THE LADIES' FLORAL CABINET,\ 
295 
more composedly, and to tell her the history of his 
troubles. The whole estate had been mortgaged for 
three years; until lately Col. Wallingford had no 
trouble in keeping the interest paid up, but his last 
speculation in mining stocks, having been a disastrous 
failure, the interest was not forthcoming, and the 
mortgage was about to be foreclosed. Meanwhile, 
the whole place had been going to rack and ruin. 
“Nothing has gone right, my child, since your dear 
mother died; she was a most wise and careful manager, 
and all my expenses have doubled since her watchful 
presence left me; even my own energy and abilities 
seem buried with her;’ 5 and his eyes grew cloudy with 
regretful tears. “Papa dear, you have often said I 
was like mamma in many things, instruct me, confide 
in me, and, perhaps, even little, I may be of some use 
to you.” 
“It has been a strange comfort to unburden my 
mind to you,” he mused, “though of course these frail 
little hands can never do ought to lighten such a load 
as this,” caressing as he spoke, the soft girlish hand 
that lay in his own. “There is one thing though, for 
which I cannot be too thankful; your mother left a 
small property, the income of which was to be used for 
her children. This, though often sorely pressed, I have 
never touched, and it will at least keep you from actual 
want; but nothing more ” he added, sighing. “ It only 
amounts to about six hundred dollars a year.” “And 
you think we cannot save the place?’’she questioned 
thoughtfully. “ My child, it costs me over three thous¬ 
and a year to keep it up, and you will see at once that 
it is impossible.” 
And then followed eager words from June, in which 
she spoke of all the many sources of loss and waste 
on the place that she had noted, and her own plans 
for stopping this waste. 
Her father listened, astonished and pleased at the 
good sense and practical wisdom she displayed; and 
the result was a long, earnest business talk, prolonged 
far into the night, and continued the next morning 
until almost dinner-time. 
“I say, Jess, what’s up?” said Tom—“Sis can’t hear 
our lessons this morning—says we must be good, as 
she’s having a business talk with Papa. I only hope 
she’ll tell him him how much I want a magic lantern, 
and a bicycle.” 
The results of that talk were wide and far-reaching. 
The two blooded saddle-horses in the stable were sold, 
a handsome carriage, and all the cows but one. With 
the money so raised, the interest on the mortgage was 
paid off, and both father and daughter drew a long 
breath of relief. 
Then followed the dismissal of Williams, whom Col. 
Wallingford had long suspected of being too free with 
the stores; June volunteering to take charge of that 
department, as her mother had done before her. 
The field hands were also discharged and with them 
the army of small black imps that had swarmed over 
the place, making so many less mouths to feed. Two 
neighbors, sometime before had made the offer to cul¬ 
tivate certain portions of the estate on shares, and this 
offer was now accepted. The six hundred dollars a 
year, left by the thoughtful mbther for her children, 
June insisted on taking for their current expenses. 
“You will see, dear Papa,” she said gaily, “how won¬ 
derfully far I shall make it go.” “You are a witch,” 
said her father fondly; “here I expected a fine lady 
home from boarding-school, with more expensive 
tastes and fancies than any of us, and I find instead, a 
staunch little helper in time of trouble.” 
“And half of my schemes you have not yet learned, 
I want to branch out in an entirely new field ; promise 
me, papa mine, that you will not oppose me in my pet 
notions.” 
“Ah! you little plotter, that is the way you plan 
your mischief, is it ? Well dear,” he continued gravely, 
“you have shown so much ability and good sense 
heretofore, that I think you can be trusted a little 
further. But remember,”—a little haughtily—“that 
you are a Wallingford, and that ladies of that name have 
never soiled their hands with menial work.” 
“ Oh ! you proud, aristocratic papa,” she said, in fond 
derision, “a little work wont hurt me; but I will not 
let it soil my hands, for— I shall wear gloves! ” After 
which mysterious sentence, she whisked out of the 
room. But if she escaped opposition from her father, 
she met it in double measure from Aunt Sally. Her, 
June took partially into her confidence, explaining her 
father’s failure in business, and the necessity for close 
economy, if they would keep the dear home place; to 
all of which Aunt Sally listened, with many incred¬ 
ulous sniffs and snorts ; but when June spoke of her 
own plans, Aunt Sally broke in indignantly, “Missy 
June, I done tinks ye’s gone clar crazy! you’se look 
mighty nice, wukkin wid dem lili w’ite han’s ! Honey, 
des you look yere—didn’t Missus put you in des yere 
arms, w’en you wa’nt nuthin’ but a mite ob a baby, en 
say ‘ Aunt Sally, I trus’ you allers to take good care of 
my darlin’—call dis takin’ good care ? Sho’ now honey, 
don’ you do nuthin’ but des go singin’ roun’ de house— 
‘pears lak oF Aunt Sally’s heart mighty light, w’en she 
year you singin’—en me’n Isaac, we’d wuk our brack 
fingers plum to de bone, ‘fore hard times get a hoi’ o’ 
you.” 
But our young maiden had a will of her own, and, 
little by little, Aunt Sally’s wrath was changed to un¬ 
willing admiration at her deft and busy ways. All the 
various kinds of fruit about the place, which once were 
left to birds and small children, were gathered up, and 
made into preserves and jellies, for future use; also 
many delicate deserts of fresh and stewed fruits began 
to grace the table, in place of Aunt Sally’s rich pud¬ 
dings and pies. Uncle Isaac was mustered into service, 
and under June’s guidance, put out a large and care¬ 
fully prepared strawberry patch, then made sundry 
changes in the poultry house and fences. Aunt Sally 
found her supply of fresh eggs not quite so bountiful 
as before, and it was not the ‘possums either, who 
robbed the nests. Soon small colonies of downy chick¬ 
ens began to appear, and were carefully watched and 
tended by the busy June. Full and happy were her 
days. Early every morning, while yet the curling 
silver mists were hanging over the sea beyond, our 
active little heroine was stirring. First she made all 
tidy in her tiny sleeping-room, that looked out toward 
the sun; then paid a visit to her little feathered charges, 
and their fussy scratching mothers stopping when 
half way to the house to pick a great cluster of Marechal 
Mel roses for the breakfast table. After the morning 
meal, she spent two hours over the stove, either con¬ 
cocting some dainty desert for dinner, or adding to her 
stock of fruit preserves. 
