A SEPTEMBER STORY. BY GEORGE W. GLEASON. ITTLE Emily Dale put on her hat, took a small wicker basket from the kitchen table, and went out to gather some of the luscious pears that grew on a little tree down by the high wall which separated the garden from the road. If you could have seen her then you would have said she was a very pretty girl, though I am bound to acknowledge that few such compliments were ever bestowed on my little heroine. She was too slight, too delicate, too pale withal, to lay claims to personal beauty, and was entirely too modest and retiring to be brilliant in conversation. Nevertheless, Emily Dale was anything but homely. She had a clear, pearly complexion, teeth that were white and even, large, liquid, gray eyes, and a wealth of soft brown hair falling over her shoulders. Pure as a snowdrop, with a sweet disposition and a noble womanly heart, she won the love of all with whom she came in contact. Emily was an orphan. Mrs. Morely, the rich ady who had given her a home on the death of her parents, was a devotee or fashion, whose notions touching the organization of society were of the falsest kind. She was kind and motherly to Emily, but it was only because Emily was richer than herself. The girl, by the death of her parents, had been left in possession of a large fortune, and Mrs. Morely chose to be very gracious to her in consequence thereof. Mrs. Morely had a son, who, being a lieutenant in the navy, was not often at home. But he had been home often enongh to make love to Emily, and to win from her a promise of marriage. Mrs. Morely had done all she could to bring about this match, for to have her son secure the orphan's million had been the darling object of her life, ever since the girl came under her wing. Lieutenant Louis Morely was a fine, dashing young officer, who had won laurels in times of danger, and made himself a favorite among his large circle of friends. People did not hesitate to pronounce him a gentleman in the truest sense of the term, and he was especially lionized by the ladies. He was possessed of that quiet deference, that pleased look of attentive interest in listening to a woman, and that gentleness in his voice when addressing one, that the sex set such store by. No wonder, then, that simple-hearted Emily Dale loved him, and believed in him, and grew brighter and happier under the influence of love's young dream. Lieutenant Morely was at home now, and had come to pay his mother and his betrothed a long visit. But Emily's friend, Lisette St. George, was spending the month of September with her, and by some mysterious process became complete negative to renewed love-making between the young couple. In fact, Miss St. George monopolized the lieutenant's society to rather an alarming extent, and seemed to have no consideration whatever for her friend's feelings in the matter. "If I thought you would entertain a different belief," continued Lisette, gravely, "I should not utter a word, however much I may deem it my duty to speak. Will you trust me, dear?" Why, Lisette, did I ever doubt you?" 'Never, you little darling!" and Lisette gave her a most demonstrative hug. "You are the sweetest, most trusting little woman in the whole world!" "But what is the wonderful secret you are going to tell me!" asked Emily. Lisette's countenance fell, and assumed a grave, troubled expression. "I would to God some one else would tell you this!" she said, in a tremulous voice. "Yet there's none but me to do it. I am sure it will trouble Miss St. George was a very charming brunette, who had been Emily's classmate and constant companion at school. She had formed the acquaint-you-perhaps pain you deeply-but I know you ance of the handsome young naval officer on a former visit, and always thereafter had timed her visits to the Morely homestead so that she never failed to meet Louis there. It was with a feeling of loneliness that Emily went out to the furthest corner of the garden this afternoon, to fill the basket with pears. Louis and Lisette had been out walking for an hour. She had declined to accompany them, for she believed they asked her for mere courtesy's sake; but she was not content to stay indoors on so lovely a day. She was restless and uneasy. She began to see where matters were drifting-began to understand that her happiness was threatened-and had a hard struggle to keep from hating Lisette St. George. She had nearly filled her basket with the ripe, tempting fruit, and was in the act of plucking one of the largest and finest the little tree afforded, when she heard voices on the other side of the wall. SEE ENGRAVING. She knew they belonged to Louis and Lisette, and that they were returning to the house. She took up the basket now, and hurried