Rose O' The River

ng that her physical sight was perfect. What mysterious species of blindness is it that descend

and it is quite conceivable that a man can sell gloves and still be a man; but Claude Merrill was a manikin. He

present height of power, he pounced upon the powder-sprinklers and found them, as he expected, empty; when, with masterly judgment, he had made up and ticketed a basket of misfits and odd sizes to attract the eyes of women who were their human counterp

ht five and three quarters-- Attend to that

try them on? The right hand, if you will. Perhaps you'd better remove yo

lf, third box--for this lady. She's in a hurry. W

e gloves. We have no call for t

ething of it was the glamour that belonged to Boston,--remote, fashionable, gay, rich, almost inaccessible Boston, which none could see without the expenditure of five or six dollars

his neckties were years behind the fashion. Stephen's dancing, compared with Claude's, was as the deliberate motion of an ox to the hopping of a neat little robin. When Claude took a girl's hand in the "grand right-and-left," it was as if he were about to try on

gers never touched dish-water; ladies who would n't buy a glove of anybody else if they went bare-handed to the grave. He lived with his sister Maude Arthurlena in a house where there were twenty-two other boarders who could be seated at meals all at t

at, the noon hour having arrived, he squeezed by that slave and victim, and raising the hinged board that separated his kingdom from that of the ribbon department, passed out of the store, hat in hand, serene in the con

tentions of such a gorgeous butterfly of fashion simply beca

l; and during the time when his popularity was at its height Rose lost sight of the fact that Stephen c

een driving with Claude Merrill--that Stephen knew; but she had explained that there were errands to be done, that her grandfather had taken the horse, and that Mr. Merrill's escort had been both opportune and convenient for these practical reasons. Claude was everywhere

d food in exchange for numberless small errands. Rufus was temporarily confined in a dark room with some strange pain and trouble in his eyes, and Alcestis proved of use in many ways. He had

Alcestis; it belongs to Miss Rose. Go straight back and give it to her as you were

m a letter for Rose, but his notion was that anything that belonged to her belonged to Ste

t under the apple tree, now a mass of rose

ving that afternoon and could not bear to say good-bye to her in the presence of her grandmother. "_Under_the_circumstances_," he wrote, deeply underlining the words, "I cannot remain a moment longer in Edgewood, wh

oking from the windows of the pink bedroom; dead Love, cold, sad, merciless. His cheeks burned as he thought of the marriage license and the gold ring hidden away upstairs in the drawer of

there was but one path in all the world, and that the one that led to Her, so it was for Stephen's ca

he white stars of the hepatica glistened and the pale anemones were coming into bloom. Partridge-berries glowed red under their glossy leaves, and clumps

rse, with the offensive trunk in the back of the wagon, being hitched to a tree near by. There was nothing in the tableau to stir Stephen to fury, but he read between the lines and suffered as he read--suffered and determined

ised his hat, and with a passionate gesture of renunciation walked swiftly to the wagon, and looking back once, drove off with the