In The Glass

The village of Slapton was as quiet a villagc as can be. There are few honses in it; aml tbc eongregation that gathered everv Sunday at the parish church came cniefly from the farms that were Bcattered broadóast over the Burrounding country. The vicar was the Rev. Herbert Gardncr, and he was the happy father of some half dozen children, the eldest of hom, Mattie, was a channing girl of 20. There was little society in tne village, and Mattie' s chief ideas of the world at largo were drawn from the occasional visits she mude to a relativo who lived in the oeighSortng countiy tmvn. Still, though she was liomely and unaophistlcated, theya was none of that affected simplicity }ou so oftcn sec in irirls. She was a frank, fearless, otitspoke: girl, full of life and spirits, and neve so happy as when rambling about th old vicarage garden, picking basketfu] of roses for some sick boy or girl anc carrying them with sunshine into som darkened home. And in such works of ral love anc charity the last fewyears of herlifc liat been ruainly spenl. Her father callei her his 'cúrate;' and, as the living wa a small One, she was the only cúrate h had. Mattie had been free as vet from 'heart disease,' tliough a ueighborin Ö1U1H; ft Mili UMI llUUlUÖCÏUlill.lM.U attempts at love making, and thoug Mattie quite recognized the complimen hc paid her, she nevcr for a momen regarded him in any othor light than a a fricnd, and remained herself perfectly heart whole. This liad happened whe she was 18, and time liad gone on smoothlj' cnough, aud at 20 she wa still happy iu her uneventful lot. But the smooth run of life's whee was interrupted at last, and the wheel werejolted out of their usual track; fo tiuvjiiL bulo lini iiivriu aiuu yj 111c vil lago a young surgeon who was lookin out for a good opening f or practico, aní had detennined to settle down here. A a matter of course he and Mattie ofte met in the houses of the poor, and, ai though not a word of love had passec between them, people began to asso ciato their ñames together, and t speak of whatmighthappenasacertain tyOne day when Mattie was, as usua among her roses, a servanl eame to sa that Dr. Robertson had asked for he fat lier, and, as he was from home fo her. When she entered the room wit her basket of roses on her arm, th doctor ruight well be exeused if he wondered which were the fairer - the roses m the basket or the rose with the basket. If sueh tboughte passod through his mind he put them aside, for he said. 'I carne to ask Mr. Gardner if he would step down to oíd Silas Jones', who is very ill with fever. Thev are very poor, and any help you conkï give tlipm wnnlil lip nf mnrp iiqo llmTi them wouul be ol more use than medicine.' 'Papa is f rom lióme,' she said, 'and will not return till to-morrow. But I will take thom some beef-tea and port, if yon think tliat would be good for him.' 'Nothing could be botter,' said the doctor. 'But yon must not go there yourself, for fear of iafection. I am going past the house, and will take t hem myself. if you will give them to me.' 'No, thank you doctor,' said Miss Mattie. 'I liever shirk my duty nor delégate it to others, so 1 will take them myself.' 'Any way let me walk with you, if vou are ffoinff now. and we can talk about the case as we go.' hi a few minutes the beef-tea and the wine wcre ready, and Mattie sallied forth with the doctor. And this was the way tliov talked abont the case: 'It's a beautiful day, isn't it?' 'Glorious!' said Mattie. 'What has become of you in the evenings lately? I used to see yon fre quently, but now you are never to be seen.' 'Minnit; lias not been well latelj, so I have staj'ed :it home on lier account It is pleasant to know that some one misses me,' she said, langhing. '1 miss yon a great deal, Miss Matti - almost as nmch, if not quite as mm: as your own people do. ïhis is Jones' cottage; so now let me take the tliings in.' 'No, indeed; I shall go in myself,' said Mattie. 'No, decidedly no,' said the doctor. 'It can never be your duty to rush into un-called-for danger. I am obliged t see these people, so let me take the basket in.' From that day it began to dawn on Mattie's heart that there was one man who had missed her when slie was absent and who tried to keen hnr nut nf (langer. And little by little this thonght gre biggcr and took root, until there cam a sort of echo to it, which said, 'I mis him, too. I wish he had not to risk lii lifc by going to see fever cases.' And froni that day there was les cordial friendship and there was mor shy reserve in her intercourse with th doctor. And sometimos Dr. Robertson did not know what to make of it, ant one evening he said: 'What have I done to vex you, Mis Mattie?' Towhieh she replied: "Vexme. Why nothing, of course ! Whaterer made yoi think you had? plied he. 