The Argosy — page 295: what you’re looking at

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

276 The Village Blacksmith. busy brain, which would not let her rest, but would keep suggesting various courses of action with regard to Rex and Janet. At last, worn out with worry and fatigue, she fell asleep. Vera was not the only wakeful person in the Rectory that night: Mark Brown also tossed and turned on his bed, for he had heard of Reuben’s illness, and he felt sure Janet would come homeina — day or two at latest, to nurse him; and the prospect of seeing her — kept Mark awake. CHAPTER XII. | REUBEN IS TEMPTED, } THe blacksmith, who was as helpless and nervous as most men © when ill, missed Vera’s visit on the day she received Rex’s letter; _ and, feeling worse, he decided to write and beg Janet to come — home and look after him. Letter-writing was not one of the black- smith’s strong points.. He wielded the hammer better than he did the pen; so the smudged, ill-spelt epistle, written with a splitting head- | ache and a split pen, which, after much exertion, he finally despatched, | was sufficiently vague to alarm Janet seriously. | It was ironing-day—that is to say Thursday, as the world counts | time—when this letter reached Janet. She was quite well now, and © was sitting by the kitchen fire with ‘the man of mettle,” etat one — month and a few days, on her lap, when Mary Jane handed two letters — to her: Reuben’s and Vera’s. | “Ts it from him?” said Norah, who was about to begin the work to which Thursday was consecrated. She alluded to Rex, for they ® were anxiously awaiting a letter from him in answer to the one announcing the birth of his son—a letter they hoped would give Janet permission to tell her father of her marriage; for until she . received this permission she dared not and would not do so. * No; they are from Miss Vera and father. Oh! Aunt Norah, he « is very ill, and wants me to go home at once. What am I to do?) - Of course I must go, but what about babye I1 dare not leave ! him.” | ‘“No, you can’t do that. It is as much as his little life is worth. ) And you can’t refuse to go to your father, though I don’t suppose , there is much the matter with him. All men think they are going to | die if they have a bad cold. There is only one thing to be done: | you must go, and you must tell him the truth, and take the child, + | bless his little heart, with you.” And here Mrs. Canter lapsed into baby-language as she knelt by Janet’s knees, and paused in her occupation of testing the heat of a‘ flat-iron to charm a smile from the little creature who, all uncon-— scious of the difficulty into which its existence plunged its mother, lay . cooing and gurgling on her knee. | =. - —e as 4 (S@) = a JOOKS. COM)