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FEEDING THE GOAT.

large and decided mark it would make. Antoine was still a baby not yet able to talk, but the great Millet was great enough to reach the child, to delight and please him, and the baby would find a way without words to show that he understood.

Antoine's aunt, the little Red Riding-hood, had a goat of which Antoine was very fond (Millet, by the way, did not have to depart from his type in drawing Antoine a strong, lusty baby), and he recognized the goat at once when his grandfather showed him the drawing, and reached out his arms like the child in the drawing, imitating the cry of the goat. It was a great gratification and pleasure for Millet to be able in this way to reach the child's understanding.

then turned with satisfaction and blew at the candle or lamp on the table. This was a real triumph, and Millet remarked to his son the importance of this as a principle in art; that as he had exaggerated the size of the candle in order that the child could see it easily and

One evening Millet said, "I will make one now which I don't think he will understand, but we will see"; so he drew the little Antoine, with his cheeks puffed out, blowing an enormous candle with an equally enormous flame. The baby looked intently at this for a while, and

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BLOWING OUT THE CANDLE.

would notice it, so in painting, certain forms, effects, and expressions should be accented, exaggerated, or brought into stronger relief.

Wyatt Eaton.

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THE LAST ASSEMBLY BALL:'

A PSEUDO-ROMANCE OF THE FAR WEST.

BY MARY HALLOCK FOOTE,

Author of "The Led-Horse Claim," "John Bodewin's Testimony," etc.

I.

PART III. THE CATASTROPHE.

T 10 o'clock on Thursday morning Mrs. Dansken answered a knock at her front door and found a man, whom she recognized as one of the waiters from the Clarendon, with a box addressed to Miss M. Robinson. It was a large, flat, white box such as tailors and dressmakers send home their wares in. There were no wrappings or bills of expressage on it; evidently it had not traveled far. Mrs. Dansken asked the man if there was no message with the box. He said he did not know of any, and Mrs. Dansken refrained from the question who had sent him.

Now if Milly Robinson had been like any other girl, Mrs. Dansken meditated, she would have been in a flutter over that box; would have wondered who had sent it and what was in it, and have opened it at once, for all to admire. Instead, she had packed it off, without any excitement at all, to her bedroom in the attic, and no more had been heard of it.

Ann had made tea-cake and there was no need for Milly to go for rolls that afternoon. At her usual time of coming down, after changing her dress, to lay out the tea-things in the parlor and set the table for dinner, she did not appear. Instead of calling her from the stairs, Mrs. Dansken took the trouble to go up to her room. The girl did not open to her knock at once; she held the door ajar, a very little way, to answer her mistress's demand when she would be down.

"I'm coming, right away, ma'am." Mrs. Dansken fancied the voice from within the room had not quite a natural sound. An excuse for entering occurred to her simultaneously with the resolve that she would get on the inside of that guarded door.

"Let me come in, Milly. I want to meas

VOL. XXXVIII.-15.

ure the sash of your window. Ann says one of the panes is cracked."

"Ann told her that two months ago," Milly said to herself. "I'll give you the size of it, ma'am," she said aloud.

"You have n't time; it 's 5 o'clock now. Let me come in, Milly."

Mrs. Dansken's voice was peremptory, but again there was a pause before the door was yielded. Milly had her dress on, but the waist was still unbuttoned, though she had been in her room, Mrs. Dansken knew, three-quarters of an hour. The quick eye of the mistress, roving the room, perceived that the covers of the bed had been turned back, but that the pillows were smooth.

"Were you going to lie down, Milly? Don't you feel well?" As she spoke, insincerely, for she believed that Milly was perfectly well, she saw protruding from the bed-covers a white sleeve, an evening sleeve, shortened to the elbow and delicately finished with lace. So there was something beneath, which the covers had been hastily thrown back to hide. With one of her quick movements she flung them into place again, exposing the guilty box upon the bed, its contents crammed into it, hurriedly and unsuccessfully, as the white sleeve bore witness.

"What is this, I should like to know?" Mrs. Dansken demanded in a high, exasperating voice. Forgetting her own intrusion on a false pretense, she gave way to the thrill of anger and disgust which possessed her. She felt that she could almost have struck the girl for her stupid, coarse concealments. "What have you got here that you are ashamed to show me?" She tilted off the box-lid with the tips of her fingers and looked contemptuously at the pile of soft wool and lace and ribbon that represented Frank's first essay in the part of King Cophetua.

