Puck — July 11, 1877 — page 17: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“Cause she won’t marry me.” “ But you do not try to make her.” ‘Tom Reynolds looked questioningly. « Some women would rather serve than rule; and they being made rulers rule badly, because it is not natural for them to rule at all.” ‘Tom looked puzzled, and René proceeded to put her meaning into demonstration. “Did you ever try the effect of staying away from the Ferry-boat for a while ?” “When Master Hugh and she were,as I may say, engaged, I stayed away.” “And Mattie was very kind to you when you returned ?” “She asked me to return. she was very kind—for a time “And since then have you tried staying away for a while ?” “Lord, yes, miss! over and over again I have.” “ And how did it succeed?” “Well, I can’t say that it succeeded at all; for, you ‘see, though I tried and tried, again and again, I'could nof keep away.” René smiled, and said: “Will you follow my directions, Reynolds ?” ‘Tom fidgeted sheepishly, and said he hoped he had never been found wanting in obedi- ence. “Then obey me now. I am going to Lon- don to-morrow morning; be in readiness to ac- company me. But do not tell Mattie of your going.” “No fear of that, miss; she doan‘t give me a cheance 0’ saying healf as much as that to her.”” In the morning, with ‘fom Reynolds as body- guard, René went to London, where she had certain purchases to make for her approaching journey. It was also her purpose to separate if she could the lovers whose happiness she sought. She was convinced that if the tables were turned upon Mattie she would become sup- pliant, and that her marriage might follow. She agreed with ‘Tom that the girl was good at heart, and would make a true and faithful wife, especially if she were removed from the temp. tation to listen to flattery. ‘Ihe giddiest girls of the working class sober after marriage. At an estate-agent’s she learnt that there was a nursery in Brixton to let, with immediate pos- session, and thither she went, and took Tom's opinion as to the advisability of speculating in the business. “If I had the money, miss, I’d take it my- self—that is, if—" “Tf you had a wife to make the house com- fortable ?” ‘Tom sighed. “ How long will it take to put the house in repair, furnish it, and make it quite fit to live jn 2” And—oh, yes; “If I were about, to see that the men stuck to their work, I'd see it through in a fort- night.” “Then set about it this very day, and when it is finished come to me.” ‘Tom looked uneasy and reflective, but his rising arguments were kept down by René’s. “You will furnish the house as if it were for yourself,” said she. “Do not spare expense. T intend it to be a comfortable home for one I respect; think of that. I will instruct my soli- citor to furnish you with what money you require; and if you want anything from River- ford, write for it. Here is money for your immediate use; the agent shall meet you here to-morrow. And now I must tell you that lam doing something for Mattie Blake’s good; and you must promise me not to write to her until I give you permission. I will let you know where you may find me when your work here is finished.” Tom Reynolds had a shrewd idea as to René’s intention, but modesty. and. gratitude PUCK. forbade him to openly see it, or to urge a| request that he might be allowed to go back to Riverford for the things he required. Reneé closed with the estate-agent, went to | her solicitor, made her purchases, and returned | alone to Riverford. ‘The following morning | she sent for Mattie. The little coquette came in her best, and | looked prettier than a picture. The brightest ribbons seemed not inharmonious upon her, nor otherwise than a confusion of wild flowers from the midst of which rises a rose. She tripped up the broad path with saucy gayety, looking this way and that expectantly. She expected that somewhere she should see ‘Tom. She was piqued by his absence the previous evening, which was more noticeable because there was not a soul to pay attentions to her. She would have been kind to him had he come; disappointment turned her sweetness to gall, and she hoped to see him, that she might revenge herself by cutting him. He was not to be seen, and her heart fell; but she would not suffer her manner to betray her in the presence of Miss Biron. “T am going abroad,” said René, “and I want a young woman to ‘attend me. Do you think you should like to accept the situation for a few weeks?” “There is nothing in the world I would like better,” answered Mattie, joyfully, as vengeance upon the offending lover, the glory of mixing with real gentlefolks, and of seeing handsome foreigners, flooded her mind with delight. “Could your father spare you?” Mattie was certain her father would do any- thing to oblige Miss Biron; he was her tenant, and she had ordered his weirs to be put in re- pair at her own expense; and, moreover, the season was past, and there were no gentlemen, no visitors, at the Ferry-boat. “And there is no tie in Riverford you fear to break ?”” “None,” Mattie declared emphatically and with a little frown. “Twill write to your father, and if you have his consent, you can make your preparations at once. I shall