perament, we imagine his dreams were not of the prosaic, every-day life.

As for Katie, her head was much more filled with thoughts of Guy Conway than with anticipations of her journey. She had a vague, altogether foolish hope that she might see him again before starting-perhaps at the depot; and when she was forced to give up that hope, she shed a few natural tears, which her father innocently thought were caused by parting from home.

"Cheer up, Katie. You'll hear from us often, and if anything happens, we'll let you know right -off."

Mrs. Greene's heart fluttered under her silk bodice. She had not been at Saratoga three weeks, and not learned who was who. Mr. Persimmon belonged to one of the oldest families in the metropolis. Mr. Persimmon was a great catch, said society.

As for Mr. Persimmon himself, all that was said of his adventitious aids had need to be true. He had such an old face that one fancied the antiquity of the family had all got into his blood. He had a sandy moustache, and pale, weak blue eyes. In conversation Mr. Persimmon was decidedly not brilliant. His usual topic was himself; and not be

"Never mind, child. You'd ought to see something of the world, and this seems to be a good time. So now brighten up."

And Katie, being full of the strong spirits of youth and health, did brighten up, and met her annt and uncle with her usual light-heartedness.

the stream of his eloquence easily ran dry. He had two pet tastes, in the gratification of which he spared neither time nor money; not that time was of any value to him, since he always had more of it than he knew what to do with. One of these tastes, to use the Persimmon vernacular, was for "pwetty girlth," and the other for " fath hortheth."

Accordingly, Mr. Persimmon had the handsomest stables in Manhattan, and accordingly he flew like a bee from one flower to another, never staying

"There's nothing here suitable for Saratoga, my dear," said Mrs. Greene. "We must run down to New York to-morrow, and get you an outfit."

The next three days, Katie was in a state of utter bewilderment. Silks, laces and jewels flashed before her, waking and sleeping; and the celerity with which these elegant fabrics assumed wearable shapes astonished her. It was an illustration of something before unknown to her-the power and resources of wealth.

Presently they went back to Saratoga with as many trunks, and as well supplied, as any belle in that great Vanity Fair. It was dull at first to Katie. She was tired of walking, tired of standing, tired of sitting still when other people danced. But by-and-by all that was changed. Mr. Arthur Persimmon begged an introduction to Miss Staples. It was a little adventure that first brought Katie face to face with this man. She was out walking one afternoon, with her uncle and aunt, and a little girl who had become decidedly attached to her. She and the little girl took the lead, while Mr. and Mrs. Greene followed close behind. A sudden shower came up; the wind blew furiously; the rain descended in torrents; crowds of promenaders were drenched before they could gain shelter; umbrellas were turned inside out. Katie gave her parasol to her little companion, and tried to protect herself with her fan, which she spread wide and held above her costly hat. Mr. Persimmon came tripping along. His hat blew off, and sailed directly over Katie's head, so that, in making a frantic effort to recover it, he ran heedlessly against her, and then saved her from falling by catching her in his arms. A minute later, they were all standing under the shelter of an awning, when the astonished Persimmon took time to notice more particularly the beautiful face that had looked up for an instant into his. That scrutiny was sufficient to turn his poor head, and the next day he repeatedly expressed a desire to be introduced to Miss Staples.

this was why, at the mature age of twenty-nine, and with all his susceptibility, Arthur Persimmon was still a bachelor.

"It would be a great catch, Katie, my dear-a splendid catch," said Mrs. Greene. "Mrs. Boodles assures me that half the girls among the elite have set their caps for him in vain."

Mrs. Boodles was a widow, neither rich nor poor; a sort of superfluous attache of society, who was invited when there was room for her, or when she could be useful. She had a fund of gossip, knew everybody, and was not ill-natured; and people like Mrs. Greene were her legitimate prey. She was quite ready to impart all she knew, and to play into her hands for the favor of an occasional drive, or, still more acceptable, a little dinner in Mrs. Greene's private room.

Mrs. Greene's heart swelled high with hope. If Katie could captivate the Persimmon, what a foothold it would give herself. She might hope anything from that connection.

So Katie walked, and drove, and sailed with Mr. Persimmon, taking Mrs. Greene along for chaperon. One day they went to Crystal Lake, and here Mr. Persimmon proposed a sail.

"Are you sure you can manage a boat ?" said Mrs. Greene.

Sure! How Mr. Persimmon praised himself! Mrs. Greene was more than convinced, and she not only gave Katie permission, but urged her to go out on the water.