"That's a very handsome dress to be tumbled about like that. Were you going to put it on to wait on table in ?"

Milly had been silent because her shame and rage had simply taken away her power to speak.

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1 Copyright, 1889, by Mary Hallock Foote.

105

Mrs. Dansken herself was trembling from head to foot; she was losing control of herself, and felt that she could not be accountable for what she might say next if that girl continued to stand there, smiling faintly, in a fixed way, and as speechless as a stone.

"I will see you by and by. You and I must have a little talk." She went down to her room and threw herself upon the bed; all the strength had gone out of her.

"Ann," she whispered, when the old woman came in to ask her what had become of Milly, "that girl will kill me yet!" But there was no time to get comfort from Ann. Dinner was served, and the hostess must be in her place at the head of the table. "Ann, go upstairs, will you, and tell Milly to come down." The farce must go on, and mistress and maid must take their parts. Mrs. Dansken sickened at her own, but she was eminently a woman of business.

There was a long pause after the soup, which Ann herself had brought in and removed. "Where is Milly?" Mrs. Dansken asked, as Ann reappeared with the chicken patties.

"She's packin' her things!" said Ann.

Mrs. Dansken whirled round in her chair. "You will ask her to please come down and attend to her work at once. She can pack her things to-morrow."

"Mem?" said Ann.

"Excuse me," Mrs. Dansken put down her napkin and looked at the tableful of boarders: her voice was unsteady,-" Ann will wait upon you," she managed to say. Blashfield sprung and opened the door for her, and every man at the table rose as she left the room.

She had meant to get to her own room as quickly as possible for an outburst of tears, but she felt so upheld by this unexpected return of the old loyalty that she was ready to encounter even Milly. She was sure that she could be calm, perhaps she could be just to the girl; for what had she discovered, after all, that was so heinous, considering the way she had discovered it? Sympathy, delicacy, dignity, Mrs. Dansken had not; but honesty, even with herself, lay at the bottom of her soul. She ran up the cold attic stairs in a better mood for a talk with Milly than she could have hoped for; but Milly was not there. Her trunk stood in the middle of the bedroom; her hat and shawl and the box from off the bed were gone.

II.

MRS. DANSKEN had lain long in the darkness of her own room. Faint sounds from the dining-room told that dinner was quietly progressing. "If they had just carried me out a corpse they would go back to their chicken patties," she reflected, and laughed feebly to

herself, not in the least resenting this conspicuous masculine trait. "It would be a tribute to the patties, anyhow," she added in her musings. The darkness was peaceful, and she was glad, after all, that she had not been able to see Milly. "She must have gone out into the street for a moment to get some one to come for her trunk. She will want her wages, and it is better she should go without any more words between us. We were never meant to live together. We bring out all that is worst in each other. Even Ann sees that."

At this moment Ann came stumbling in with a clinking tray, which she placed upon a chair by the bed while she lighted the lamp. "Are ye sick?" she asked, turning to look at her mistress.

Mrs. Dansken could have kissed her grim old face, for the sense of nearness and confidence it gave her. After all, was there any one in the world she cared for more than for this old bit of wreck saved from the home that had gone to pieces so long ago? She fell to weeping weakly on her pillow, while Ann felt of her hands, and pulled up the down quilt over her shoulders.

"Oh, I'm roasted!" said Mrs. Dansken, throwing it off. Then she nestled down again, murmuring, "Thank you, you dear old thing; I knew you would n't forget about me."

"Ye better take a drink o' this tea. Are ye worryin' about Milly Robi'son? Sure it's better she's goin'. I knew ye'd never do with the likes av her. She's nayther one thing nor another. I've not got a ha'porth agin her, myself. I c'u'd do with her well enough. Where's yer shawl?" Ann looked about and found it, and attempted to put it about her mistress's shoulders as she raised herself in bed. “Are ye layin' here widout any fire?"

"I don't want any fire. This tea tastes so good. Ugh! I'm as hot as fire and as cold as ice! I've had such a scene with that girl, Ann. I hate a row, except with you."

"'Deed an' ye 're not much afraid o' me, that's a fact. Was it along o' the frock she had sent her?"

Mrs. Dansken nodded.

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"She's not so much to blame for that, as I can find out. What's in it?' says I, whin I see the box layin' on the bed. An' whin she opened it she went red in the face, an' says she, 'I know who sent it, an' I'm goin' to send it back.""

