THE LADIES' FLORAL CABINET. 
229 
“ And our name is Carroll,” she said, “Jeannette and 
John Carroll—otherwise Janie and Jack.” 
“Carroll?” cried Mr. Lawrence. “Jeannette Car- 
roll? Why, bless my soul, you must be the children of 
my old friend, John Carruthers Carroll, who married 
my cousin Jeannette Romeyne. Bless me! so we are 
cousins after a fashion. Well, well! wonders will never 
cease.” 
“Jack, dear,” said Janie, after the first wonder of this 
discovery was exhausted, “it is such a lovely night, 
don’t you think we might drive Mr. Lawrence all the 
way home? Perhaps he might forget to get into the 
express-train when it came along, you know. The 
horses are quite fresh, and they can easily do it, and we 
shall have moonlight to come back by.” 
An hour later the horses whirled up a long avenue 
and came to a stand before a large house sparkling with 
lights. A young lady who had run out at the first 
sound of wheels stood upon the piazza, peering anx¬ 
iously out into the darkness. 
“Papa, dear,” she cried, running down the steps, 
“ is it really you, and how did you happen to come in 
this way? O, we have been so uneasy, mamma and I; 
for we never know what you will do.” 
Then Mrs. Lawrence came out and there were intro¬ 
ductions and explanations, a very Babel of talk— 
thanks, apologies and laughter, all mingled and blended. 
Of course Janie and Jack were forced to descend, 
whether they would or not, nor were they released till 
after tea. 
Need I say that the acquaintance did not end here, 
backed as it was by the newly-discovered relationship? 
Janie and Mabel fell in love at once. Jack had per¬ 
formed that ceremony long ago and he saw no reason 
for forswearing it now. It only remained for Mabel 
to follow his example, and, though she was not quite 
so expeditious about it, she fulfilled her duty in the 
end. 
Shall I tell you a secret ? If you should visit a certain 
fashionable stationer in the city, you might see there a 
card-plate bearing the following inscription: 
“Mr. and Mrs. John Romeyne Lawrence request the 
pleasure of your company at the marriage of their 
daughter, Mabel Alleyne, to Mr. John Carroll, on Wed¬ 
nesday afternoon, June 30tli, at two o’clock.” 
Though Mabel dares not set fashion at defiance so far 
as to wear anything but the conventional orange- 
blossoms herself, she declares that Janie and the other 
bridesmaids shall wear as their floral adornments only 
Wild-Roses. Helen F. More. 
DID YOU SPEAK? 
I saw the prettiest picture 
Through a garden fence to-day, 
Where the Lilies look like angels 
Just Jet out to play, 
And the Roses laugh to see them 
All the sweet June day. 
Through a hole behind the Woodbine, 
Just large enough to see 
(By begging the Lilies’ pardon) 
Without his seeing me, 
My neighbor’s boy, and Pharaoh, 
The finest dog, you’ll see, 
If you search from Maine to Georgia 
For a dog of kingly air, 
And the tolerant high-bred patience 
The great St. Bernards wear. 
And the sense of lofty courtesy 
In breathing common air. 
I called the child’s name—“ Franko! ” 
Hands up to shield my eyes 
Fi'om the jealous Roses—“ Franko !” 
A burst of bright surprise 
Transfixed the little fellow 
With wide, bewildered eyes. 
‘ ‘ Franko ! ” Ah, the mystery ! 
Up and down, around, 
Looks Franko, searching gravely 
Sky and trees and ground, 
Wise wrinkles on the eyebrows ! 
Studying the sound. 
‘‘ O Franko! ” Puzzled Franko 
The Lilies will not tell; 
The Roses shake with laughter, 
But keep the secret well; 
The Woodbine nods importantly. 
“ Who spoke?” cried Franko, “Tell!” 
The ti-ees do not speak English ; 
The calm, great sky is dumb ; 
The yard and street are silent; 
The old board-fence is mum; 
Pharaoh lifts his head, but, ah! 
Pharaoh, too, is dumb. 
Grave wrinkles on his eyebrows, 
Hand upon his knee, 
Head bai-ed for close reflection, 
Lighted curls blown free— 
The child’s soul to the brute’s soul 
Goes out earnestly. 
From the child’s eyes to the brute’s eyes 
And eai’nestly and slow 
The child’s young voice falls on my ear, 
“ Did you speak. Pharaoh?” 
The bright thought growing on him— 
“ Did you speak, Pharaoh?” 
I can but think if Franko 
Would teach us all his way 
Of listening and trusting— 
The wise, wise Franko way ! — 
The world would learn some summer 
To hear what dumb things say. 
— E. S. Phelps. 
