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OUR SHORT STORY. I

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OUR SHORT STORY. I STELLA'S MOTHER. I By NORA LICKIS. I It wn.3 waciiing day at No. 10, Cowpet Gardens. The sun was shining bridiantly, and the Triad ii-as exictlv the right kind for drying. Jenny, a capable all-round maid, was pegging out clothes briskly with .-k l r s. Grant stocd an air of enjoyment. Mrs. Grant stood watching her from the open French door of her drawing-room with a far-away, dreamy look in her dark grey eyes. Slight and fragile, with short, thick curly hair round a yale, delicate face, and wearing a white dress of some soft material Mowing round her. she looked more like a spirit or a fairy* than the mistress of a suburban villa. Presently she sighed, and turned to a dainty tea-table laid out just near the win- dows.' She picked up the tongs, and then putting them down again went out into the garden. | Jennv." "Yea.m'ni." "Does Mrs. Hunt work all right?" "Lor', ye-she's a spry little hody--gets through no end more than that Mrs. Bird. I'm fine and glad you 'card of 'er, mum; we've 'ad somethin' like a wash-up to-day." "Ha<3 she been washing all day? "Enr since nine this morning—bar 'er dinner time." "She must be very tired." "Oh, they gits used to it," replied Jenny carelessly. Mrs. ItT.ant stood a minute looking at the buckle on her dainty shoe, then she walked down the gravel path to the scullery door and opened it. A small woman stood at a big tub wash- ing. Her whole person was scrupulously ■clean—-indeed, she seemed pervaded with all atmosphere of soap. At the first glance it was difficult to believe that she could do s,acl,. hard work as washing all her waking hours, but a closer inspection showed that the slender body was very active, and the old wrists and "forearms strong and muscu- lar. "Don't you find these blankets too much for yoti, Mrs. Hunt? said a soft voice be- hind her. She loqked round quickly. "Oh, no, mum," and her blue eyes looked admiringly at the lovely face gravely watch- ing heir. "I don't make no trouble of them, mum; it's a knack, after all's said and done." "I'm just going to have some tea; will "vou come and have some with -ne? The washerwoman looked up with a startled look on her if-ce. "I bog per pardin, m'm?" "I said will you come and have some tea -with n>c? repeated her mistress. "Butit isn't—I mean it wouldn't be the-" she hesitated in confusion. Oh, yes, it would," said Stella Grant, smiling. "You come along; I'm in the drawing-room." And she- went away. Mrs. Hunt dried her wrinkled hands, pulled down her sleeves, and carefully buttpued them at her wrists. "Good heavens," she muttered as she rubbed her boots on the mat, "what's the matter with her? Jennv came into the scullery. "I sav," said Mrs. Hunt, ""the mistress has asked me to tcain the drawing room "Has she?" said Jenny offhandedly. "Oh, she's always doing things like that. Offended Mrs. Page from The Cedars, she did—introduced 'er at tea-time to a cook. Funny goings on, I call it. You nd me won't get our cup and a jaw now." I "i don't care—she's a real lady." Jenny stared. "Oh." I dunno; I don't hold with it at all. -'ill upside down she makes things—I dunno- whether I'm going or coming in thi? loiise." "She's a real lady," repeated Mrs. Hunt. "Oh, git along; she's waiting for you," .:Jaiq Jenny impatiently. The sensitive colour spread all over Mrs. Hunt's face as she sat down in the dainty -drawing-rocm and took her tea. Ird. -Orant didn't seem to notice how awkward she -,vas with the thin bread and butter, -;iiid presently the old woman began to feel a sense of great pleasure in her surround- ings. Old forgotten longings for the beauty and loveliness of life began to stir vaguely in her mind, and she was filled with pride to be the guest of the beautiful woman .opposite to her. Stella Grant seldom made any mistake in her choice of companions. She .seemed to possess a delicacy of percep- tion for the fine and the beautiful which amounted almost to genius. Mrs. Hunt dropped her h-c, and she had no social distinction; but she had a true, fine soul, and Stella's eyes read these things as many others read the mateal signs of dress and deportment. And have you no sons, Mrs. Hunt?" asked the soft voice presently. No, mum," was the answer, and the blue eyes filled suddenly with tears*. "I only had one little baby, mum—a girl-my little Pollie" Did vou lose her, dear?" Perhaps Stella had forgotten she was speaking to her washerwoman, fcr that was what sdie said, with a wonderful sweet sym- pathy in the deep grey eyes. "Did you lose her. dear? It was enough. There were few things that Stella did not know about little Pollie and her mother before the latter went back to her washing, refreshed in body and mind. Jenny was in the kitchen, grumbling. A nice time of-illght we shall be cleaned up." "Don't sav a word," said Mrs. Hunt; "I'll do the lot." You won't be home until turned ten, then," said Jenny, grinning. "Don't matter; 'taint often a body works for an angel like that," and she jerked her head in the direction of the drawing-room. "^That's all very fine, but angels ain't always a success in this- 'ere old world- 'taint likely. It's more natural like and Ic,-n,eiv if people like to get their money's worth and ain't so good. She's too cranky fair scares me, she does, with her kindness and them great eyes a-looking right through yer. "She's one in a million, my girl. Lord, I'd do any think, I would, for her—hany- think-OJ and there was a passion of in- tensity in the old voice as she paused with the scrubbing-brush in one hand. Jenny looked at her curiously. "Go on, you're potty," she remarked. Perhaps you'll go to supper with 'em," she added derisively. "Well, and so I may," said Mrs. Hunt. All the same, they were both astonished when Stella's husband came