&Re dailies' Moral Satinet tui3 Pictorial Same 6am|i«wuoJi, 
133 
haps I haven’t the wit to understand things. Tour father 
often said so. But if you had married your Cousin Brad- 
ley-” 
“Don’t,” returned Winnie, in a low voice, while her 
whole manner changed. She rose to her feet, and half 
averted her face. 
*■ I know you always try to turn me away from that sub¬ 
ject,” the mother resumed with the dull persistency which 
belongs to such a nature. 
“Yes, I do, mamma, because it pains me, and I am sure 
you cannot wish to make me suffer needlessly.” 
“ But if it pains you, Winnifred, how can you pardon 
that sly, bad girl, and say you love her still? I always 
predicted that she would bring harm as soon as she was 
let into the house, and she did do mischief of the worst 
kind. She got Bradley away from you with her under¬ 
hand maneuvering, and bewitched the poor boy nobody 
knows how. She contrived it so slyly that she carried 
him right off from under your very eyes, and though I’m 
naturally easy going, it does put me out to have you say 
you forgive her.” 
Winnie grew rigid, and her face showed that patience 
was taxed to its extreme limits, while her mother went 
maundering along with her head put back on the pillow of 
the Bath chair, and her eyes closed in remonstrance against 
her daughter’s course. 
“ I know you can’t understand it,” returned Winnie, 
with a desperate sense of her own helplessness, in view of 
the opacity of her mother's mental perceptions, “but I am 
a very obstinate and self-willed girl, mamma. My feel¬ 
ings will never change, and if you love me, you will let 
this subject drop.” 
“ Well, I shall always call that girl a sly trollop,” sighed 
Mrs. Braithwaite, who took a certain pleasure in standing 
out against her daughter. “You have always been called 
high-strung, and how you could bear to have that pale- 
faced, hypocritical thing carry off your lover, and then per¬ 
sist in doting on her, is a mystery; and, to cap all, the im¬ 
pudent creature has gone and called her first baby after 
you. Winnifred Braithwaite Halcourt.” 
Winnie drew in her breath hard to prevent an impatient, 
perhaps violent outburst. For a long time she had tried to 
discipline herself in forbearance toward this mother, who 
was shut out from most of the interests and feelings of her 
life. 
1 Mamma,” she said at last, with deliberate calmness, 
“ Bradley never was my lover.” 
“ But you were engaged to he married. ” 
“ I have explained that over and over.” 
“ Yes, about the property. And then you would go and 
divide the estate, and settle half on that woman.” 
Winnie felt the tension slacken round her heart now 
that Mrs. Braithwaite had begun harping on the other 
string of her grievance. 
“ I did it, mamma, because it was just and right. My 
TJnc’e Harold was defrauded of his share of the property, 
and I only gave hack what belonged to his family; but 
you know very well that Bradley has never tonched one 
penny. He refused it absolutely, and it has been settled 
on Aunt Edith for life, and is then to go to Bradley’s chil¬ 
dren.” 
“ And they say she is living like a queen on the other 
side of the water. I wouldn’t have minded if she had 
come down a good many pegs in the world. But she 
hasn’t forgiven Bradley for marrying that chit, and I can’t 
blame her. I never liked Edith Halcourt, for she did not 
appear to know when I was in the room ; and the old Judge 
hated her like poison. But where did you say Bradley 
was living ? In some dirty back street iu the city ?” 
“Yes, mamma. They live, I am told, in a little, plain 
cheap house in not a very nice neighborhood, and Bradley 
works hard in h : s profession.” 
“ And what do they call him ? ” 
“ A journalist. He has done himself great credit, and 
his name will one day he spokeD with honor.” 
“ Well, Winnifred,” heaving a deep, disapproving sigh, 
“ I never had much opinion of them writers for newspapers. 
They say it ain’t a respectable business, and no Halcourt 
has ever gone quite so low before.” 
“ Hot e en poor Unule Edwin,” returned Winnie, sarcas¬ 
tically, “ who broke his wife's heart, and ended his days in 
a gambling house. You are mistaken, mamma. Bradley 
has ennobled himself by marrying the woman he loved, 
and doing honest work. He has lifted himself infinitely 
above all the idle, spendthrift Halcourts that ever lived. If 
he had married me he would probably have gone to the 
had like my great uncle, Edwin.” 
“Because you have such strange, independent notions, 
and such a strong will of your own. They say the hus¬ 
band ought always to be first, but you must rule wherever 
you are. Now, I suppose that poor little weak thing 
Bradley has married, would put her hand in the fire if he 
told her to. She ought to be ashamed to let him slave his 
life out to support her." 
Winnie’s impatience could not be restrained. 
“Oh, mamma, how cruel, how unjust you are to her! 