leave England on Monday.” An hour later Mattie was in the room, sur- rounded by the entire stock of her finery, mak- ing a selection of the things she would take with her, and rehearsing the while the noncha- lant speech with which she would inform Tom Reynolds of her intention of leaving Riverford. She anticipated the dejection with which he would hear of her intention, and the tender speech which it would probably move him to, and which she certainly would reply to with a coolness that must cut him to the heart. There was no Tom to hurt that night, nor the next, which was Sunday, and she only suffered. But if she shed a tear, it was of vexation and not re- morse. ‘The very triumph of her departure from the village was marred by his absence. But she carried herself throughout with becom- ing carelessness. She knew of no specific cause for ‘Tom's un- expected defection. She had used him no worse the last time he visited her than in the last fifty times, It was a mystery, and troubled her; but lest Miss Biron should think she was troubled on account of not seeing Tom Rey- nolds, she affected happy composure. It was a poor consolation; still it is something to feel that you have pride. In the course of their journey to Dover René asked her if she knew anything of Mrs. Thomp- son, a widow. Mattie paled for an instant, and then gave voluminous information. She said | the most spiteful things in the sweetest words of Mr. Thompson’s relict, and showed plainly to René that she knew of the widow’s affection for ‘Tom Reynolds. | nium and moss, René asked no more questions, and left curiosity to further her plan. Her silence was t3 torture to Mattie, who burned to know in what way Miss Biron could be interested in the widow. She dared not continue the subject for fear of betraying the jealousy she felt; and, moreover, her mistress had retreated into the further corner of the carriage, and opened a novel. She could not but conjecture an ex- planation. It was a painful process by which she arrived at a painful conclusion. First she thought over mystery number one, with its dis- appointments, in which ‘Tom Reynolds was the principal figure; then, turning to mystery number two, she recalled all the unpleasant things that had been hinted to her of Mrs. Thompson. Her lover and the widow became coupled in her mind, and at length mystery number two suggested an explanation of mys- tery number one. Her heart ached with jealousy, and by the time she reached Dover she hated Tom: Reynolds. ‘The voyage across the Channel was bad, and not otherwise was Mattie. The stewardess had sufficient occupation with the ladies, and left their maids to comfort each other. Oh, how Mattie longed to be in the fresh air! how she yearned for a soothing voice, a remedial hand, an encouraging glance! She knew of one who, whatever her extremity, would have given her comfort and help. She felt she was horribly dirty and ugly as she passed from the dreadful packet to the shore. ‘The Frenchmen laughed at her, and said things to her which she could not understand. ‘Then her heart veered round, and she loved ‘om as she had never loved any one before. In the hotel she could understand nobody, and she wept upon her pillow at night, and lengthened her prayer for the happiness of Mr. Reynolds, and begged that her heart might be softened, and that she might be a good girl in future and for ever and ever, amen. She did not like the Italian cookery, and foreigners were not half so beautiful as. she had expected. They were dirty and contrasted ill with a certain fresh-skinned Englishman, who, when he stood near her, was fragrant of gera- A letter from her father told her that Tom Reynolds had left Riverford, and, it was rumored, had taken a nursery in London. “And no wonder,” wrote the parent, ‘“con- sidering how miserable his life were made here. And so, my fine girl, you have lost the best chance you ever had, or are likely to have in this world, and there is no one betwixt him and widow Thompson.” “What do I care for widow Thompson!” cried Mattie, crushing the letter up fiercely; then, dropping it, she put her hands to her face, and began to cry. She fancied every one knew the secret pain in her heart, and, indeed, it was as much as she could do to conceal it. There was no melody in her voice when she hummed, no- happiness in her eye when she smiled. It was a misery to pretend gayety. Her sweetest moments were at night, when she might cry upon her pillow without restraint. She looked forward to the night-time through the day. She would have liked to lead up to the subject of ‘Tom Reynolds when she was alone with her mistress, but feared that the mention of his name might bring the tell-tale tears into her eyes. (To be continued.) EveRYTHING is not in a name. The small paths in Fairmount Park are called foot-paths, while the very large path on the other side of the river is called a tow-path.—Phila. Bulletin, ‘Tite history of beer dates back to the time of the old Egyptians, but it is not recorded that any old Egyptian ever drank fourteen “schooners” at one sitting, in order that thirteen other old Egyptians might have the pleasure of “ treating around.” — Worcester Press. comicbooks.com