back to the kitchen; and a few minutes later, when Miss St. George looked into that compartment in search of her little friend, she found Emily sitting there quietly peeling her pears. "Dear me!" exclaimed the brunette. did you turn kitchen maid, Em?" "When "I am doing this because I have nothing else to keep me busy," replied Emily. "What an industrious girl you are, to be sure. But I want to talk with you. Can you give me a half-hour?" will one day thank me for my interference." Then, with many expressions of regret, and frequent applicaiions of her cambric handkerchief to her tearless eyes, she informed Emily that Lieutenant Morely intended to marry her for her money-that he did not love her-that he loved another, and was almost heart-broken because cruel necessity demanded such a sacrifice of him. "He does not love you at all, darling," continued Lisette, in pitying tones, "except as he might love a dear little sister. His mother's wish is law with him, and he has put by all selfish considerations to please her. She wants him to marry you because you are rich. He consented, though his manhood revolted against the meanness of marrying you for your money, when his heart belonged to another. But she worked upon his generosity by assuring him that he had already won your heart-that you expected an offer-and it was his duty as a man to repair the wrong he had unwittingly done. You know the rest; he proposed, and you, in your trusting innocence, accepted him. Perhaps you wonder how I know this. Louis Morely made a confidant of me to-day, and told me the whole truth. He begged me not to repeat it to any one, but I could not be loyal to you and let this cruel deception go on-Emily! Emily!" It was too late. Emily, who had stood as still and motionless as a marble image in the garden path, while listening to the terrible disclosure, now reeled and fell to the ground, without a moan or a murmur, and lay there as if dead. Miss St. George did not seem in the least surprised or frightened, but coolly brought some water from the nearest fountain.. "I knew she would faint," was her inward com"Certainly," and Emily rose and took off her ment, "and that is proof positive that she will give him up without a fuss." apron. "Let us go out to the garden, where we will be alone. This is to be strictly private." She linked her arm in that of her former schoolmate, and they strolled out to the garden. "My dear Emily, I have always been a true friend to you, have I not?" inquired Miss St. George, in dulcet tones. Before daylight the next morning, when the Morely household was wrapped in slumber, a little figure, muffled in a dark cloak, crept down the broad staircase, and let itself out through the great hall-door. It was Emily Dale. Out under the stars she hesitated for a moment, gave one long last look at the house that had been her home since childhood, and then ran down the walk to the gate that opened out on the high-road. She did not stop again, but hurried on like a guilty thing, glancing over her shoulder as if fearful of being pursued. "I will never go back," she panted. "They will never see me again-never! Louis Morely may marry the girl he loves. It shall never be said that I stood between him and his happiness. Oh, how could they deceive me so-how could they ?" The railroad station, with its flickering lights, loomed up before her. She stepped upon the platform and accosted the only person visible-a tall, lank man, with a lantern in his hand, who looked as if he had had no sleep for a month. "What time does the first train go to New York this morning?" "In 'bout ten minutes-due here in six minutes. Going to New York ?" "Yes." "Jest step into that room there; you won't have long to wait." Emily was glad to get a few minutes' rest, though she was impatient to be off. Her well-filled traveling-bag was so heavy that her arms were already aching, and she had come in such haste that she was quite out of breath. Presently there was a hissing of steam and a clangor of bells, as the New York express glided up to the platform; and Emily was the first to board it. Three or four minutes of anxious waiting-then, with a shriek and a roar, the train dashed away into the impenetrable gloom, and Emily began to breathe freely again. Safe from pursuit, she recovered her composure sufficiently to think of the magnitude of her bold undertaking, and although she did not shrink from it, she shuddered involuntarily at the thought of the friendless, lonely life she had chosen. Suppose some one did pursue her on the next train? She need not return; she was her own mistress, and could act her own pleasure. At least she resolved to do so, whatever means were employed in opposition to her course. She drank a cup of