Yirginie is a perfect wife. All these years she has lived 
with only one servant, and her house is a gem of neat¬ 
ness. She has trained her little children beautifully, and, 
oh, mamma” (the tears sprang into Winnie’s eyes), “she 
has taught them to love me, and to lisp a little prayer for 
Aunt Winnie, as they call me, night and morning. My 
heart often yearns for those children. I must have them 
here when they are old enough to come in the care of a 
nurse.” 
“ Well, now, that caps the climax ! ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Braithwaite, lifting her hands. “ I’ll warrant the boy is as 
artful as his mother, and he will worm himself into your 
good graces, and the next news will be that you are going 
to make him your heir. You are a strange girl, Winni¬ 
fred; anybody else would have got married long ago to 
spite Bradley after his shameful treatment.” 
The amused look came back into Winnie's face. 
“ I suppose I am a strange creature. You tell me so 
often, mamma, and I am hound to believe you. But now 
you have put it into my head about making little Bradley 
my heir, who knows hut I may adopt the idea ? There 
would then be Halcourts of Halcourt.” 
Mrs. Braithwaite gave her a really frightened glance. 
“ Oh, you couldn’t he in earnest about that,” she said, 
rousing herself with unusual energy. “ It would just kill 
me, and if I could see your own children about you, I 
should die happy. Why don’t you take that nice Colonel 
Peasley. I know I should always like him. He is so kind 
and attentive, and seems to enjoy my conversation.” 
Winnie laughed merrily, and again stooped down to pat 
her mother’s hand. 
“ Have you never heard, mamma, of the mother being 
courted for the daughter’s sake? I am sorry I cannot re¬ 
gard Colonel Peasley as warmly as you do, but I happen 
to know that he is a tyrannical, despotic man who hides a 
cruel, cold nature under a set smile, and who would find 
the addition of my fortune to his own small property a com¬ 
fortable arrangement.” 
Mrs. Braithwaite sat still a moment with a hopelessly 
blank expression. 
“You never like the people I like ; you are always see¬ 
ing something in them I can’t make out. And now for 
three nights running I have had a had dream, and I sup¬ 
pose you will be vexed if I tell you how it has worried 
me. I dreamed that you were married to Edgar Swayne, 
and I would rather be laid out cold in my coffin than have 
that happen.” 
A shade of annoyance passed quickly over Winnie’s 
face. 
“ Why will you torment yourself, mamma, about things 
never likely to happen ? It would he cruel to me if you 
were to drive away Mr. Swayne, who is my friend and 
helper, and who has worked nobly among our poor people 
for small reward.” 
“ But he means to get his reward,” broke forth Mrs. 
Braithwaite, for the spirit of prophesy was now upon her. 
“ He is slow and sure and is doing it all for pay. He 
would wait twenty years and never give up the hope of 
winning you in the end. It makes me feel just ready 
to fly when I see him come and coax you off to the school, 
and to nurse those dirty miners and their children. I see 
what his aim is, if I am a poor, old, lame creature glued 
into my chair, and never to take a step again as long as I 
live. When that catching fever broke out on the moun¬ 
tain, wasn’t you away for days tending the sick people; 
and I expected nothing but what you would bring it home 
in your clothes, and we should all come down. I lay awake 
nights and fretted the flesh off my hones for fear you would 
get sick yourself.” 
“ Poor mamma,” returned Winnie in a softened voice, 
“ did you fret like that about your troublesome girl? You 
ought to have been thankful that I was able to help Mr. 
Swayne and poor old Father Dooley, who were real heroes. 
When I saw how self-sacrificing and tender and devoted 
that old priest could be to the sick, in spite of his dirty 
hands and disagreeable habits, I was ashamed of having 
disliked him all my life. Then he took the fever and died, 
and everybody was loud in his praises. I think if poor 
papa had lived until now he would have been sorry for his 
harshness toward the old priest. Now that the young 
priest from Clovernook comes to see you as often as you 
wish, I am sure you ought not to begrudge me the help 
and friendship of Mr. Swayne, who takes so many burdens 
off my shoulders. His advice is invaluable to me, and 
when I follow it I am pretty sure to go right, and when I 
stand out against it I find I have made a sad blunder. He 
is such a true friend, so utterly unselfish and good, I wish 
I could teach you to think kindly of him, and drop all fool¬ 
ish suspicions. I will never do anything, mamma, to make 
you unhappy. I have been hard, and unloving, and cruel, 
in times past, hut now I will always think of you first, 
and if I am impatient sometimes you will try and forgive 
your girl, who is so imperfect, and so self-willed by nature 
that slie can attain but slowly and painfully to the virtues 
that belong to gentle woman.” 
The tears came into the mother’s faded eyes, and she 
took Winnie’s hand that was resting on the chair, and 
pulled her down to kiss her face. 
“ Don’t talk like that, Winnie. You are as good as ever 
you can be, and I know I fret you, being so bright and 
quick, because I am dull. Your father always was fretted 
by my dullness, but how could I help it, if it wasn’t given 
me to understand quick ? I won’t fret any more about 
anything if it troubles you, dear. There, I am tired now. 
