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Show EFFIE'S DOLLAR BiLL. " Stella, is it you ?" ' It was a bitter eoid in;ht, the full , moon shinini; with freezing light over , a eoid expanse of glittering snow, the br.melv. s ot the glt-n tin'ilint: and , eraekliiij; innier their wi ig'i.t of icicles", j tlieataiti rti'iiiiii: :tfir o!h I had , run across the beau n path that led fri'tn the hou.-c to tho baru, to get wme of tiie nd lialdwin apples thai were packul .-o simply in lue oat bin, tor old Mr. tAU-nell had come to spend the evening, and my mother took pride in heriinpretendint; hospitality. I But jtit an I stepped to 1 1 ft the lid o! the bin, a mailing noise in the hay startled me. Uefuie I could utter a low cry that trembled on my lips, 1 saw that it was Stella Severn. Stella Severn, neighbor Loekwocd's " bouud girl," a wild, reckless tiling, who received a bad name at every one's hand, and contrived somehow, to get blamed for eveiy scrape that Ati going. Whether Stella was really real-ly bad or not. no one could tell but somehow she was perpetually under p the ban. Mrs. Lock wood, a stifi, j rigid dame of the .Puritanic type, a knew uo more how to manage Stella j Severn than tiie ni Uronly hen comprehends com-prehends the roving nature of the will- -fuldiiekiing that takes to water in spite of everything and lor some recent j escapade, the full del. ils of which I a did not know, I had been forbidden by my mother even to t-peak to Stella. "Yes it is I," said Stella, slowly rearing herseii out ol the recesses ot x the hay, and staling at me with her s Andalusian eyesr "And I am oh - so cold." "What are you doing here?" I , asked, holding up my lantern in sore perplexity. 3 "1 am tryhig tu sLn p," said Stella. "I have itiu awav." "Run away? What f ji?" "Because i couldn't stand it any . longer. Mrs. Lo-kwooil accused me . of being a thief ehu had lost some ( miserable old teaspoon or other and I won't uc called a thief." "Cut, S ella," I cried, my conservative conser-vative nature thrilling with vague terror at the mere idea of such bold . measures as these, "what are you going to do? ' "Lhe Lord only knows," Stella answered, wi;h more reckless truth than reverence. "Perhaps mother would let you sleep in our room," I said. "Perhaps she wouldn't!" scornfully retorted Stella. "No decent person lets "it in." "I mean to ask her." "Ask, then, and get a scolding for your pains," laughed SteiU, bitterly. "But it's so cruelty cold, and mother wouldn't shut out a dog in such weather as this." "Perhaps so but I am worse than a dot;! You mean kindly, Elue lieartt, but you'll find out the tolly of it." I ruade no answer, but ran as last as I could back to the house, where breathless and panting, I preferred my request. "A tiiied A runaway! In my house! cried my mother. "A lazy, good-for-nothing, who would rather lie in the sunshine than ; work any time," echoed Deacon Cornell. Cor-nell. "Go and warn her of! the premises immediately," said my mother. ''iduuno but I'd ought to go for the constable," dubiously remarked the deacon, leeling his stubby beard. I slunk away disheartened. Stella a prophesy had been correct. But I ! was determined not to desert my old playmate thus. Creeping up to my, room, I took a solitary dollar bill, i treasured toward a new blue sash for j a spring muslin, and wrote a short; note to Hubert Leslie, the young artist who had boarded with us the summer previous, askine him to LrFr:i:-"l Ihp friendless. 1 believed he would do as much as that for my sake, and then hurrying once more to the barn, I crept up to Stella's side. "Stella," I said, "you must go away from here." "I thought so," responded Stella calmly. "But here is a dollar all the money I have got. It will take you to New York, if you walk fat and reach the depot in time for the midnight mid-night express. And here is a note to a gentlemen who may, perhaps, help you to find something to do." Stella threw her arms about my neck, and X could feel her tears, wet and warm, upon my cheek. "Eilie Heartt," sobbed she, "if all the world was liko you, perhaps I shouldn't be so bad as I am. Y'et I'll do my best. Give me the money and let me go." I watched her dark form plodding away over the snow until the black , speck vanished under the wall of trees that lined the road, and then 1 1 came- bick into the house whero my mother ana the deacon were discussing discuss-ing their cider and apples. "Has she gone?" asked the former, "es, she has gone," I answered. "I am glad of that," Baid my mother. mo-ther. "I've no faith in that Stella Severn. She might have had a good home with Mrs. Lockwood, if only she h id behaved herself." And it was not until sometime afterwards that 1 ventured to tell my . mother what I had done. "You are a fool," said she, with acerbity. "Your dollar is as clean thrown away as if you had pitched it down the well; and I'm sure I don't know what Mr. Leslie will think of your interference." I hung my head and made no answer. an-swer. Cut when the summer hung her coronal of big cream-colored roses over our farm-hou&o door, and Hubert Hu-bert Leslie came back with his easel and stretching umbrella, I ventured to ask him ol Stella. "Oh," eaid he, "that black-eyed girl with the Spanish face? Y'es, I remember now. I got her a place as child's nurse with my cousin, Mrs. Evelyn, but she ran away within tho month." "Humph ! I told you so," Baid my mother, with the scornful emphasis which is so hard to bear. I bit my "P- "Never mind, Eftie," said Mr. Leilie.kindly; "a good action is never entirely thrown away. Stulla Severn's gipsy blood could ill hear constraint; but I don't think she'll forget you for all that." That was before Hubert Lealie asked mo to bo his wiie. We were married tho next spring, and I went to New York to live. We had a little bit of a room, opening open-ing out of Hubert's studio, whore we kept house like a pair of turtle doves in a neat. Although Hubert was such a genius, and had painted so many beau lful pictures, he was young, and comparatively unknown, and we found it hard to live, particularly particu-larly after the twins had opened their blue eyes on the wintry sunshine of a glorious February day. I had done a little fancy needle-wurk for the store hen town; but now my hands were lied and it was hard to see tho shadows sha-dows creep over Hubert's brow, and know that I had po.ver to lift them. So the years went by. More little ones ehia ertd around our scanty Ixjanl; although Hubert worked hard and ivit.'it nlioualy, there were other artists wi o painleied to tho public List'1, and received mure orders. We . were very p or. ' Huirt," said I, one day, when the li a 1 of povtrlyhad been ainiot ' in, ire tnan we cuuKl bear, "don't you , wish vuti never hail married?'' "Do I wish the sunshine had never ( come into ir.y hie?" he asked. "Never put that question again, little wile. What would existence be woith without you and the baimies?" "If you could only sell that thousand thou-sand dollar picture," I sighed, thinking think-ing f something that had been on the easel for months. Ho shrugged his shoulders. "Harper says it isn't worth a cooper," coo-per," said he. "Harper thinks it is lar beyond the pupular standard of appreciation." I sighed; but in spite of our privation priva-tion 1 would not have asked Hubert to lower his grand ideal ol art. I was proud Ot it. I was proud of him. Hubert came in from the studio next dav with a radiant f'.ce. j -'Wifey, the golden age bus dawned and her Art is appreciated at last. 1 have sold my picture." "Not the 'Mmnse. Hubert.' V "Yes, the 'Sunrise.' Look! Here's t a check lor a thou-aud dollars, signed by Signora Eilella Severiui, tho prima tlonna who is singing at tho , ( Academy. She is in the studiy now : and sho says she wants to be intro- j dueed to the artist's wife." "But Hubert, my dress! My ging- j bam dress!" I "Oh. your dress is well enovgh, Mrs. Cinderella," lie cried, laughing, as he drew me towards the door. A lady sat in the model's chaii a j tall, superbly moulded lady, dressed in black velvet, and an Indian shawl, with hair of rippled purplish black and large dusky eyes. The instant she looked up I knew her again. i " Stella ! Stella Severn !" I cried, with a sort of grasp. , She rose, laughing and crying and ran into my arms. "Etlie, darling, to think that we should meet after all these years !" She told me, then, her story. How, after long battling with the world's vicissitudes, she had come across an opera manager who perceived the hidden treasure that existed in her voice, and voluntarily assumed the expense of training it. " And I am rich and famous now," said she. " I can pay back tho debt I owo to you, Etlie; for I think, if it had not been for you and your dollar bill, that winter night, I should have been driven to swallow the little vial ot laudanum I had all ready in my pocket !" "Oh, Stella !'i "Ah, but I should. You do not L understand how persecuted and hunted I was, Eflie but thonk God, that is over !" Signora Severini's thousand-dollar 1 check was the beginning of our new ' fortunes; it was the fashion to copy 1 her whims and caprices. Other peo-! pie bought becauso she did and 1 pretty soon we were able to move to a pretty cottage of our own in the suburbs. And when my mother and Deacon J Cornell, down in the country, heard what Stella Severn had become, they t declared sagely: " Well, there's never any telling how things may turn out in this J world!" |
