afkiiet raW ^icfoiml Home ^Gmjmrtioii 
can’t think no harm of Miss Jinny now, she was so good 
to my Jake, and most saved his life. He sees her every 
week in the city, and is always writing home about the 
baby and little Winnie, and is just ready to break his neck 
for them all. I can’t think no harm of Miss Jinny; but 
folks did talk hard of him ; and mebbe if she had married 
him, they’d have said he took her for her money, for it 
ain’t easy suitin’ all round.” 
“ Polks had better hole deir tongues,” responded Hanna, 
with withering scorn. “ De Halcourts wouldn’t wipe deir 
ole shoes on dem gabblers. I’ve nussed Halcourts, and 
brung up Halcourts, an’ I can speak and tell folks dat my 
missis didn’t marry Mass’r Bradley cause why she didn’t 
want him ; an’ she was willin’ he should have Miss Jinny, 
willin’ as water.” 
This was a theory of the case which had that moment 
popped into the old woman’s head, but having ODce pro¬ 
pounded it she was ready to swear to its truth on the lids 
of the Bible. 
“Well,” responded Mrs. Piaster, shutting her eyes with 
a misunderstood air, “mebbe I had no call to speak, but 
folks will talk unless you cut their tongues out, and I guess 
the Halcourts couldn’t go that length. It was all in the 
papers at the time, and now folks do say she’s going to 
marry Mr. Swayne.” 
“ Ef de debble keeps dem tongues runnin’, old Hanna 
won’t hearken. She’ll stuff her ears wid cotton. Marry 
Mass’r Edgar I De Lord hab massy on us! ” and the old 
creature arose in a high state of indignation and hobbled 
away homeward. 
Winnie, meantime, had strayed down the avenue in 
meditative mood, and almost before she was aware had 
struck into the mossy wood path along the border of the 
lake, where shining glimpses of water were framed in the 
arching boughs of aromatic hemlocks and larches. The 
ground was starred with pale anemones, and the fragile 
wood sorrel, and clusters of the little smiling spring beauty. 
She stooped to gather a handful of the blossoms, and a 
footfall came behind her, so softly that she was unaware of 
its approach until by accident she turned and discovered 
Edgar Swayne, who had been watching her for a moment 
in silence. Winnifred went forward and shook hands 
with frank friendliness. 
Five years spent mainly in the open air, in that healthy 
hill country, had strengthened the slight, nervous, student 
form. He had left his books to deal with men and things, 
and his frame had expanded, his delicate forehead had 
browned, and the slightly consumptive bend of the shoul¬ 
ders had almost disappeared. 
“ You dropped down upon my path like a browuie,” said 
Winnifred, laughing. “ and just at the moment, too, when I 
was thinking of you.” 
The young man, for Edgar Swayne was still young, 
looked at her with an air of pleased surprise. 
“Were you, indeed, wasting any thoughts on me, Miss 
Braithwaite ? ” 
“I will tell you my thoughts,” she answered, looking 
down to fasten the cluster of wild geranium she held, in the 
front of her dress, “ and I think you will say they were 
not idle or unprofitable, such as a woman’s thoughts are 
usually supposed to be. I was reflecting upon the fact 
that I have been very selfish to wish you to remain in this 
place, where your work among the poor people has been 
noble but obscure; where, indeed, your fine talents have 
been hidden in a napkin. You now have it in your power 
to secure a congenial position where your ability and 
scholarship will at once be recognized. I feel that it is my 
duty to urge you to accept the professorship in the new 
college at Hillsdale, which I know has been offered you 
within the past week. Your success is assured, and no 
one will rejoice in it more heartily than I shall.” 
The glow died out of Edgar’s face, and when he spoke 
his voice was constrained and unnatural. 
‘ ‘ Miss Braithwaite, I will go away immediately if you 
wish it. Your will shall be my law. But I had come 
here to tell you that I have declined the professorship at 
Hillsdale, that I have no earthly ambition higher than to 
be called schoolmaster at the mines, and teacher and 
preacher at large among these scattered mountain villages. 
But if you have other views, Miss Braithwaite, of course 
I will retire at once.” 
There was some difficulty to be overcome in his speech, 
and he paused abruptly as if from inability to go on. 
A generous flush overspread Winnie’s face, and she 
spoke out with her usual impulsiveness. 
“ Mr. Swayne, you do me injustice, and it is not kind. 
My motives ought to be as clear to you as the noonday. 
You have no right to misunderstand me. For the sake of 
the poor people who love and honor you so religiously, I 
could wish you to remain here always. Without cant, or a 
show of superior virtue, you have by the weight of personal 
character gained an influence over these rude folk that is 
simply astonishing. I should not know where to turn for 
helper or friend,” she added, her voice giving way a little, 
“ if you were to leave us ; but it has seemed too costly a 
sacrifice to ask you to remain.” 
