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Shop 2 doors west Millheim Banking House, MAIN STREET, MILLHEIM, PA. , L. SPRINGER, Fashionable Barber, Corner Main & North streets, 2nd Boor, Millheim, Pa. Shaving, Haircutting, Sbampooning, Dying, &c. done in the most satisfac tory manner. Jno.H. Orvia. C. M. Bower. Ellis L.Orvia. QRVIS, BOWER & ORVIB, Attorneys-at-Law, BELLEFONTE, PA., Office in Wood in gs Building. D. H. Hastings. W. F. Beeder ASTINbS & REEDER, Attorneis-at-Law, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Allegheny Street, two doors east of the office ocupied by tbe late firm of Yocum ® Hastings. J U. MEYER, Attorney-at-Law, BELLEFONTE, PA. At the Office of Ex-Judge Hoy. C. HEINLE, Attorney-at-Law BELLEFONTE, PA. Practices In all the courts of Centre county Special attention to Collections. Consultations in German or English. , A. Beaver. Gepbart. JGEAVER & GEPFLART, Attorneys-at-Law, BELLEFONTE, PA. Office on Alleghany Btreet, North of High Stree JGROOKERHOFF HOUSE, ALLEGHENY ST., BELLEFONTE, PA. O. G. McMILLEN, PROPRIETOR. Good Sample Room on First Floor. Free Busa to and from all trains. Special rates to witnesses and Jurors. QUMMINS HOUSE, BISHOP STREET, BELLEFONTE, PA., EMANUEL BROWN, PBOPRTBTOB. newly refitted and refurnished. Ev ervthlng done to make guests comfortable. Rates nfoderate. Patronage respectfully solici ted. JGT. ELMO HOTEL, Nos. 317 & 319 ARCH ST., PHILADELPHIA. RATES REDUCED TO $2.00 PEE DAT. The traveling public will still find at this Hotel the same liberal provision for their com fort. It is located In the immediate centres of business and places of amusement and the dif ferent Rail-Road depots, as well as all parts ot the city, are easily accessible by Street Cars constantly passing the doors. It offers special inducements to those visiting the city for busi ness or pleasure. Your patronage respectfully solicited. JOB. M. Feger. Proprietor. R. A. BUMILLER, Editor. VOL. 59. J J~RVIN HOUSE, (Most Central Hotel in the city.) CORNER OF MAIN AND JAY STREETS, LOCK HAVEN, PA. S.WOODSCALDWELL PROPRIETOR. Goois?" was the sharp inquiry. "Down in the orchard," answered Lois, holding out her hands to the blase in the fire-place, for the chill seemed to have crept to her heart. A PAPER FOR THE HOME CIRCLE. "Was ye alone ? I tlnugnt once or twice I heard voices." And the old woman looked suspiciously at hex. "David Price was there," said the giil, quietly. "David Price was there, was he ? rt echoed the shrill voice. "Well, if Da vid Price wants to see ye he'd better come to yer father's house. In my day young men didn't expect gells to go philanderin' 'cross lots to meet 'em ; and I shall tell him so the next time he comes here." "He won't come again," Lois an swered (oh, with what a heavy heart !) "He's going away." "Whore's he goiu' now ?" demand ed Grandma Dunn, as though the young mau's life had been one round of travel, whereas he had never been forty miles from his native town. "Out to his Uncle Micah's in Ohio. His uncle is going to take him into business," answered Lois. "Hum I" said grandma Dunn : 14 4 a rolliu' stun gethera no moss.' " Then with a thought of her own comfort : "Are ve ever goin' to set the table ? I'm jest a faraishin' for my supper." Joshua Dunn, coming in just then, looked from his mother to his daughter and said,in his grave way : "Seems to me, Lois, you might look after your grandmother a little closer." Toor Lois I She had the fee'ings, so common to all of us, that the conscious acceptance of a burden must somehow lighten it, and the secret self-sacrifice must in some mysterious way be felt and appreciated ; but here iu the first hour of her cross-bearing had come not praise, but blame. She made no answer ; her face flush ed, then paled, and with close-shut lips she walked quickly from the roota. "Joshuay," quavered Grandma Dunn, "ye ought to take that gell in band. She's gettin' more high-headed ey'ry day. She's goin' to be the very pattern of her mother." "There, there, 'mother !" answered the farmer. "Let the girl alone. She's well enough ; and the more she grows like her mother the better it'll please me." For Joshua Dunn held in very tender remembrance the young wife who had given her life for her baby's. Lois did not come down to supper, but when her father brought in the milk she came and took care of it in her deft, quiet way. He stood and watched her, his one ewe-lamb, bis motherless child. How dear she was to him, irom her shining brown head to her willing feet! lie was a man of few caresses, but by aud by he went over to her and laid his rough hand gently on her head, and said : "Father's good little girl." Then, as though frightened at this un wonted exhibition of affection,he gath ered the milk-pails together and hur ried out. • The touch and the words eased the heart-ache a little, but ihat night,lying with wide wakeful eyes fixed on the square of moonlight on the floor, Lois said over and over, "The Dunns live to be ninety," "The Dunns live to be ninety." And 3he was only twenty. How could she bear this for seventy years ? But nature is kind to the young, and Lois had forgotten her trouble long be fore another pair of eyes closed In the old farm house. Joshua Dunn pondered long and sor rowfully. He had not been father and roothei both for twenty years without having his preceptions sharpened where his child was concerned, and remem bering Dayid Price's frequent visits, and certain loiterings in the old porch, and sundry tender glances, it was not difficult to connect Lois' sober face with the young man's going away. In his inmost heart he was thankful that he was not called upon to give her up ; but something must be done to cheer her. If only her mother were a live ! But he must do his best alone. She should have some new dresses ; she must have young company ; he would take her up to the village often er. But alas for the tender planning 1 The next