coffee, then sat down in the passengers' room of the station to wait. Near her were two gentlemen, looking over their newspapers and conversing on the topics of the day. For awhile she paid no attention to them, but at length her ear caught a remark which caused her to notice more particularly what they were saying. "What bank do you refer to ?" asked one. "The Lincoln County Farmer's Bank," replied the other. "I thought it was stable enough." "So thought everybody, I presume; but it seems to have gone under, nevertheless." "Failed utterly, eh?" "That's what this account says." "And what are the dividends ?" "Simply nothing; if this is to be believed. I don't understand it, for my part." "Does it give no explanation ?" "None, merely states that all deposits are lost, and that everybody connected with the bank is ruined. A brother of mine was telling me yesterday that he had forty thousand dollars which he intended to deposit in that bank, as early as next week. How fortunate that he didn't put it in this week-" Emily heard no more. She leaned back in her seat, pale as a ghost, with a hunted, despairing look in her large gray eyes. The Lincoln County Farmers' Bank was the one in which every dollar of her fortune was deposited. It was all lostevery farthing of it lost-and she was penniless. On, on, thundered the train, bearing her to the Penniless, and she had left the only home, the ongreat, busy city, where she had not a single friendly friends, she had on earth, without forming a to help her in case of need. Trees and hedges flew plan for the future. What would become of her? by in a shadowy procession; sparks from the en- While believing herself rich she had had no doubts gine dashed against the window like a rain of fire; about being able to live comfortably, but now, and occasional glimpses of the eastern sky showed with all the rest, she had poverty to contend that day was breaking. against. What could she do? Who could she look to for aid? A little after sunrise the train stopped at a small way-station, and there the passengers were regaled with the delightful information that it was impossible to go further. An accident had happened to the engine, making it dangerous to proceed, and, as there was no other engine to be had at that place, there was no alternative but to remain where they were until the next train came along. It will be along in just three hours," the conductor informed them, "and during that time you will have to make yourselves as comfortable as the circumstances will allow, and wait patiently. Breakfast can be had in the station-master's house, for those who desire it." Three hours! What an eternity to wait when every moment seemed precious! Emily's impatient spirit chafed against the necessity of throwing away so much time, and her fears of being overtaken grew upon her till every unusual sound made her start and turn pale. Three hours! And, in all probability, that train would bring some one in pursuit of her. But she had no choice-she must wait for it. She went out on the platform, and began to pace restlessly to and fro. She decided, upon the whole, that it was too late to turn back; that she must put her trust in God, and make the best of her situation. The three hours got by at last, and the train for which the impatient passengers were waiting was considerate enough to arrive on time. Emily was elbowing her way through the crowd, with her traveling bag clutched tightly in her little hand, when a man stepped off the train and stood directly in front of her. She looked up into his face-then started back with a low exclamation. It was Lieutenant Louis Morely! "Thank God, I have found you!" he cried, fervently. "Emily! Emily! what does this mean? Why did you leave home!" For an instant she stood petrified, unable to speak; then, observing that the crowd was nearly all in the cars, and that she had no time to lose, she said, coldly: "Let me pass, sir; the train is about to start." "Where are you going?" he demanded. "That is nothing to you," she said in the same freezing tones. "I hope you will not make a scene." Emily, this must be explained— "Will you let me pass, sir?" "No!" almost sternly. "You shall not go a step further until you have given me satisfactory reasons for going." that idea into your head? But you needn't tell me," with sudden energy; "I can easily guess. Your friend, Miss St. George, is the mischief-maker. Ah, I see by your face that I am right. I knew that she was capable of it, for she has been using every means her ingenuity could invent to make trouble between you and me-her favorite mode being base insinuations against yourself. She told me in plain words yesterday that you loved another; that you had consented to marry "I am not accountable to you for my conduct." me only because my mother wished it—” "You are my promised wife." "I have released you." 