“ It is no sacrifice, Miss Braithwaite.” Edgar had half 
averted his face and was trying to maintain a cool, even 
tone of voice, but knowing nothing, seeing nothing but 
the beautiful woman before him. “You think better of 
me than I deserve, for my motives have not been lofty, my 
aims have not been noble. I am no hero and no saint, but 
a poor enough creature ; and all the inspiration has come 
from you. You planned the new cottages, and built the 
school, and gathered the library. You instructed your¬ 
self in the rudiments of medical science that you might 
teach the women how to nurse their sick babies. I am 
willing to confess to you, Miss Braithwaite, that I have not 
had an eye single to God’s glory. There has been much of 
human weakness and infirmity mingled with my work.” 
Winnie would have been glad to raise her eyes clearly 
and steadily to his, but somehow she could not. 
“Mr. Swayne,” said she, rather brusquely, “it is always 
your aim to underrate yourself and your doings, and that 
I consider almost as great a fault as an excess of egotism. 
I know how you have spent yourself to save the weak and 
help the needy—how nobly you have worked to reclaim 
the drunkard, how you have watched by sick beds night 
after night, and made your presence a joy and blessing in 
those poor cabins. Oh, Mr. Swayne, I have no thanks, for 
they are poor, meaningless phrases. Such a life as yours 
must be its own reward. I never loved philanthropy for 
its own sake. I can work by fits and starts, but am desti¬ 
tute of a steady aim. I am not disciplined to continued 
effort, for there are wild, untamed impulses within me, 
and at times a passionate spirit of rebellion against'my lot 
in life, though it seems a favored one to the world. When 
the fever broke out in the cottages I desperately needed 
something to do, and if I hadn’t worked hard in those 
days, tiring myself prodigiously, to put the past behind me, 
I should surely have done some evil. But unconsciously, 
almost to myself, you have led me to higher ground. I 
know now if I had gone unchecked through life, with full 
sway for my imperious will, I should have turned out a 
kind of monster, something abhorrent to nature. Though 
I curvet and rebel, and prance in the harness often enough, 
as it is, in my better moments I am willing to bend my 
neck to the yoke. If to any one, I shall owe it to you if 
those better impulses ever gain complete ascendency.” 
A thousand emotions swept over Edgar, as lie listened to 
this naive, frank confession, so characteristic of Winnifred. 
He felt instinctively that he must put himself behind a 
barrier of reserve or his defences would be swept away. 
“ Miss Braithwaite,” he said, coldly, “ you honor me by 
your confidence, but you will excuse me from implicitly 
accepting your self-estimate. And, by the way, I had al¬ 
most forgotten to tell you that the great event, the school 
festival, takes place to-morrow. Know then, as a profound 
secret, that you are to be crowned as lady patroness and 
presiding genius of the occasion. Polly Duff is to per¬ 
form the ceremony of coronation, and little Lame Charley, 
Long Bill’s boy, is to make a speech in your honor. Since 
Charley has turned out such a prodigy of learning, his 
father has grown ashamed of his ignorance, and now he 
comes sneaking into the night-school to learn to read. 
You would be amused to see the great giant, who could 
fell me with a blow of his fist, sitting with a primer before 
him puzzling over words of one syllable. Sharp Ben 
Harding, who is my right hand now in the night-school, is 
dressing the walls with greens, and Haney Duff is so mol¬ 
lified by Polly’s promotion that she has offered to scrub the 
school-room out gratis. Mary Smithers is to bake the 
teacakes, and prepare the collation, for we are to have a 
little feast after the exercises, at which it is expected the 
lady patroness will preside; and I am sure it will do her 
heart good to see the many, many people she has made 
happier, and to be greeted on all sides with the good will 
and admiration and gratitude of those poor people, her 
faithful subjects and devoted friends.” 
“Oh, Mr. Swayne 1” Winnie’s voice choked and her 
eyes were full of tears, “ how much I owe you that I can 
never repay! It is needless to try and tell you how grate¬ 
ful I am, but I know I have wounded you often, and I can 
ask you to forgive me." 
Edgar Swayne was still young, and the blood had not 
grown sluggish or old in his veins. It was spring-time, 
and the birds were singing to their mates, and the wild 
flowers blooming at his feet. Suddenly he found himself 
whirled along by an irresistible tide. Something of whose 
power he was unconscious had gained control, and before 
lie knew what he was doing he had seized Winnie’s hand 
and was covering it with impassioned kisses. So tumultu¬ 
ous was the feeling that had mastered him the words came 
forth broken and disjointed. 
“ Oh, you must know how I love you, Miss Braithwaite. 
I love you now as years ago, only more fervently and irra¬ 
tionally. I loved you the first moment I heard the tones 
of your voice, and I shall carry that deep, undying love to 
the grave.” 
Winnie drew her hand away not abruptly, but gently, 
with an air of mild remonstrance and surprise. 