The day was still and shady, the water deliciously smooth. Katie sat very quiet, thinking. It was curious that, whenever she looked down into the water, she saw not only her own face, but another-a handsome, manly one, that somehow was present to her thoughts a good deal. She had hoped, half believed, that Guy would write to her, ' and her heart was a little sore.

"Mith Katie," said Mr. Persimmon, "have you theen my new horthe ?" Katie roused up.

"No, I haven't. Is he a fine one?"

Mr. Persimmon-flattered by her interest: "A perfect beauty, Mith Katie."

Katie with the most unmistakable empressement. Mr. Conway quietly ignored him and his arrangements, and took Katie to long walks and drives,

Mrs. Greene interfered. If Mr. Conway would

Her question was never answered; for, in a breath, a flaw of wind caught the tiny sail, and the boat was overturned.

Katie shrieked. I must say that Mr. Persimmon's heart contracted with terror. But what would you have? He would have saved Katie if he could; but he could only swim enough to help himself ashore, and, with her, he would infallibly have gone under. Self-preservation is the first law of nature. In the exigency, Mr. Persimmon behaved nobly. He sacrificed his feelings, and obeyed that law.

Poor Katie went down-down-and would infallibly have soon slept that sleep that knows no waking, but for a strong hand that suddenly seized her, a strong arm that held her, and clove the water toward the shore.

It was all over in five minutes, but, during that time, Mrs. Greene, who saw the whole, had accused herself of Katie's murder, and condemned and executed herself, several times. And so she was in no state to do more than gasp out her joy at Katie's rescue.

It was a minute and a half before she looked up in the face of the gentleman who had so gallantly gone to the aid of the submerged party. Then she started back aghast.

'Why, Mr. Conway! is it you who are the preserver of my dear Katie ?" she exclaimed, melodramatically.

Guy Conway muttered something not quite distinct. At present, he was more interested in seeing whether Katie would revive than in receiving the thanks of her relatives.

Katie did revive, opened those soft blue eyes of hers, comprehended the situation, and said, faintly: "Was Mr. Persimmon saved?"

"I am here Mith Katie," said that gentleman, effusively. "I wish I could have had the pleasure of saving you-I do, indeed!" he exclaimed, so much in earnest that for once he was natural.

A vivid rose burned on Katie's cheeks just now so white. She was thinking that it was very sweet to owe her life to Guy Conway. But how came he there?

Guy answered the question in the light tone which he never used to Katie when they were alone together.

"You mustn't be foolish, Katie. Guy has only a liking for you as a little girl whom he has always known. The Conways would be furious if he were to marry a plain farmer's daughter. And Mr. Persimmon is such a great catch, Katie dear."

Katie reflected. Guy had given her tender looks, sweet tones, lingering hand-clasps; but beyond that, nothing. Was he playing with her heart? Katie burst into tears.

"I wish you would take me away from Saratoga," she said, sobbing.

"With all my heart," said Mrs. Greene. "We'll go back to New York. You haven't seen our house yet, Katie."

Mr. Guy Conway looked in vain for Katie and her friends the next day. By-and-by he condescended to inquire for them, and the answer gave him much more displeasure than he had any right to feel.

"Gone without bidding me good-by," he said, with darkened face. "Poor little Katie! Will those vulgar people sell her to that idiot, I wonder? Pshaw! Girls are not sold now-a-days. I suppose Katie isn't above marrying for a fortune, more than other girls. I wonder whether it is me or my money that Agatha Howard adores ?"

So Guy went back to Agatha, but, being in a singularly wretched mood, managed to quarrel with her, and at last to break with her openly. When winter set in, he drifted towards New York. Once there, he couldn't help turning his steps towards Madison Square. He was curious to see Katie in her new position. So one day he sent up his card, which was read by Mrs. Greene alone, for Katie was out.

That little lady was not so much flattered by the honor as she would once have been. She was beginning to look down from imaginary altitudes upon the Conways. Had not the Van Schermerhorns bowed to her in the street, and had not Arthur's aunt, Mrs. Waldron Persimmon, called?

So she kept Guy waiting fifteen minutes before she condescended to come down. Then she was so very patronizing that Guy smiled, though inwardly nettled.

Mr. Arthur Persimmon scowled, and his pale blue eyes were fairly angry. Who was this fellow that so coolly appropriated Miss Staples, and called her Katie? The blood of the Persimmons was up. Mr. Arthur hereafter treated Mr. Conway in the most supercilious fashion possible. Mr. Conway only smiled. Mr. Persimmon devoted himself to

may be, they are not precisely like people whom we've known all our lives. I'm go glad I happened to be in. Katie's out a great deal. You are such an old friend, Guy, I may tell you that she is as good as engaged to Arthur Persimmon." Guy ground his teeth-figuratively speakingand said to himself:

"How these women learn insolence!"

