Three Minute Stories

e, when I tell

y dear, how c

ten to me! Have

f them,

ster, but we must admit that she is stupid,-truth, Marguerite, is the jewel of my sou

Margaret

se; I cannot see what it is, but I would swear it was no woman. I return,-we look about us at this room, which never have we seen before. A gentleman's room, as an infant could perceive. A private library, study, what you will, luxurious, enchanting. Books over w

. Washington," said Margaret soberly.

ing herself immensely; "they toppled like snow

a great many papers, and they confirmed our poor little Peggy in her belief that the man she ha

I tell you

ly, "that it was John Strong, the

upon his private things, romaging-what is that word?-romaging his papers, most likely making himself possessed of what he will, and you say, what o

a. And when you come to think of it, my dear, we have been here a few weeks, and John Strong was here before we

le know? And the black velvet coat, what had Margaret to say to that? she demanded. It was evident that this good man, this worthy servan

r and confidential servant. There would be nothing remarkable in that, surely. Besides, were they absolutely certain that the mysterious individual was dressed in black velvet? Poor

beware! Not for nothing was I brought up on a plantation. Have I not known overseers, to say nothing of hosts of servants, white, black, yellow? Your books, chère Marguerite, d

d, following the train of her thought

d I-ahi! what plays we have acted in the myrtle-bo

udience in the lower hall, Rita whirled away to her own room, where they could hear her singing to herself, and pulli

she is going to

ng pretty and graceful, no doubt.

Peggy. "She-she is awfully fa

e might have felt a slight pang at the tone of admiring awe in which Peggy now spo

he moves so-and her voice is so soft, and-oh, Margaret, do you suppo

dish face, the little tilted nose, the fluffy, fair hair. It seemed the most natural thing in t

ever look in the least like her, Peggy. But-it is a great deal better to look like our own selves, isn't it, and learn to appear at o

ou taught me all that, Margaret. I was a pe

is Rita who has given you the little graces that you have been picking up. I never could have taug

only fit for dust-cloths-you know the way she talks, dear thing. The lovely brown crepon, she said it was the most hideous thing she had ever seen, and that it was the deed of

e them to you, I am sure, and she could not possibly wear a quarter of all the gowns she brou

swept a splendid courtesy, and suddenly unfurled a huge scarlet fan. With this, she proceeded to go through a series of astonishing performances. She danced with it, she sang with it. She closed it, and it was a dagger, and she swooped upon an invisible enemy, and stabbed him to th

she said, turning

I must have another person; it is impossible to do it alone. Margaret,-no!

tly, and was bidden to put herself in an attitude of insolent defiance. Peggy scowled a

g absurd even in a tyrant scowling through flaxen eyebrows with a pair of helpless, frightened blue eyes. She now drew back, knelt, flung up her arms, and raised her eyes to heaven. Her lips moved; she was praying for the success of her cause. Rising, she came forward, and with noble earnestness demanded her freedom. The tyrant was bidden to look about on the ruin and desolation that he had wrought; he was implored by all that was holy, all that was just and noble, to withdraw from the land where he had long ceased to have any real right of ownership. Peggy, in obedience to whispered orders, shook her head with stubborn violence, and stamped her foot. Cuba then, drawing herself to her full height, threw down he

A LI

ng weak, a decrepit, bleeding old wom

spotism was dead, and that Freedom was descending from heaven, robed in the Cuban colours, and surrounded by a choir of angels, all singing the national anthem. And here Rita actually pulled from her bosom a small flag showing the Cuban colours, and waved it, crying that the blood-red banner of war (the fan) was now furled forever, and that Cuba and the United States, now t

sible. "Ah!" she said. "What it would be if you could only do something real for Cuba! I would shed my blood, would pour out its ultimate drops (Rita's idioms were apt to become foreign when she was excited), but if you also could do something, my cousins, what glory, what joy for you; and it may be po

pet might really be needed, since a bell is not loud enough. The dinner-be

nished, and there remained only a very pretty young lady in the sulks, who

" thought Margaret, as she finall