"That's a likely story!" Mrs. Dansken cried out. "She'd been trying it on. She had just crammed it back into the box when I went upstairs to call her."

Ann looked at her mistress shrewdly. "Was ye in the room?"

"Of course I was in the 100m. How did I see the dress if I was n't in the room? "

"Well, ye 'd better have kept out, an' let her have her things to herself. I'd niver want the missus thrackin' me about. A gurl's got a right to some place av her own."

"Don't scold me, Ann. I own I was stupid about that—but I tell you, she is a girl who needs watching."

"Ye had me to watch her, an old woman that knows what gurls is. I niver see nothin' wrong wid her, barrin' she's a bit close about herself; an' it's what they have to be when they've got themselves to look out for."

"I thought you hated her."

Ann laughed shortly. "I was none so fond av her at the first off, but whin I see — who's that goin' out?"

The street door had closed, somewhat early for the young men to be taking their departure. "It's Milly coming back, I should n't wonder," said Mrs. Dansken, listening for a step on the stairs.

"Comin' back?" Ann repeated.

"Yes; did n't you know she was gone?" "Wheriver has she gone to, for the good Lord's sake?" said Ann, rising up. "She tould me she'd not sleep in this house another night. 'Very well,' says I; 'wait till I get my kitchen red up an' I'll go wid ye to the Sisters'.' An' how long is she gone?"

"Why, ever so long. I thought she was coming back. Her trunk is here."

"I'll jist out, thin, an' afther her. Will ye be gettin' up now?" Ann hesitated, looking at her mistress. Mrs. Dansken saw that she was uneasy.

"Go along, you best old creature! Ann, wait a minute! Do you know who sent her the dress?"

"Sure, w'u'd I ask a gurl a thing like that? An' she'd niver have tould me, anyway."

"I'm jealous," said Mrs. Dansken, throwing herself back in the bed. "Here you've been making me believe you despised that girl, and thought about her just the same as I did, and all the while you were on her side."

avenue, passing and repassing the windows of the Clarendon, looking down all the side streets; finally she ventured to ask one or two respectable wayfarers if they had seen a young woman in a dark cloth jacket and a turban, and carrying a big white box. Ann was sure the box was in some way responsible for Milly's giving her the slip. She meant to cast about in their own neighborhood before taking that long walk across the town to the Sisters'. She stopped one of the waiters in the door of the Clarendon as she passed down on that side of the street. It was the one whom, without knowing his nationality, she called the Sweedener, who occasionally brought Mrs. Dansken's orders for her little festivities. Had he seen Milly Robinson that evening?

"Yes," the man replied. "She coom mit a pox; an' she say, leef it in t'e offis for Mist' Embury. Mist' Embury he coom shust t'en; unt he say, send t'e pox up to his room. Unt t'ey walk town street togedder."

Ann gave a grunt. "N-n!" she objected, in that indescribable form of dissent which the West has imported from the South. "That 's not Milly Robinson."

"She vas Milly."

"N-n!" Ann persisted.

"It vas t'e pox, anyhow," the man declared. "I see t'e man vat pack dat pox over to Mis' Dansken, unt he say it vas for Milly."

"Sure I hope it was Milly," said Ann, changing her ground of defense. "That's all I wan' to know. Is she along av our Misther Embury?"

She vas mit him. Dey vent town t'e street togedder."

Ann did not go to the Sisters', but she told her mistress that Milly was there; and Mrs. Dansken was too glad of the assurance to reflect that it was a mile or more to the Sisters' hospital, and that Ann could hardly have gone and returned in the time she had been absent.

"Ye're to pay her money to me, an' she 'll send for her thrunk in the mornin'."

In her toilsome walk in life Ann had seen many cases of folly and sin end as the case of Milly seemed likely to end, but never one of knightly championship. She had never met with a case of this kind, and out of her experience she drew her conclusions. It hurt her that the girl should have taken herself off without even saying good-bye to her old comrade, who had sincerely conquered a prejudice for kindness' sake.

