This marnin’ wen I wint to open the door to tak in the papers a strange site greeted me eyes. “My God!” ses I aloud, “is it snowing in Orgust.”

Thin I seen Mr. John. He had wun of me dish pans in his hands and it seemed to be full of holes, fer sumthing white do be scattering from the bottom of it all over the place. I throwed up me hands in horrow. Just thin I seen the widdy, and she likewise had a pan and was scattering the white doost in another place. She guv me a smile:

“Good marning Delia!” ses she, “we’re goin’ to surprise Mr. Jimmy. We’re pooting sumthing on his drives wich will kill all grass and weeds. It’s salt,” ses she. “My conshunse John Wolley!” she screemed, “what are you doing?”

Mr. John was bizzy wid his pan around Miss Claire’s floury hidge wich is a sorry enuff looking hidge, being that the weeds and grarss have grown out thick wid only a poor little flour to pike up its hed here and there. Mr. John do be throwing the salt wid a ginerous hand over the sad looking hidge.

“Why,” ses he, “I’m killing the weeds in poor little Claire’s garden.”

The widdy threw doon her pan and set upon it.

“You do beat the dooch!” ses she, “why you gander,” ses she, “doant you know ye’ll kill the flours too. John Wolley, I’ve harf a mind to shake you and I will too!” ses she. Wid that she roon acrost to him, wid her hands hild out—but befure she can tooch him, he grabbed her aboot the waste, and kissed her plump on the lips.

“You retch!” ses she, “and befure Delia too! Oh-h!” ses she, and stamps her foot.

Its cleening day. Nobody but a dummed eediot wud put the desateful looking matting down on dacint flures. The doost and dirt finds a natchell place to settle down betwane the cracks. As I was rubbing it over wid a damp cloth in Mr. Wolley’s stoody he came in wid the male. In wan hand he held a grate boonch of letters, in the other one ploomp fine looking litter by itsilf. He looks queer.

“Has Mr. James gone to town yet?” he asks.

“No sir” ses I. “Its riting at home he is to-day. He’s in his room, sir.”

“Ah!” ses the auld gintleman, and joost thin Miss Claire cum into the room.

Her cheeks are flooshed and she looks excited and ankshus.

“You have a letter for me papa, havent you?” ses she.

The auld gintleman had throost the fat letter hastily into his pocket. As Miss Claire spoke he now fussed over the boonch in his uther hand.

“Let me see” ses he, going over thim, “No—theres nuthing my deer” ses he.

She seemed so disappoynted that for a moment she joost stared at the auld gintleman. Then she ses gintly:

“Papa, wasnt there an English male in yisterday?”

“I belave there was” ses he.

She put out her hand impetchussly and ses she:

“Let me see, papa?”

She wint over the letters wan be wan. She picked out wan little roll, and she ses:

“Nothing—nothing at all for me—ixcipt this.” Thin she wint out from the room suddintly.

The auld gintleman looked after her wid a look fool of compashun and guilt. Then he sneeked out of the room.

“You auld divil!” ses I to mesilf, “Its a letter ye’ve got in your pockit for Miss Claire, and the puir thing shull have it if I have to turn thafe to get it for her.”

Wid that I wint after the auld rascal. I hurd the dure of Mr. James’s room shut, and I wint into the bathroom adjyning, and wid wan eer to the dure I lissened.

“James——” ses Mr. Wolley stipping in.

“What the——” began Mr. James and I herd him hopping up in his seet. “I’m bizzy father” ses he. “I must get out this artuckle at latest by noon to-day” ses he “What is it? What is it?”

“James” ses Mr. Wolley, “I’m afrade yure sister——”

“For hivin’s sake father” ses the lad “hoory up. Jest what is it?”

There was silinse for a moment, juring which I knowed from instink Mr. Wolley had tuk out Miss Claire’s litter and shown it to his son. I prissed up close aginst the dure, but the key was inside and I cud see not a thing. Then I herd Mr. Wolley say:

“You see it is as we feered. They are corry——”

“Hauld on!” ses Mr. James lowering his voyce, and again there followed a sylinse. Suddintly the dure flew open and I fell upon me face into the room. Mr. James saized me by the neck of me gown and hauled me oop.

“Delia!” ses he, “ef I ever catch you at sich a thrick again, I’ll—I’ll throw you out of the winder” ses he. “Now git!” ses he, and I sloonk aff in shame.

I was coming down the stares, skurce looking whare I wint, whin all of a suddint I seen sumthing which sint me hart flying into me mouth. There by the winder was Miss Claire stritched out on the floor. Her face looked orful white, and for a moment the dredful thort cam into me hed that the poor yung thing was ded. I screamed wid frite and agunny, and I joomped doon the rist of the stares and run to the child. The paper was on the floor beside her—a torn peece of noospaper and I seen the pincil marks in blue upon it. The family cam rooshing down whin they herd me scream and at the site of Miss Claire they all seemed about to faynt also. Mrs. Wolley guv a friteful scream, and Mr. John throo his arms aboot her and put her into a chare. Mr. James picked up the bit of paper, turned it over and red:

“Mr. and Mrs. Barclay Robbins announces the ingagement of their dorter, Miss Una, to Mr. Harry Judd Dudley, son of S. Judd Dudley of New York. The widding will tak place Choosday the 21st of October.”