into the kitchen about eight o'clock and asked Mrs. Hunt to come upstairs. Good Lor'—he's caught it, too," said Jenny when he had gone. "I reckon your fortune's made, Mrs. Hunt." Gordon Grant had only known his wife for twelve months, six of which he had been married to her. He always said she had dropped to him from the skies, because she was so completely unlike other women. She seemed almost to belong to another race. He had met her in Kensington Gardens, pleading to a fat and angry gentleman whose pocket had been picked by a small, miserable boy. Gordon had been persuaded by the beautiful grey eyes to add his en- treaties that the child should he given an- other chance. The boy got his chance, and six months later Gordon and Stella were married. She had been quite alone in the world, and lived in a tiny fiat on a small income left her, she said, by a friend. There was that about her, a kind of subtle dignity, that kept the young man, who so completely worshipped her strange, fascinating personality, from asking ques- tions. It was very little that he knew about her except that "he loved her better than his life, deeper than his most ronantic dreams. When Mr?. Hunt reached the drawing- room door. for the second time tint day, Gordon's deep voice answered her timid knock. "Come in," he said. He was sitting by his wife, who held a, photograph in her delicate sensitive hands, and there were. traces of tears on her cheeks. She got up a-s Mrs. Hunt came in, and coming over to her put the photograph in her hands. The eld woman was bewildered, and for a moment looked at it vacantly. Then sud- denly a light of vivid interest flashed into her eyes; she looked at it closely, and then up at Stella. "Tell me," she said in a breathless voice, "how did you get it? It was a photograph of herself—yellow with keeping, taken years and years ago in the days when she had stood impatiently at the doors of life, believing that the years held a wonder of 10v ind. love. Now she knew the way oi li-e—ana it wis not like that. Stella pushed her gently into an arm- chair. "Will you listen while I tell you a story?" she eaid, and then she turned to her young husband, with her beautiful eyes full of that loving magnetism which always held him as though with a spoil. Dearest! he said, as she sat down at his side. Mrs. Hunt sat on the edge cf the chair, holding the photograph tightly with her hot hand. She seemed to near the musical voice speaking in a dream. e 1 "Two girl babies were by different people with a foster-niotner m a^ .trench villaga—one of them was b"-ng paid for by ( n guardian, the other one had a real mother; the mother wa- an Englishwoman, whose life had been ruined by the French nobleman in whose service she had been." Mr3. Hunt started up, but the grey eyes looked at her for silence, and the sweet voice went on: "Both little ones were too small to re- member anyone but their foster-mother, and they grew up like sisters. Lucille adored Marie, and Marie thought there was no one on the earth so wondenu. as Lucille. For some reason, although s he never was unkind or neglected the other little girl, the foster-mother gave nearly ai; LeI" love to LuciJl. Time passed, and when they were about fourteen Lucille's guardian sent for her. At the same time Marie fell iil, and the doctor said that unless' she had every care and luxury she would die. Lucille was very un. happy, and she begged Marie to take her place. Her guardian would never know, and Marie's mother need never know, s c -e neither had seen them from babyhood. And Marie could get well and strong. It was all arranged, and the little girls parted. The foster-mother was relieved to see the ailing child go, and she moved away to an- cther village, and Lucille -T»as called Marie. Years passed, and still Marie s mother did not come. When the real Lucille was seventeen the foster-mother died, but be- fore sho died fthe told Lucille what she had done. Afraid of losing the girl she loved so passionately, and fearing aL-o that the I mother would know by that strange iistiiiet mothers often have fcr their own that she had been deceived, the woman had written and told her Marie was dead." Mrs. Hunt had risen from her chair and let the photograph drop to the ground. Her blue eyes were shining with excite- ment. She held out lier two worn, trem- bling hands to Stella. "Oh, which one of them are you, which of them are you? she said pitoeusly. "I am Lucille," .answered Stella, with her shining fair head bent. The old woman dropped back on the chair and let her head fall on her nands. "Oh, my babv-niy --h,- sobbed. Gordon walked over to the window, and Stella went to her. "Forgive me," she said- putting her soft hand on the grey head. "I took your baby from you, but I was cuiy a cniid and I loved her so." Her voice trembled. Mrs. Hunt stopped sobbing and sat up. "Forgive you-me forgive an angel from heaven she said. ''YEN saved 'er IjÎo-my little rolli" "All, little Pollie," said Stella dreamily. "Do you know—is she asked the old woman eagerly. "Marie died two years ago," answered Stella gently. The light died out of the poor mother's face. "But you are my mother now," went on Stella. "Mine by right. Now I have you, and I never mean to let you go. No more hard work now-mothe-r The woman's heart thrilled at the deai word, then she looked up and saw Gordon t l standing beside them. Your husband she began apologeti- cally, looking at Stella rather pitifully. Gordon took both her hands in his. You are my mother, toÜ," he said sim- ply, and bending his tall head he kissed her. Then he turned to his wife, who was watching him with that wonderful light in the strange grey eves. "Oh, thank God for you, little Lucille," he said passionately a- his arms went round her. Wonderful, great-hearted child- thank God for you."

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