But

aloud: "Allow me to congratulate you, Mrs. Greene. Persimmon is a-fool, sotto voce,-good fellow."

"O, splendid! And his family are so delightful; Mrs. Waldron Persimmon, particularly-eccentric, but so pleasant. By the by, you must meet them here, and a few other friends. It will be a very small party quite informal. I'll let you know what day.".

Guy bowed, said he should be very happy, and presently took leave.

Directly he was gone, Mrs. Greene became the prey of remorse. She had committed herself to a dinner-party. It was wholly impromptu, done because she wanted to impress Guy with her position in society. Why, she hardly knew enough people to fill her table. But Clarinda was a woman of resources and courage. She put a bold front upon the matter, and told Katie as soon as she came home.

"Why, auntie, whom can you invite?" said Katie, who for some reason seemed singularly discomposed.

'Oh, there are people enough," said Mrs. Greene, concealing her trepidation. "There are the Schermerhorns will be glad to come."

"Auntie, you hardly know them to speak to." Nonsense, Katie. You aren't obliged to be intimate with people to invite them to dinner. And there is Mrs. Persimmon, and those two nice girls -Arthur's cousins."

"They are not civil to me," said Katie, reddening with the remembrance of slights received.

'And Arthur himself and Guy Conway for gentlemen. We shall make a very nice party, Katie." Katie sighed, and turned away.

And now began Mrs. Greene's matyrdom. She and Katie had everything to see to. Murray could give orders, said his wife, but, as for planning anything, he wasn't up to it. So Katie wrote notes and studied arrangements, and Mrs. Greene lay awake nights and considered her dinner. It was a great relief when at last she decided to order it from a caterer, and content herself with saying, Everything out of season."

46

"These people are au fait in such things, and it will be sure to be right," she said to Katie. She was at liberty then to linger over details. "It is so fortunate that we can spell the name with an 'e,'" she said, complacently examining the cards of invitation. "And so fortunate that Murray's name is Murray. If it had been Jonathan, now, or Peter, it would have killed me."

The looked-for, dreaded night came at last. Guy Conway fumed over his note of invitation, and finally lighted his cigar with it. He wouldn't go-not he. He wouldn't put himself in the way of Mrs. Greene's impertinence again. Nevertheless, here he was, at six o'clock, on his way to Madison Square, where he rang loudly.

"I guess that is Mr. Persimmon," said Mrs. Greene, hurrying away from the window, because she would not be supposed to be looking out for company. "He is so impatient to get into your presence, Katie dear."

"Katie dear," flushed just enough to make her beauty perfect. She had looked too much like a

lily in her azure dress. She half turned, raised her eyes absently, and then suddenly kindled. "Guy!"

He saw at a glance that she had been unhappy; saw, too, that his coming had power to dispel the cloud, and his heart softened strangely. He scarcely minded what Mrs. Greene said.

"We are so obliged to you for waiving ceremony and coming early, Guy. Katie and I are always a little lonely at this hour."

A half-hour passed, and then the bell rang again. "The Schermerhorns," murmured Mrs. Greene, only restrained by Guy's presence from peeping out of the window.

But, no-it was only the postman to bring letters. Another half-hour, and Mrs. Greene began to grow nervous. The ringing of the bell was such a relief. Very likely that was Mrs. Waldron Persimmon.

The waiting-man put his head in at the door. "Girl come to see about a situation for seamstress, ma'am.”

"Tell her I am engaged," said Mrs. Greene, hardly keeping back the tears.

Another half-hour of slow torture.

"Katie, what can be the reason our friends do not come ?"

"I don't know, auntie," said Katie, turning quite pale.

A dead silence then, which Guy in vain endeavored to break. At last Mrs. Greene started up.

"I see, Katie, how it is. You made a mistake. You said Thursday instead of Tuesday evening," she said, tremulously.

"Auntie!"

"Don't mind owning it, my dear," said Mrs. Greene, with a sickly attempt at a smile. "I won't be angry. Indeed, it is just as well, for I think I'm feeling rather indisposed. If you will go down with your uncle and Mr. Guy, I'll lie down for a while. You may send Rose up with a cup of tea. It's so fortunate you made the mistake, Katie." And so the poor little woman tottered off, a miserable smile on her ashy, haggard face.