There was silince then, the hole family looking at aich other and then at puir Miss Claire. Then Mr. Wolley spoke, and his auld voyce trimbled.

“Boys” ses he, “carry your sister gintly to her room.”

It were a sorry loonch the family et. Mr. John skurcely opened his mouth wanse to spake, and Mr. James spoke only wanse. He sed camly:

“Father” ses he “I’ve desided to refuse the London corryspondunt job.”

Mr. Wolley turned feercely upon little innersint Billy:

“Billy” ses he, “ef you play wid yure salt at the table wanse again” ses he, “I’ll tak me razer strap to you.”

Thin he tuk 2 angry bits at me rolls, and stomped oot to the frunt porth. Looking out I seen him scowling at the Dudley house.

Neyther Miss Claire or her mother cum doon to loonch.

“Mr. John” ses I whin all had left the table ixcipt him: “Is Miss Claire all rite now?”

He put his fingers into the fingy bowl and wiped them thortfully.

“I’m going across the street” ses he, “I belave Jane can make it all rite” ses he, as if spaking to himsilf.

I was washing the family dishes in the butler’s pantry, when I seen Miss Claire cum saftly doon the stares. She’d got on a little pink drissing gown over her nite dress and her long yillow hare was hanging all aboot her. She seen me looking at her, but whin I wint forward to spake to her she made a little impashunt moshun wid her hand and I stud back. She wint over to the tillyfone and guv a number:

Then I herd her say:

“Is this the Planet? Yiss, Well I want the idiotoryell departmint. Hello” ses she, “I want to spake to Mr. Allun—Allun—I sed Allun” ses she gitting exsited, and she spelled the name. She wated a bit, and thin: “Good-morning Mr. Allen” ses she, “This is Miss Wolley—Wolley—Claire Wolley,” ses she. “Now lissen—annownce me ingagemint in to-morrow marning’s Planut—and say that I deny it but its so” ses she beginning to larf hysturicully. “Whats that?” ses she, “Oh his name—his name you said. Why how silly of me. His name is—er—Stevin Vandybilt. Oh thank you” ses she. “I hope so too” ses she. “Whats that? Oh thanks. Yes, yes of coarse hes wan of the Vandybilts. Goodbye.”

She toorned aboot, an I seen her grarsp hold of the back of a chare. She leaned aginst it, and she begun to shake, and thin she larfed. She larfed so hard and queerly that she fell upon her knees. Then I ran oop to her, and thried to put me arms about her, but she guv me a feerce poosh, and ses she wid her eyes flushing:

“Don’t tooch me! Don’t dare put yure hand upon me. Its all yure folt. It was you who brort us thegither. It was you who—Ah hahahahaha!” ses she, lafing and crying thegither.

The widder cam in wid Mr. John and she run over to Miss Claire wid her arms spred out.

“O me deer! me deer!” ses she, “I worned you—I told you.”

But Miss Claire has cum back to her sinses.

“Mrs. Bangs” ses she “I am not in need of inny sympithy. Excuse me. Good marning” ses she, and wint up the stares and back to her room. We hurd the dure banged tite.

The widder burst into teers, and as fur me, puir loan onhappy crachure that I be I betuk mesilf to me ritched kitchen and cryed me hart out into me clane starched table aprun.

I thort the day wud niver ind and whin the Frinch charfer from the Dudleys came over, its small eers I had for his foine spache.

“Museer” ses I “its a hart broken wumman I am, and its small cumfut I’m taking in yer perlite langwidge to-nite.”

“Mumsell Delia” ses he, “belave me on me sacred onor, I adoar you wid me hart and soal. Be mine” ses he.

Mr. Mulvaney caming in joost thin, guv a larf at the Frinchman, which made the puir museer furyiss.

“Mumsell” ses he, “I be not of the for chune hoonting sort as yere frind there” ses he.

“Whats that ye’re after saying” ses Larry, at wanse. “Did you spake me name?” ses he.

The Frinchman stud his grownd bravely, and droring himsilf prowdly up faced Mr. Moolvaney wid a stare.

“Jaccuse” ses he, “Museer Mulvaney of wooing the lady wid his eye on her forchune. Jaccuse”—ses he, but Mr. Mulvaney had him by the collar of his coat and museer was setting outside on the lon befure I cud rise to protist. Whin Mr. Mulvaney cam back I’m that insinsed wid his avil manners and the revylashun of his meen and greedy caracter that I skurcely cud aven look at him.

“Mr. Mulvaney” ses I “its a puir hard working girl I am, and its a mistake ye’re making in yure for chune hoonting hart whin ye think I’m after being rich. Ah go!” ses I, “I’m doon wid avery wan of you.”

And I wint opp to me milincully room, me hart sore and aking, for Miss Claire do be hating me feercely now, and Larry Mulvaney is no better than the Frinchman, but is after me puir bit of forchune. Ah wirrah, wirrah, wirrah! Its a sorry day whin me muther bore me.