THE LADIES' FLORAL CABINET. 
89 
name, he felt that she was one by herself—a queen. 
None of the young ladies at the seminary wore a white 
hat trimmed with lace. Victoria was delicate. He had 
overheard such remarks as these between Mrs. Stevenson 
and the maid : “Victoria bore the journey very well.” 
“Thechange has done Victoria good.” “Don’t touch 
that egg—that is Victoria’s ! ” He knew delicate people 
took an egg with milk every day. How careful they 
were of her ! And then she was so accomplished. If 
there was anything Paul Myers envied and admired in 
another it was the power of sketching. Victoria’s 
sketch-book was to him a revelation. He looked it 
through several times each night. It was so interesting 
to know where she had been during the day—and to 
follow her thoughts, for under every sketch were 
a few words written in an attractive hand—words 
which to him were full of poetical, tender, womanly 
feeling. 
One thing puzzled Paul Myers : Why should Lavinia 
May dig so many worms ? Daily he had seen her en¬ 
gaged in this curious occupation. It couldn’t be out of 
any consideration for the plants in the garden, for she 
dug quite as often in the door-yard; and once he had 
even seen her in the public highway. Possibly, colored 
persons had a propensity for worm-digging, and she 
dug for pleasure. 
The blue jacket was finished. Lavinia May wore it 
with a bright red and green plaid skirt. The ribbon on 
the hat was not in strict harmony with the red of the 
plaid. Thus arrayed, Lavinia appeared at the village 
prayer-meeting, and presented a fine African appear¬ 
ance. 
“The Congregationalist meeting was different from 
what she supposed,” she confided to Miss Stevenson, 
later. ‘ ‘ They sat right through everything. She thought 
it was very tiresome.” Lavinia May was an Episcopa¬ 
lian. 
The Stevenson’s week came to its last night. Paul 
Myers stood in the drawing-room holding a water-color 
under the lamp-light. 
‘ ‘ Charming ! charming ! charming ! ” he said. ‘‘ Why, 
there's no end to the things Uiat girl does ! ‘It is mad¬ 
dening to think I can’t even get a glimpse of her!” 
And he inwardly vowed to be at the station when the 
noon train left for town. The water-color was a glimpse 
under the trees in the orchard; an apple-bough stretched 
across the upper half of the picture, and a pathway led 
down through the trees to the sunny opening beyond. 
Underneath was written: 
“ So quiet it is, so cool and still, 
In the green retreat of the shady hill, 
That you scarce can tell as you look within, 
Where the garden ends and the woods begin; 
And all the story of life is there— 
Its loves and losses, hopes and despair. 
An old-fashioned garden—but to my eyes 
Fair as the hills of Paradise.” 
Paul Myers read the verses six times, and copied them 
into his note-book. In his great admiration he did 
not notice the honest quotation marks which 'in¬ 
closed it. 
“What a sweet girl that Victoria must be ! ” he said, 
and going out of the room, caught his foot in a loose 
bit of wool hanging from the Afghan, thereby unravel¬ 
ing a yard or more. As he went up-stairs, repeating: 
“ And all the story of life is there, 
Its loves and losses, hopes and despair,” 
he had the further misfortune of stumbling over the 
cat. 
A silver-haired old lady, with a saint-like face, and a 
lap full of yellow Roses; an oldish young lady in a 
black hat trimmed with black lace and feathers; in her 
lap a bunch of Daisies and a small sketch-book, sat on 
the seat in front of Lavinia May and a neat round 
basket. A very interesting-looking party, but to the 
young man who got a ticket for town, and rushed 
breathless into the train at the last moment, the party 
was a bitter disappointment. His seat was in front, on 
the opposite side of the car. He was, therefore, obliged 
to study the group in the mirror. He saw the oldest 
young lady open her sketch-book. It dawned upon 
him slowly that it was Victoria’s sketch-book. By de¬ 
grees it also dawned upon him that the young lady was 
sketching him. A feeling crept over him like a severe 
attack of the cramp. He made a desperate effort, and 
changed his seat to one directly behind the Stevenson 
party. Have they left Victoria? Was she, perhaps, to 
board in the village ? Would she come to the gradua¬ 
ting exercises and hear him make his speech as he gave 
the young ladies their diplomas? Then he heard Lavi¬ 
nia May say to Mrs. Stevenson, in a tone that had some¬ 
thing of wonder in it: 
“ I saw Victoria kiss the cat when we left.” 
If Victoria had remained behind, why did she take 
this farewell of the cat, and what was there re¬ 
markable about Victoria’s kissing the cat? Women 
were always doing such things; why should Mrs. 
Stevenson and Lydia laugh? 
Paul Myers felt injured and unhappy. He seemed to 
himself to be the innocent victim of a well-organized 
plot. 
The train made its first stopping-place. A crazy 
woman walked down the platform, with an attendant; 
as she passed the car-window, she shouted, waving her 
hands back and forth: 
“ Glory! Glory halleluiah ! ” 
Lavinia May moved forward, and thereby knocked 
the cover off the basket. A hen lifted her head and 
looked around the car. She looked Paul Myers straight 
in the eyes with a proud, calm expression, which 
seemed to say: 
“Young man! I am Victoria,” and Paul, looking 
dazedly back, heard Lavinia May remark, as she re¬ 
placed the cover: “Any other hen would have got out 
of the basket.” 
The manuscript of Maria Allen’s valedictory address 
was handed back to her with a written apology from 
the principal. It was covered with ink spots, and one 
page had been cut out. 
Mr. Myers explained to Miss Allen that an unfortu¬ 
nate accident had, to his deep regret, occurred, and 
that he was exceedingly sorry to oblige her to re-copy a 
porl ion of her very beautiful valedictory. 
The simple fact was that returning from his journey 
of discovery he had locked himself into his room, and 
in bitter vexation written with the blackest of ink, half 
of which he upset: “ Idiot! fool! fool! idiot! I am 
an idiot; thou art an idiot; he is an idiot! ” on any loose 
scrap of paper which came to his hand. 
Poor Maria’s innocent valedictory had been the vic¬ 
tim of this frenzied mood .—The Continent. 
