That Stick | Page 2

plodding and trustworthy, methodical and
accurate, and he had continued in the same position, except that time
had made him senior instead of junior clerk. Partly from natural
disposition, partly from weight of responsibility, he had always been a
grave, steady youth, one of those whom their contemporaries rank as
sticks and muffs, because not exalted by youthful spirits or love of
daring. His mother and brother had always been his primary thought;
and his recreations were of the sober-sided sort--the chess club, the
institute, the choral society. He was a useful, though not a distinguished,
member of the choir of St. Basil's Church, and a punctual and diligent
Sunday-school teacher of the least interesting boys. To most of the
world of Hurminster he was almost invisible, to the rest utterly
insignificant. Even his mother was far less occupied with him than with

his brother Charles, who was much handsomer, more amusing and
spirited, as well as far less contented or easy to be reckoned upon. But
there was one person to whom he was everything, namely, little
brown-eyed, soft-voiced Mary Marshall.
She felt herself the happiest of creatures when, after two years of
occasional evening teas and walks to Evensong at St. Basil's, it was
settled that she should become his wife as soon as his salary should be
increased, and Charlie be in condition to assist in supporting his mother.
Ever since, Mary had rested on that hope, and the privileges it gave.
She had loyally informed the Misses Lang, who were scarcely
propitious, but could not interfere, as long as their pupils (or they
believed so) surmised nothing. So the Sunday evening intercourse
became more frequent, and in the holidays, when the homeless
governess had always remained to superintend cleaning and repairs,
there were many pleasant hours spent with kind old Mrs. Morton, who,
if she had ever wished that Frank had waited longer and chosen some
one with means, never betrayed it to the girl whom she soon loved as a
daughter.
Two years had at first been thought of as the period of patience.
Charles had a situation as clerk in a shipping office at Westhaven, a
small seaport about twenty miles off, and his mother was designing to
go to keep house for him, when he announced that his banns had been
asked with the daughter of the captain and part-owner of a small
trading vessel of the port.
The Hurminster couple must defer their plans till further promotion;
and so far from helping his mother, Charles ere long was applying to
her, when in need, for family expenses.
Then came a terrible catastrophe. Charlie had been ill, and in his
convalescence was taken on a voyage by his father-in-law. There was a
collision in the Channel, and the Emma Jane and all on board were lost.
The insurance did not cover the pecuniary loss; debts came to light, and
nothing was left for the widow and her three children except a seaside
lodging-house in which her father had invested his savings.

The children's education and great part of their maintenance must fall
on their uncle; and again his marriage must wait till this burthen was
lessened. Old Mrs. Morton died; and meetings thus became more
difficult and infrequent. Frank had hoped to retain the little house
where he had lived so long; but his sister-in-law's demands were heavy,
and he found himself obliged to sell his superfluous furniture, and
commit himself to the rough attendance of the housekeeper at the office,
where two rooms were granted to him.
Thus had year after year gone by, unmarked except by the growth of
the young people at Westhaven and the demand of their mother on the
savings that were to have been a nest-egg, while gray threads began to
appear in Mary's hair, and Frank's lighter locks to leave his temples
bare.
So things stood when, on this strange afternoon, Miss Marshall was
summoned mysteriously from watching the due performance of an
imposition, and was told, outside the door, that Mr. Morton wanted to
speak to her.
It was startling news, for though the Misses Lang were kindly women,
and had never thrown obstacles in the way of her engagement, they had
merely permitted it, and almost ignored it, except when old Mrs.
Morton was dying, and they had freely facilitated her attendance.
'Surely something as dreadful as the running down of the Emma Jane
must have happened!' thought Mary as she sped to the drawing-room.
She was a little brown mouse of a woman, with soft dark eyes, smooth
hair, and a clear olive complexion, on which thirty-eight years of life
and eighteen of waiting had not left much outward trace; for the
mistresses were good women, who had never oppressed their underling,
and though she