'But I haven't released you." She looked up at him in astonishment, her eyes beginning to blaze. "Emily, there is some mistake!" he cried, pleadingly. "I know, by the brief note you left for me, that you are laboring under a false impression. You said you would not stand in the way of my happiness. Great God, Emily, what did you mean by that?" All aboard!" shouted the conductor. "Stand aside, sir, and let me pass. Allow me to inform you that I have been made acquainted with your treachery, and know that you have sacrificed your own personal feelings by seeking my hand in marriage." Instead of stepping out of her way, as she commanded, Louis Morely gently but firmly took her traveling-bag out of her hand, drew her arm through his, and led her to the other end of the platform. She was too weak and bewildered by this time to resist, and as she heard the train rolling away from the station, she made no attempt to escape the firm clasp of his hand. "You are going no further till we have talked this matter over," said Louis, kindly, es he led her toward a little grove at some distance from the station. "After all, this is an unnecessary precaution," said Emily, with a sneer. "I have to inform you that I am not the rich person you believe me to be. The Lincoln County Farmers' Bank has failed, and I shall not be able to recover a dollar of my fortune." He stared at her in surprise. "Is this true ?" he asked. "Quite true," she answered. "I heard the news scarcely two hours ago. I suppose you will not hesitate longer to release me from our engagement, Mr. Morely, since it cannot benefit you to hold me to it ?" He stopped short, looking as if he had been slapped in the face. "Emily, do you mean to insinuate that I would have married you for your money?" he demanded, his voice shaking. Her eyes dropped, and she flushed to the roots of her hair. For the first time a suspicion of the truth dawned upon her. How could this man whom she knew to be the soul of honor in everything else-how could he practice such deceit as this?" "Oh, Louis!" "I did not believe it, Emily; I did not believe a word of it! Her object in trying to estrange us was very transparent to me. Oh, Emily, I cannot tell you how glad I am that your fortune is lost! I can now ask you to be my wife without being suspected of unworthy designs. My darling—my precious-will you retract what you said But she had heard quite enough, and stopping his mouth with a kiss, she broke into a perfect torrent of sobs, as she implored his forgiveness. So they returned home together, and Lieutenant Morely did not scruple to confront Lisette St. George with her treachery; whereupon, Lisette St. George left the house in high dudgeon, and has never showed her face there again. Louis and Emily were married before the golden September had lived out its brief glory; and just here it is necessary to add that the report of the failure of the Lincoln County Farmers' Bank was entirely unfounded, and no part of Emily's fortune was lost. LEARN A LITTLE EVERY DAY. Little rills make wider streamlets, Onward, onward as they go! Tiny seed make boundless harvests, Let us read some striking passage, Cull a verse from every page; Here a line, and there a sentence, 'Gainst the lonely time of age; At our work, or by the wayside, While the sunshine's making hay! The Dutch women get up linen whiter and nicer than any others, and they do it by using borax as a washing powder, in the proportion of a large handful to about ten gallons of boiling water. They thus save one-half in soap. THE YOUNG MOTHER'S LESSON. BY HARRIET N. HATHAWAY. DEAR, O dear-I am so weary of this constant care!" and the mother took her oneyear old baby from its delicate wicker-work straw cradle, and commenced an impatient walk about the room. Though her tiny slippered feet fell impetuously upon the floor, its sound was muffled as it fell on the rich velvet-like carpet, as with flushed cheek and flashing eye she exclaimed bitterly: "It is of no use-I will not endure longer to be caged up at home! Baby' will be just as tenderly cared for with nurse' as with me, and Charlie is unreasonable to wish me to deny myself the enjoyment of society. Minnie is a year old, and here is Mrs. LeRoy-whose babe is but six months-out or receiving company every evening in the week, and there is Mrs. Granger and Mrs. Willis, and a dozen more I can think of, who leave their babies in the care of their nurses' until one or two o'clock in the morning! I am determined to tell Charlie this day that I am going to break my chains,' 'golden ones' though they may be;" and now the young mother bent her pretty, graceful