive person. 
At last to this -Cinderella (for the 
wonders of the real world are as great 
in their essential meaning as in the 
fairy realm) the prince came, and the 
slipper fitted the stay-at-home sister, 
and she became a princess before whom 
many hearts bowed in the sincerest rev¬ 
erence. She has daughters who are not 
gifted as the world understands the 
word, but each one is doing to the very 
best of her ability what she can to make 
the most of every-day qualities. 
Mrs. Mills’s Economy. 
Part II. 
The old man sat for the last time in 
his favorite nook by the fireside. In 
front of him his bundle of clean clothes 
lay on the table, and knotted loosely in 
a handkerchief was a geranium which 
he had reared from one of his old wife’s 
cherished plants. While he gazed 
around, absorbed in sorrow, Sam’s old 
market-cart rattled up to the door. Mrs. 
Mills stood by the window watching. 
“Here’s Sam. Now, are you ready?” 
she said, without the slightest tone of 
feeling. 
“Ay, ay; quite ready;” and, taking a 
last look, he picked up his bundles and 
stick, and walked feebly towards the 
open door, past Mrs. Mills, who held out 
her hand stiffly. 
“Good-bye,” she said curtly. “You 
needn’t take on so; me or Abraham will 
come over sometimes and see how you 
are getting on.” 
“Good-bye, Missis,” he replied, bro¬ 
kenly; but the moisture-laden eyes pre¬ 
vented his seeing the extended hand, 
and he passed out, while the farmer, 
ashamed at his own cowardice and the 
whole business, was peeping through an 
upper window until they were gone. 
Sam spoke not a word, though full of 
angry thoughts, as they bowled along, 
now and again glancing at his charge, 
who sat looking stonily ahead, the old 
man never noticing that they had passed 
the turning to the main road to Brank- 
ton until they came to a cottage. 
“Whoa, lass!” and the exclamation, 
with a sudden stop, brought the old man 
to himself, to find his old servant Betsy 
and her little daughter standing in the 
house-porch with a smile of welcome. 
“Now, Dad, let’s have you out for a 
bit; leave off thinking about that cursed 
pair of sharks, and come and have a cup 
of tea with us. There’s Betsy and the 
youngster waiting; look at them. Be¬ 
sides, it looks uncommonly line to me as 
'if there was a storm blowing up from 
yonder.” 
Almost as he spoke there fell a few 
heavy drops of rain; and, seeing the old 
man and his bundles safely inside, he 
quickly put up his mare and joined the 
others, just as the storm beat furiously 
on the window panes. The old man sat 
comfortably crooning an old song to the 
little girl, who was now settled on his 
knee, while Sam and his wife sat oppo¬ 
site communing together. There were 
nods and whisperings, and the end of it 
all was that their guest stayed that 
night and the night following, until it 
was settled between the pair that he 
should stay there with them so long as 
he lived. 
Which caused Mrs. Mills to remark, 
when it came to her ears, that if some 
people chose to be fools it was none of 
her business. 
* * * * * 
Two years later John Walters was 
laid to rest with his forefathers in the 
little hillside churchyard. Farmer Mills 
and his wife had been invited to the 
funeral, with several neighbors who had 
known the old yeoman, and, to their 
wonderment, Lawyer Framley, from 
Brankton, had attended at the grave¬ 
side; and, after the last rites had been 
paid, he invited them all, with Mr. Sam’s 
permission, to return with him to the 
house, where he would have a little mat¬ 
ter of business to settle and make known 
to them. All thought it was singular; 
but there was not a man or woman there 
who did not return, and all were soon 
seated in Betsy’s best room. 
After refreshments had been passed 
’round in country fashion, Lawyer Fram¬ 
ley drew a packet of papers from his 
pocket, and looked keenly around at the 
expectant faces. 
“I must explain to you first,” he be¬ 
gan, “that my late client, Mr. John Wal¬ 
ters, desired me to attend at his funeral, 
and 'invite all who cared to come, as 
being more satisfactory, to hear his last 
will and testament read.” 
“His will!” ejaculated Mrs. Mills with 
a snap, while her husband opened his 
eyes widely; “his will! Why, he had 
nothing to leave, man. What nonsense 
is this?” 