'I should bc verv sorry to vex you, Miss Mattie. ' 'Then don't talk about it, else you wil],' she said. ■Wlint a luvely rose that is! Would you miad givlng it to me to show that you are not vexed?' said the doctor. 'There are plenty on that bush,' she answered. 'You can take as many as you like.' 'But won't you give me tlmt one? I am going away for a fortnight and it will be a keepsake - if you wifl give it to me. Do please.' 'If you really want it you shall have it,' she said, as she took it from her bosom and gave it to him. And he, as he pinned it to his coat, said: 'It will remind me of a rose even fairer than itself.' 'For shamo doctor,' said Miss Mattie. 'I will not stop to hear such gross ilaltery' - and away she ran toward the house. 'Shake hands first,' he cried. '1 am oing to-morrow, early. One may get smashed up on the journey, so I should like to part friends. It is a long way to Manchester.' Sh(' i"":i'('. llim llPT lvttwl 'fnnA bye, Dr. Robertson ; 1 wish you a pleasant journey.' Ho had been gone about a week when as Mattie was coming down the Street, f strêet it eoukl be callêd, the doctor's lousekeeper WHM standing at the door witli :i papar 'm her hand. When Matie drew near the old woman eried out: 'Lawa a mássey, Miss Mat lic, but do';e just read this paper. My own eyes jinna so good as tliey oncest was,' and he old lady held oui a orumpled newslaper. And Mattie read: 'On the 24th inst., it the parish church, Manchester, James Robertson, M. D., onlv son of Peter Robertson, M. ft. ('. S., :uul L. S. A., of Manchester, to Sarah Elizabeth, laughter of Uie late Isaac Jefferson, of Polton.' For a moment Mattie was speechless vith mingled feelings. ïhen came the eflection that tliis garrulonsold woman must not sec her pain. And summonng upall her resolution, she said: 'If you write to him wish liim much lappiness for me.' In the solltude of her ehamber slie looked into her heart and learned her secret. This man, who was another's lmsband, had made himself dearer to her than any one on earth could be; and slie had been mistaken in supposing lliat he cared for her. Oh, shame, shame, to love where she was not loved - to give her heart unasked! Still she never told her love - the secret was her oven and she could keep it inviolato and meet him on his return without flinching. And although she had no power to put him out of her heart, she could and would prevent her mind from dweiling upon him. One morning she heard that the doctor had come home. She was standing :miong the roses xvith a very sad heart wlien she saw Mr. Robertson passing ui) the road with a lady. He liftcd his hat to het ana shc tried to return his salutation as shewouldanyotherfriend, but somehow the warm blood carne to her cheeks and t was but a stiff unfriendly bow slie gave thcm. Aud while she stood thinking of it all, and wondering why she coiild be so unhapby, slic heafd footsteps behind her on the gravel walk, and turning saw Dr. Robertson advancing eagerly to greet her. Affain the crimson tide floodod hor face, raaking her look very lovely in her confusión. But sbe ruanaged to stanirner out sornething about 'Glad to sec you,' when the doctor broke in with: 'Not half so glad as I am to sec you I have been to a wedding sinee I left Slapton, and enjoyed my holiday immensely. ' 'Yes,"l know, she said; "I saw your wife walking with you this morniug. ' 'Did you, indeed?' he said, while a smile of quiet joy lit up his face. 'And where were yon looking when you saw her. In the glass?' She looked at him quickly, then her ejes dropped before the expression of his, and again the tell-tale blush overspread her face and neck. 'Where did you see my wife, Mattie?' 'in the road, sald Mattie. 'No, that was my sister,' he replied. 'In the newspaper,' she urged. 'That was my cousin,' he explained. 'Come here. Did you look in the glass this morning?' 'Yes,' whispered Mattie. 'Then that's where you saw my wife - if you saw her any where.' And, of course, that settled it; and you all know what happened as well as I can teil you.