TWO HEARTS AND A KITTEN.

Mabel Preece.

TIMOTHY Dale, the blacksmith, sat beside the kitchen table in his tiny cottage, laboriously penning his first love letter. He destroyed sheet after sheet of writing paper in disgust at his misshapen letters and poor composition, until only one remained.

“It’s got ter come right on this ’ere one, or it can’t be done at all. The store’s closed fer th’ night an’ I ain’t got no more paper.”

“Dere Cynthia,” it read, “can you mete me bi the mill to morrow at 3. i luv you and wood like to no if you do the same and will marrie me plese not to forgit at 3 yours trooly Tim Dale.”

Cynthia Warden turned up the lamp and read the letter with no great surprise, for Timothy was not an adept in concealing his feelings. But Cynthia had been at boarding-school, and the honest but faulty epistle somewhat jarred on her. And then there was Walter Hughes.

Walter Hughes was a traveling salesman and at times visited his uncle, old Lawyer Hughes, the richest man in the place. At first the visits were infrequent, prompted by duty and the thought of “uncle’s little pile in the bank;” but after meeting Cynthia Warden he seemed to form an attachment for the village and spent much time there. His city-bred airs and refinement won Cynthia’s regards, and when he gave accounts of his thrilling experiences, her heart warmed to this hero of her girlish dreams. As she stood gazing out of her window, she almost laughed aloud at the thought of marrying Timothy Dale.

“Of course, it’s absurd. I might have thought him all very well had not Walter come;—but now it is out of the question.”

As Walter Hughes walked to Cynthia’s home the following afternoon his thoughts were extremely pleasant.

“The little game is progressing very favorably,” he murmured, rubbing his soft, flabby hands together in delight. “The girl is awfully smitten with me. She’ll come in for a goodly share of old Warden’s savings, and I might do worse than to marry her.”

He found Cynthia standing by the gate waiting for him.

“Come for a walk,” he suggested. “Cynthia,” he said, when they had exhausted the minor topics of the day, “I love you, and I believe you are not wholly indifferent to me. Will you marry me?”

Cynthia turned her eyes away that he might not see her great happiness, and as she did so they fell on an object by the roadside.

It was a kitten that some cruel boys had stoned. With a cry of pity she drew her hand from Hughes’s grasp and started toward the kitten, but he pulled her roughly back.

“Never mind the fool cat, Cynthia. What if it is hurt? I guess I’m of more importance than a kitten. Answer my question: will you marry me?”

It was as if a veil had been torn from her eyes. His cold, unsympathetic words, and still more, his pitiless face, betrayed the cruel, selfish nature of the man, and Cynthia’s face flushed with indignation and shame at the thought of having cared for such as he.

“No,” she responded quietly, but firmly, “I will not.”

He turned on his heel and left her standing there, and she buried her face in her hands, shuddering at the horror of what she had escaped.

A cheery voice roused her from her reverie.

“Well, Cynthia, girl, here you are! I’ve been looking by the mill for you, but as you warn’t there I thought I’d take a turn up this ’ere way an’ maybe I’d find—why, look at that pore little cat! Now, I’d jest like ter know who could ha’ done that! Wouldn’t I larrup their hide, though?”

He picked the kitten up and bound its wounded foot with his coarse red pocket-handkerchief. The hands of the burly fellow became as tender as a woman’s.

“I’ll jest take it home an’ fix it up,” he said carelessly, slightly ashamed of showing his soft-heartedness. “It’ll be sort ’er company ’bout the house. An’ now, Cynthia, I jest wanted ter know ef you’d do what I said in th’ letter—marry me—you know. I ain’t got much but a heart full of honest love ter give you, girl, but I’ll do my best by you an’ make you happy. I know I ain’t much, but—but—”

It was the longest speech the poor fellow had ever made and he broke down confusedly. But Cynthia, looking up at him with glistening eyes, said softly: “Will I marry you, Tim? Yes—with all my heart.”

Then, as with a low exclamation of surprise and joy he turned quickly toward her,—

“Look out!” she cried, laughing through the tears sparkling in her eyes, “Look out, or you’ll drop the kitten!”