"No 'm, I'm none so fond av her," Ann maintained. But she did not wait to "red up" the kitchen. Mrs. Dansken heard the street door again a very few moments after Ann had left her. The young men were laughing over their cigars in the parlor. She put on an apron, entered the dining-room by the hall door, and began to clear the table, keeping the curtain closed, for she did not wish to be questioned. Ann should not find her work waiting for her when she returned from her walk in the "I doubt but the missus was in the right: dark, snowy streets. If Williams had been at she'd a bad heart, or she 'd niver have give home-or if Frank had not gone, how quickly me the slip like that." But, in spite of her she would trust him now to go in search of own belief, nothing could have induced Ann to Milly. destroy the girl's last chance of retreat should Ann walked slowly up and down Harrison the heart prove not so bad after all.

FRANK and Milly were by the bridge again, and this time there was no brown veil between them. Milly's cheeks were not pink like the sunset color on the eastern peaks; they were pale as the snow which starkly outlined them against the night sky. She was awake at last. Frank thought he had never seen a face so beautiful as hers while she told him the story of her wrongs and her insults. Not a word accused him, but he felt that he was responsible for all that had cost her an honorable refuge, a place of safety, if not a home. No doubt he supposed himself to be thinking while he listened to Milly's story and looked at her beautiful face, but he was merely tingling with a mixture of passionate promptings. He scarcely heard what she was saying as she urged that she must go back and reminded him for the third or fourth time that she had come out not expecting to see him, only to get rid of the dress, which she had never meant to take.

me? No, I won't hear a word. Can't I see, indeed! I see that you are my darling. There, there! What, more tears, Milly? Am I such a monster?"

"You are good," said Milly. "You are the best- I ever saw; but you don't know— you don't know! Let me go, to-night. Let me tell you—what I said I must."

"You shall tell me all to-morrow. There are things I might tell. We will take each other on trust, and I shall get the best of the bargain, my lovely one. Do you know what we are going to do? That poor, insulted little gown I made you take-you shall wear it to-morrow night. You will need no chaperone as my wife."

"I can't, I can't!" Milly protested, but no longer with the same force of denial. She struggled in his arms, and he let her go, seeing that a man was approaching.

They were not in a nice part of the town, if any part of it could be called nice after nightfall, when the mountains withdrew their counte

"And I made you. I have brought all this trouble upon you, Milly; but, dear, happiness shall come out of it. It was all for the best-nances and left it to the light of its flaring winto bring us together, my darling."

"I must go back I must!" Milly pleaded. "You shall never go back," said the dreamer. "Is it more insults you want?"

"I promised to go back. Ann is going with me to the Sisters'."

"The Sisters'! Milly, I am the one to take care of you now."

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"Oh, let me go, sir, please! They'll be out after me."

"Stop sirring me, will you? Who will be out after you? Is there any one in that house who is likely to care what becomes of you?"

"There's Ann, sir—”

"Ann be hanged! Can Ann take care of you? Ah, Milly, listen to me! - For Heaven's sake, what is the matter?"

"Look at me!" sobbed the girl, with such wild deprecation in her face that Frank was forced to heed her. "Can't you see?"

"Can't I see? I see that you are a dear, good, helpless girl, who is going to be my wife. We are going to be married to-night. Hush, hush! not a word. I don't know anything about you? Do you know anything about

dows, its occasional smoky street-lamps and intervals of slippery darkness. They were out of the center of lamps and lighted windows, except the windows of a suburban groggery where a fiddle was tuning up in a crazy way, as if the ear and the hand went wild that were groping for the tune. The light of this squalid revelry was cast upon the foul snow at their feet; it shone upon the two young faces, pictured upon the darkness, close together, eye to eye in the struggle between two wills- one fiery and undisciplined, and one that was strong, but sluggish, and sick with fear.

The stranger stared hard, and looked back as he passed them. He looked back more than once, and then retraced his steps. He was a thin, cold-looking man, in a shabby suit of black, with a pair of dilapidated "arctics" exaggerating to enormities the size of his feet. He addressed them in a voice nasal but sweet.

"My young friends, have you found the Lord? Is he leading you by the hand tonight?"

He paused for an answer. "I do not know the face of this young sister," the exhorter continued as neither of the young people spoke; "but, if I am not mistaken, this young man is Mr. Embury, of the firm of Williams & Embury · yes ? ”

"That's my name," said Frank. “Are you a clergyman, sir?"

"The Rev. Mr. Black, of the Methodist Mission in Second street. And if you will excuse an old man's advice, Mr. Embury, I think, sir, if this young woman's parents reside in the city, you would better take her home. It is late, my dear young friends, except for

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