head over her babe and looked-only as a mother can look-into its innocent face, and the child smiled as it lay its tiny, dimpled hand upon its mother's cheek and nestled closer to her bosom. "My own darling little Minnie!" and a subdued expression beamed in her eye, "is she afraid mamma will leave her?" And as she asked the question she half resolved to give up the determination; but now there was a ring at the door, and a moment after a servant entered, bearing a delicately perfumed note, and placed it in a 'receiver' upon the table. Here, nurse, please take the babe," cried Mrs. Dinmore, and the next step was to open the dainty epistle. "From Mrs. LeRoy, as I thought!" she exclaimed. "I know of no other lady of my acquaintance who sends out such exquisitely fashionable invitation cards;' so exquisitely worded, and the penmanship is so elegant-so much style about it -I declare a sight of them is enough to tempt one to accept, were there nothing more; but, added to this-and, of course, a much superior inducement, is the delightful entertainment they presage; and this is to be one of our rare musical soirees, closing with magnificent tableaux-yes, I will accept! I cannot forego the pleasure and I think Charlie will not mind it much! Nurse, please take the babe into the nursery, and the cradle too." "Charlie," exclaimed Mrs. Dinmore, as her husband seated himself on the sofa at her side to wait the announcement of dinner, "I am going to accept Mrs. LeRoy's invite, with your permission," and she reached him the tempting note. A shade of disappointment crossed his face as he took the note, and ran his eye over its contents. "I hope you are not cross with me, Charlie-you look so and I do not think you have any reason to be. I have stayed at home with baby much longer than the most of my married friends; do, please, tell me that you are not displeased!" "Well, Alice, I am not displeased but disappointed. I cannot bear to think of giving up our quiet evenings at home; for a year, all through the day, the anticipation of them has helped me to bear the anxieties and annoyances that my business has brought me-you and our darling Minnie has been all the world to me-in short, Alice, the last year has been the happiest of my life." "And is this all the objection you have, Charlie? if so, I think I can safely promise to remain at home, each week, four evenings out of six, so that the next year shall be as happy as has been the last;" and the young wife looked pleadingly into her husband's face. "No, Alice, love, this is not all," and Mr. Dinmore tenderly smoothed her soft brown hair. "I have another reason more weighty than the one I have just given-Minnie-our 'baby Minnie'-requires your care; she is delicate, more so than children generally are, and I do not like to trust her, not even in the care of Sarah." "Why, Charlie, I think you are a trifle squeamish, for never was there a better, more faithful nurse than Sarah; she is as tender with baby as I am, I really believe, and loves her nearly as well." "I admit she is very good, very kind, and all that, but a mother's place can't be supplied only by a mother!" "But only two evenings in a week, Charlie!" 'Ah, Alice, child, you don't know what you are talking of. If you once enter society, you will find it much more difficult to restrict yourself to two evenings than you would to refuse to enter it entirely; for the present, that is your only safe course, Alice!" "You are unreasonable, Charlie! Is baby's happiness of so much more importance than mine to you? if so, then I am to conclude that I hold only a secondary place in your heart." "If you think your comfort and your happiness are at stake, Alice, I suppose you had better go into society and learn from experience!" "Well, that is an ungracious permit, I must say; but come, dinner is waiting, and please don't wear that sober face. You will see that I can enjoy the society of my friends, and be still as mindful of your happiness and Minnie's." "You mean well, Alice, and for your sake I'll look on the bright side;" and Mr. Dinmore led the way to the table. "That's right, Charlie-I knew you would not be unreasonable! O, I am so delighted to think of the pleasant hours we shall pass, yet, both at home and abroad," and she danced into the diningroom humming: "O, I'll be a sensible woman, And you a most sensible man!" The intended change in Mrs. Dinmore's arrangements, viz., "returning into society," caused a complete change in her domestic affairs. It would not, of course, do to appear in public in the dresses worn two years before, and so there was any amount of "shopping" to be done, dressmaking to be attended to, and "baby" was left entirely to "nurse," who did all in her power to make her |