“I hoped,” she said, half sobbing, “that the wild, im¬ 
practicable dream of those early years had vanished and 
been forgotten. I had relied on your generosity and great¬ 
ness of soul, and had trusted that a deeper acquaintance 
with my defects of character would break the fatal spell. 
If I had it in my power to love any man I am not worthy 
to be loved by you, who are the noblest and the best of 
men.” 
“ Do not drive me to despair with those sad, hopeless 
words,” he cried, as if he were pleading for his life. “You 
do not know me or the abysses that have at times opened 
within my nature. There have been moments when I 
would have committed a crime to win your love. I shud¬ 
der at my own self-abandonment when I think how con¬ 
science and duty might have shrivelled in the flame of an 
earthly passion. What acceptance can my acts have with 
God when I have thought first of serving and pleasing 
you? When I would willingly have toiled as a menial in 
your house for the one glance a day which was to keep 
me from perishing ? ’’ 
“These are wild words,” said Winnie, plaintively. 
“ You are excited and know not what you say.” 
“JHo, I am not excited,” and his face was almost stern 
in its white misery. “ I have lived this over too many 
times; too long I have been slowly eating my heart, and 
striving to break the very spring of my life. Adoring 
you day by day with a stronger and more irrational love, 
I have said to myself no hope, no hope; but at the bot¬ 
tom of my heart some faint gleam has lingered. Oh, Win¬ 
nifred ! ” he cried, lifting his eyes to her face with an im¬ 
ploring prayer in them, “ I could wait years and years, and 
make no sign. I can be obedient and docile as a dog that 
comes when you call, and goes at your bidding. I can 
live on the smallest crumb of comfort and consolation, but 
do not tell me that your heart still fatally clings to its love 
for that man, who has wronged you so cruelly. Do not 
command me not to hope,” and his voice fell to a low thril¬ 
ling whisper, “for if you do it will kill me.” 
Winnie turned away silently .with a deep shade of 
thought on her face. The romance of her life had seemed 
so long past, that she was startled and awed by this pas¬ 
sionate outbreak from one whose daily walk had been 
calm and tranquil during long years of constant intercourse' 
with the family at the Hall. She stood so long quite 
silent, communing with herself, that Edgar’s impatience 
could not be controlled. 
“ Do you bid me not to hope, Winnifred ? Do you 
quench the last gleam and bid me go away and hide my 
grief in the grave ? ” 
Slowly she turned around and put out her hand. 
“ Ho, I do not tell you not to hope, but the task I am 
obliged to impose is perhaps too great for your strength. 
That which you wish can never take place while my mother 
lives, but if you are infinitely patient, and infinitely self- 
sacrificing, I will not command you not to hope.” 
Edgar sank upon his knees at her feet and his eyes were 
blinded by grateful tears. 
THE END. 
KEEP ON CHURNING. 
After the batttle of Long Island, which was fought Aug. 
21, one hundred years ago, and after the capture of Hew 
York city by the British, Gen. Howe made his headquar¬ 
ters in Hew York, leaving Staten Island in command of 
Col. Dalrymple. The wounded from the bloody Brooklyn 
field were taken to the island and billeted upon the farm¬ 
houses. It was Howe’s custom to visit the temporary 
hospitals regularly, in order to satisfy himself that his men 
were receiving proper care. On one occasion, during a 
heavy storm, he and his staff took shelter under a farm¬ 
house shed. Farmer Cole, seeing the party outside, ap¬ 
proached them with a hearty invitation to enter the house 
and rest till the storm should subside. Mrs. Cole was 
churning in the kitchen, and the guests occupied the sit¬ 
ting-room. “ We are very hungry,” said a member of the 
staff; “ can. you give us something to eat?” 
“ I can’t leave my churn,” said the practical housewife. 
“ I’ll churn for you,” said a splendidly-uniformed officer. 
Forthwith he was set to work, Mrs. Cole having taught 
him how to use the dasher. 
As she proceeded with the culinary work, ever and anon 
she glanced at the toiling officer. “ Well,” said she to his 
brother officers, “ if he can’t use the sword better than the 
churn dasher, he must be a mighty poor soldier.” 
This sally raised a hearty laugh, in which the volunteer 
churner joined heartily. He kept on gallantly, the per¬ 
spiration streaming from every pore. It was the hardest 
work he had ever done in his life. 
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Cole, encouragingly; “keep 
on long enough and you’ll fetch butter ” 
When the storm had ceased the military gentlemen took 
their leave, first offering to pay for their entertainment. 
“We don’t keep tavern,” said Mrs. Cole, with the short 
and decisive snap of the independent farmer’s wife ; and 
the officers rode away. 
“ Keep on long enough and you’ll fetch butter,” became 
a household expression in the British army, and was taken 
to the other side of the water, where it was uttered many 
a time to encourage those who were striving to accomplish 
results under difficulties. 