The lawyer bowed with a look which 
told an observant onlooker that he held 
a winning hand. 
“Pardon me, madam; but as to that I 
will now proceed to enlighten you.” 
There was dead silence as he method¬ 
ically untied and then proceeded to read 
MOTHERS.—Be sure to use “Mrs. Wins¬ 
low’s Soothing Syrup” for your children 
while Teething. It is the Best.— Adv. 
the document which had been made and 
signed twelve months before, and in 
which he left to his dear friends and 
■ benefactors, Samuel and Betsy Wilmer, 
all his real and personal estate what¬ 
soever and wheresoever—duly signed 
and attested. 
Mrs. Mills, unconvinced, smiled grim¬ 
ly, remarking with bitter emphasis, 
“Pooh! What rubbish, to be sure! He 
had nothing much but what he stood up 
in; and to go and make a will! Why, 
the man was mad;” and she laughed 
with derision. 
“My late client was far from being 
mad, madam,” returned the lawyer stiff¬ 
ly; “and it is now my duty to give a 
little explanation according to his last 
wishes, and then I have finished. 
“As some of you may remember, John 
Walters had a son James, who emi¬ 
grated to Australia when a young man. 
He corresponded with his father for a 
time; but his letters got fewer and 
fewer, until they ceased altogether. No¬ 
thing had been heard of him for over 20 
years, and it was supposed that he was 
dead. But he was not dead; he had mar¬ 
ried out there, and had lost his wife and 
two children; so, feeling lonely, he had 
made up h'is mind to come back to the 
old country; but unfortunately he also 
died before this decision could be carried 
out. 
“He had previously made inquiries, 
and knew at that time that his father 
was living at the old farm, so he had 
willed all his belongings to him, as sole 
relative. 
“When my late client was notified of 
his fortune, it was his wish that the af¬ 
fair should be kept secret; and it has 
been so until this present time, as he 
desired you all to know that what had 
been done for him by friends during his 
later days was simply from pure kind¬ 
ness of heart, and not from expectations 
or greed.” 
The lawyer inclined his head to Betsy, 
who was weeping silently through the 
ordeal, Sam squeezing her hand sym¬ 
pathetically the while. Mrs. Mills stared 
at the lawyer, her features twitching 
with excitement and passion; and her 
husband gripped the arms of the chk'ir 
and stared blankly around. 
With an effort the woman jerked out 
spasmodically, “And—what amount has 
he left, pray, after all?” 
Not a sound could be heard but the 
rustling of the papers as the lawyer tied 
them together, and, looking straight at 
her, he replied quietly and effectively, 
sending a thrill of excitement through 
the room, “Ten thousand pounds!” 
“What!” she shrieked, the wine-glass 
she had held dropping from her nerve¬ 
less fingers to the oaken floor with a 
crash: “ten thousand pounds—lost—lost 
—for ” 
A faint whisper in answer parted the 
farmer’s lips—“For economy.”—Cham¬ 
bers’s Journal. 
-Be happy to-day! In the passing 
days there are crumbs of joy for most 
of us. It is a gray day indeed which has 
in it no grain of pleasure, no oppor¬ 
tunity for doing good, no sweet moment 
of rest. The future is a sort of rapacious 
Moloch demanding humanity to sacrifice 
to him the present. The miser spends 
his heart’s blood and his soul’s peace 
to pay tribute to the monster; the fool 
laughs at his claims; but the wise man 
pays him a just tithe.—Woman’s Home 
Companion. 
-The sword hath slain its thousands, 
but the tongue its ten thousands. Of 
the children of sympathy it may be said 
that the tongue sends forth healing 
balms and cordials; but of envious men 
it is true that the “poison of asps is 
under their lips.” For, as of old, so 
now, the tongue is a hand wherewith we 
lift men up, or a mace wherewith we 
strike men down. With this instru¬ 
ment, we bless God, with it we curse 
men. No other member carries such 
power; and nothing taxes man like the 
skillful handling of the tongue and its 
bridling, even as the charioteer lifts the 
reins above his well-trained steeds.— 
Rev. N. D. Hillis. 
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