THE LADIES' FLORAL CABINET. 
227 
woods which you always loved so well, hoping that it 
may cheer you in your illness. Tenderly yours, 
“Mabel.” 
“Here is something else,” said Jack, picking up a 
photograph which had dropped from the letter. Janie 
held out her hand for it, but Jack seemed in no hurry 
to give it up. 
Of course the photograph was that of Mabel Lawrence, 
and she was a very lovely girl, even in a photograph. 
Though the plain black and white could give no idea 
of the rich coloring of the bright brown hair and spark¬ 
ling hazel eye, or the delicate bloom upon cheek and 
lip, yet the features were clear and refined enough to 
bear even such a test as this. And the dainty poise of 
the head upon the round throat, the loose little rings of 
hair curling softly upon the broad forehead, the delicate, 
penciled curves of the eye-brows, were alone sufficient 
to have given beauty to a plainer face. 
“ But who is it, Jack, and who is ‘ Angela,’ and what 
did you put the note and photograph in here for ? ” 
asked Janie, wonderingly. 
Jack laughed: “ My dear little sister, I did not mean 
to deceive you. The flowers are none of my picking, 
I really meant to get you some, but I had no time. I 
bought these of a boy, and the little wretch must have 
stolen them. ‘ Mabel,’ evidently sent them to ‘ Angela.’ 
“ And Angela is sick, like me,” said Janie, touching 
the delicate petals tenderly with her fragile fingers. 
“Poor ‘Angela,’ who will never see the lovely things. 
I wonder who she is. Jack?” 
“I wonder who ‘Mabel’ is?” said the young man, 
“and I will never rest until I find out,” he added 
under his breath, with a gloss of color and a flash of the 
eyes which made Janie look at him curiously. 
But the little sister was wise in her way, and she went 
on arranging her flowers, singing softly to herself the 
while. She even refrained from comment when Jack 
picked up note and photograph and slipped them into 
his pocket, quite unconscious that Janie saw the pro¬ 
ceeding from the corner of her demure eye. 
Nothing seemed more hopeless than Jack’s search for 
the original of the photograph. To look for the boy 
who sold him the flowers was much like looking for the 
traditional “needle in a haystack.” He was not sure 
that if he saw him again he would know him, and, even 
if he did, what then ? If the boy had stolen the flowers, 
he was not at all likely to confess the fact, and if he 
had found them, what clue would that give Jack? 
Nevertheless, and in spite of reason, his mind was bent 
upon finding the boy. If he had not been so intent 
upon his one idea that he was ready to seize upon any 
chance indication, he would never have noticed the 
knot of Wild Boses which a ragged little girl was 
proudly showing to a group of her companions. 
“Them’s not real Roses,” said one scornful little 
voice. 
The owner of the flowers turned indignantly upon the 
speaker. 
“ They be, I tell you,” she said, with flashing eyes. 
“My brother Jem guv’ ’em to me to-day. The man 
what drives the cars guv’ him a whole lot that he’d 
found, and he sold ’em to a gentleman for a dollar. All 
but these. He saved these for me. He’s a good brother, 
Jem is.” 
“Real Roses has lots of leaves, and yaller things in 
the middle,” said the first objector, but more dubiously. 
“That’s all you know,” retorted the other. “I 
s’pose you ain’t a real little girl ’cause you ain’t dressed 
up in silks and feathers? I tell you these are real Roses, 
like what grows in the woods and fields.” 
“Where is your brother Jem that gave you these 
Wild Roses?” asked Jack, laying his hand upon the 
child’s shoulder. 
“ Here ! what did I tell you?” she cried, too triumph¬ 
ant to be even surprised at Jack’s accost. “ The gentle¬ 
man calls ’em Roses, and I guess he knows. Where’s 
Jem? (turning to Jack). Blessed if I know. Looking 
for a job somewhere’s, I s’pose. He most gener’ally is. 
Maybe he’s got one, and maybe not. If he hasn’t we’ll 
have no supper to-night, that’s all. If you wanted to 
see him, he’ll be home to-night. It ain’t much of a 
place for a gentleman to come to, though. I'll send 
him to you, if you’ll tell me where. I s’pose you don’t 
mean him no harm?” she added, as a sudden after¬ 
thought. “He’s a good boy, Jem is, and don’t do no 
harm to nobody.” 
“No, I don’t mean him any harm,” said Jack, laugh¬ 
ing. “I only want to ask him a question. Tell him to 
come at eight o’clock to-night to No. 9 W-St., and 
there’s a quarter to help you remember.” 
Jem was prompt to time, but he could only tell Jack 
that the conductor of the train which left Hackettstown 
at .6:50 a.m. had given him the flowers which somebody 
had left in the cars. Of course the conductor could not 
know whose they were, or he would have returned 
them. The clue was so faint that Jack’s heart well 
nigh failed him. Still it was a clue, and he felt that it 
was well worth the dollar which made Jem’s eyes shine 
like diamonds. 
Of course the conductor knew nothing when Jack, at 
last, found him. Whoever left the flowers might have 
got on the train at any of the stopping-places. Jack 
could not well begin at Hackettstown, and seekthrough 
every place at which the 6:50 a.m. train stopped. There 
were fourteen of them, and human life is limited. Even 
if Jack had been sure of living to the age of Methusaleh, 
he could not give up quite all of his time to the search. 
He reflected that if “Mabel” lived upon the road she 
must go to the city occasionally, and her face was not 
one to be passed over unnoticed, even bv a conductor. 
Yet he could not make up his mind to show her photo¬ 
graph to him and ask his help. Somehow, the picture 
had grown too sacred to be submitted to a stranger’s 
eye. Jack preferred to keep it to himself and gloat 
over it in secret, like the veriest miser extant. 
It is an absurd thing to say of a young man of to-day,’ 
but Jack’s spirits actually failed under the continual 
perplexity. Janie watched his increasing moodiness 
with mingled amusement and sympathy, until one day 
the sympathy got the upper hand, and she surprised 
Jack mightily. 
“ Have you ever thought of advertising for ‘ Mabel,’ 
Jack?” she said, suddenly. 
Jack actually jumped, the attack was so entirely un¬ 
expected. 
“Advertising for—What on earth do you mean 
Janie?” 
“ O, I know all about it,” said the little witch. “ I may 
be only seventeen and delicate, and all that, but I can 
see as far through a mill-stone as the next one; and 
when a brother carries a photograph in his pocket and 
looks at it on the sly all the time and scribbles ‘ Mabel ’ 