Let Steenie come and take me in.” 
Winnie still lingered in the avenue after her mother 
had been wheeled away. The invitations of the blue 
weather, the sweet scents, and bird songs of spring-time 
were irresistible. And yet she was not thinking of these, 
that May-day as she stood there under the budding boughs 
of her ancestral trees, but of the past, and of how deeply 
old memories and old loves were rooted within her. The 
breeze seemed to whisper the names of Yirginie and Brad¬ 
ley, hut the bitterness, the fever, the anguish were gone 
from her heart forever. Her eyes had cleared their vision, 
and were now steady and calm. She could dimly discern 
the meaning of her life discipline, and her great sorrow. 
As she stood there erect, and tall, and self-sustaining, with 
a certain majesty of form revealed by the clinging folds of 
her black dress, with her hat off, and the sunshine playing 
over her hair, she did not know that interested and curi¬ 
ous eyes were watching her from the porch of Finster’s 
cottage. Now there was a porch to the fisherman’s abode 
very prettily embowered in vines and trees. A few gay 
flowers peeped out from the garden borders, and the whole 
place had put on an unwonted air of neatness and comfort. 
Mrs. Finster’s children were “ out of the way.” The fam¬ 
ily prospects had brightened, and she was a better house¬ 
wife, although her gown still showed an inclination to slip 
off her helpless form. At that moment the humpish 
baby, a flaxen-headed boy of six, was calmly fishing in the 
lake for gudgeons, with a pin hook, while his mother sat 
on the porch gossiping with black Nanna, who, old and 
unwieldly now, and long exempt from service, and a priv¬ 
ileged member of the family at the Hall, would toddle 
down in sunny weather to wear away an hour with the 
“pore white trash,” not bating, however, one jot of the 
grand air of condescension with which she conferred her 
favors. Her teeth were gone; the “ rheumatiz ” had 
racked her joints, but she was always “ tanking de Lord” 
because she could “ sense ” things as good as she ever 
could. The high colored turban still kept its perch on top 
of her crown, and she was wagging it now impressively as 
she turned up the whites of her eyes, and said with great 
fervor: 
“ Dunno but ole Nanna’s hars would had gone down in 
sorrer to de grave, ef dat dar chile had been sent to lock¬ 
up. But ef you b’leve it was little Missy as save him from 
dat. Sire talk and talk so solemn and awful, like de day 
of judgmens, dat dar chile went down on his knees and 
cried fit to break his heart, and she forgived him den, and 
has nebber flung it up agin him, and dat dar chile would 
be cut up into little pieces, ef his missus ordered, widout 
ever so much as winkin’. Some folks can only be kep’ 
straight, in dis world, by lovin’. It’s the same wid brack 
folks as wid white folks; and ef it hadn’t been for little 
Missy boldin’ on, and beleevin’, and forgivin’ wid all her 
might, dat boy would be a son of perdisbums, a by-word, 
and a hissin’, as de Bible says.” 
The old creature stopped to wipe the grateful tears from 
her eyes. 
“ I used to think she was mighty high feelin’ and stuck 
up,” remarked Mrs. Finster, “and would as soon step on 
poor folks as not. But something come along to change 
her. I ’spose it was her disappointment. Some folks a 
disappointment kills, and some it cures. She never carried 
her head a bit lower, hut her voice had a different ring, 
and she got ho’dof Finster, and showed him she was will¬ 
ing to help him if he would help himself; and she sent 
Malviny to school, and fixed up the place; and the two 
oldest boys has got good situations on a farm, and Jake is 
learning the printer’s trade down in York. Finster is a 
changed man. He gives the rum-shop a wide berth, and 
we get along a sight better than we used to. He’s that 
tender-hearted, Finster is, misfortune keels him right over, 
but there never was a better man when things go straight, 
and there’s clear sailin’.” 
Mrs. Finster shut her eyes and rocked pensively to and 
fro in the sunshine. 
“ Bress her heart I ” returned Nanna, “ef dese blin’ ole 
eyes could see her married to a good husband, wid chil¬ 
dren growin’ up like plants in de Lord’s vineyard, den 
would she say ‘ now let d’y servant ’part in peace.’ But 
shore, honey, dar’s plenty ob gemmens dat come a-ridin’ 
and a-prancin’ to de door; an’, bress your heart, she’s 
gran’ and high as do Queen oh Sheby wid dem all. ’Twould 
do your eyes good to see her a-setting at de table in her 
brack velvets, a-holpin’ out of de silver dishes to kunnel 
dis, and jedge dat. But she won’t take none of ’em, and 
dey knows it, shore’s you’re alive, honey.” 
“ Folks do say she was dreadfully cut up about her 
cousin,” remarked Mrs. Finster. “Who’d a thought all 
the time he had his heart sot on Miss Jinny? And that 
day he came and took her out iu the boat, I never mis¬ 
trusted there was anything underhand going on; and I 