Guy could not help admiring her pluck, and conceived from that time a certain respect for her.

Only a trio at dinner, but a very pleasant one. Mr. Greene accepted his wife's solution with the utmost simplicity, and after dinner returned to his newspapers and cigar.

Katie and Guy sat in the great drawing-room pretending to try duets together; but I am free to confess that they talked much more than they sang.

"I should have thought Mr. Persimmon would have been faithful found among the faithless' for your sake, Katie-his betrothed wife," said Guy. "I am not his betrothed wife," said Katie, kind

ling.

"No?" 'No, indeed! You ought to know it," with an indignant sob. "That idiot-I heard you call him so once." "But, Katie, I thought you found him charming," said Guy, provokingly.

"No, sir, you didn't," said Katie, in hot haste. "You knew I detested him, but you thought I

was going to marry him because he was worth a million of dollars. But I'm not. I wouldn't do it if it was a hundred millions, and I told him so the other day. This treatment of poor auntie is all a mean revenge of his," said Katie, crying heartily. "Hush, Katie, and hear what I want to say. I'm not worth a half million nor a quarter, but I love you dearly. Will you marry me? My dear, I am terribly in earnest"-meeting her incredulous look. What Katie answered transpired the next morn ing, when she had a long interview with her aunt. "I'm sorry, dear Aunt Clarinda, but I can't help it. I've loved Guy ever since I can remember, and Mr. Persimmon was hateful to me."

"He is hateful to me, too," said Mrs. Greene, with energy. Her eagerness to get into society was strangely gone from that day. She sat at home and sewed as contentedly as when she was a young wife, and did her own work.

"Clarinda," said her husband, when spring came, "What if we should go back to Queertown? Nobody cares anything about us here-"

He stopped suddenly, for Clarinda was sobbing

A Detroiter who was out in the country the other day to look after some poultry got stuck in a mudhole, although having a light buggy and a strong horse. He got out, took a rail off the fence, and was trying to pry the vehicle out, when along came a strapping young woman, about twenty-six years of age. She halted, surveyed the situation and said:

"You stand by the horse while I heave on the rail, and don't be afraid of getting mud on your hands and boots."

Their united efforts released the vehicle, and the Detroiter returned thanks and asked her to get in and ride. She hesitated, looked up and down the road and finally said:

"Stranger, I'm blunt spoken. Who are you?" He gave his name and residence and she continued:

"I'm over twenty-five, worth $500 in cash, know all about housework, and this is leap year."

"Yes, I know, but for heaven's sake don't ask me to marry you," he replied, as he saw the drift. "See here," she continued, looking him square in the eye, "I'm a straight girl, wear a number seven shoe, and I like the looks of you."

"Yes, but don't-don't talk that to me." "Stranger, it's leap year, and I'm going to pop. Will you have me or not?"

"I-I'm already married," he faltered.

"Honest Injun ?"

"Yes."

THE MIGNONETTE AND THE OAK.

I marked a child-a pretty child,
A gentle blue-eyed thing:
She sowed the scented mignone te

One sunny day in spring;

And while the tiny grains she sowed
The stream of thought thus sweetly flowed:

"On this dear bed the dew shall fall,

And yon bright sun shall shine; "Twill spring, and grow and blossom then; And it will all be mine!"

And the fair thing laughed in childish glee To think what a harvest hers should be.

I saw a man an acorn plant
Upon the hillside bare;

No spreading branch, no shading rock
Lent friendly shelter there;
And thus as o'er the spot he bow'd

I heard him, for he thought aloud:

"Frail thing! ere glossy leaf shall grace

Thy wide and sturdy bough,

I may be laid amid the dead
As low as thou art now;

Yet wilt thou rise in rugged strength
And crown this barren height at length."

Each had a hope: the childish heart
Look'd to a summer's joy;

The manly thought, strong and matured,
Looks to futurity.

Each trusts to nature's genial power;
He wants a forest, she a flower.

Who sows the seeds of heavenly truth,
And doubts almighty power?
Will years less surely bring the oak

Than months the summer flower? Then sow, although no fruit you see, God, "in due time," will raise the tree.

EQUAL TO THE EMERGENCY.
Yes, doctor, if a baby gal
Should bless my wedded state,
I will not call her Poll or Sal,
No, nothing else but Kate.

My sainted aunt was called the same;
My love for it is great;

Yes, doctor, that must be her name,
She shall be christened Kate.

'What! Twins? Good gracious how they squall! Doctor, bemoan my fate

Both girls?-Well, well, I still can call
The Kate, and Dupli-Kate?