time Joshua Dunn went to the village he was carried there and laid beside his young wife. It had happened very suddenly. He had gone out to the barn in the morn ing, and, not coming in to breakfast, Lois had gone in search of him, and found him lyihg under the feet of a horse he had lately bought, the good, kind face trampled out of recognition. Well, we can live through a great deal, and after the first bewilderment was over Loi3 took up her old duties a' gain Joshua Dunn had been a well-10-do man, and everything was left to Lois. There was to be no anxiety about ways and means ; there was nothing to do, except to live, with all the brightness of life gone. Grandma Dunn, in the facs of a real sorrow, stopped fretting for awhile, and Lois had a faint hope that their mutual loss might bring them nearer together ; but after a few week 3 things fell back in their old cours- ! es, her grandmother repining and up- I braiding, and Lois caring for her in a cold, mechanical way. Then the keeu New England con science awoke. Was this the spirit of self sacrifice ? Had she g'ven up her love merely to do the work a.hired ser vant might do, and with the same feel ings ? Was she not cheapening her sacrifice by withholding a part of the price ? So the lonely girl goaded herself un. til by prayers and tears she grew into a softer frame of mind, and the silent indifference with which she had borne her grandmother's sharp speeches chanced to pity for the poor cross-grain ed nature. If Grandma Dunn noticed the change she gave no sign ; but it made life more tolerable to Lois. At the best time dragged very slowly at the old farm-houso. The mornings were bearable, for the care of the house kept her busy ; but in the long sum mer afternoons, when her grandmoth er dozed in her chair, and in the long winter evenings, wheu she sat alone by the fire, she grew to have the feeling that they had lived in the same wtty for a bundled years, and would liye ou and on indefinitely. But after ten years had worn away a new interest came into her life. One day a paper from Boston strayed up to the red house on the hill. Lois did not know that the paper held a high rank in the literature of the day, but she felt the difference between it and their county weekly. One little story pleas ed her especially. It did not abound in elopements, murders and highly wrought situations, like the weekly stories, but ran along as naturally as one friend might talk to another, and the thonght came to her, why couldn't she write a story ? So one afternoon, when Grandma Dunn was safely off in her nap, Lois sat down in the shady porch and wrote her first story. It was only the story of a life which had been lived in her own village. There was no attempt at fine writing, no romar.ee, wo tragedy— I unless the story of a broken heart is ! always a tragedy—but the story was j told so simply and tenderly that it seemed like a quiet brook running at twilight between banks of fern aud al dtr, until it is lost in shadow. With many misgivings she sent it to the Boston paper, and the editor, a man of quiet tastes, read it himself, then took it home and read it to his in valid wife ; and the result was that in a few weeks Lois received a paper addressed in a strange handwriting,and in it her little story; and not ouly that, but a letter came containing a check and a few words of praise. With a heart lighter than it had been since her father's death, she took the paper and letter to her room. She turned the check over and over—her own money, the first she had ever earned, and earn ed in such a delightful way I Then she read and re-read her story, and wondered how it sound 3d to others. She looked the paper over to compare it with other stories, and a familiar name caught her eye, and there,among the mariiage notices, she read this: ''ln this city, on th 9 10th iiist.,by Rev. Daniel Simpson, Mary, only daughter of Roger Lejnard, of this city, to Da vid Price, of Cleveland, Ohio. She held the paper a few minutes, then folded it smoothly and laid it a way. Her brief suushine had clouded over. After awhile, urged by her loneli ness, she took up her pen again ; and in all the years that followed she found it a refuge and comfort, not only to herself, but to others ; lor her writ ings, though often crude, had a simpli city and naturalness which touched other hearts ; and besides the modest money return there came to her once in awhile a letter from some stranger with words of kindly appreciation. One day, when her grandmother was unusually restless, Lois, to entertain her, brought down her first story and read it. to her. Graudma Dunn had of ten listened to her stories without sus pecting the author, and her blunt ciit icisms were amusing and sometimes helpful. "Hum I" she said, at the end of this one ; "that woman had sorter the same life as M'lissy Peters she i that was a Shepley ; only nobody would think of puttin* M'lissy in a story—a poor, shir'less thing. If she'd 'a' had less book-larnin' and more com mon sense, Job Peters's folks would : a' liked her a deal better, and she wouldn't 'a' been badgered to death by 'em." Then, with sudden irrelevancy: "Ye ought to hev married, Lois. There ought to be children about the house. Ye'd 'a' done better to bev ta ken that David Price that used to hang round here. Somebody was a-telliu' of n e the other day that he was reel forehanded out to Ohio. But gells never know what's best for 'em." ; And she went off into an inarticulate mutleriDg. 1 For a moment Lois felt a wild im pulse to tell her grandmother why she Terms, SI.OO per Year, in Advance. 1 had not married D.tvid Price, to lay open before her the lou'g years of lone liness, the starvation ot heart, which had been endured for her sake ; but the lifelong habit of reticence wis not easily broken, and the words died away without utterance. Afterward she was glad of this si lence—for that night the querulous voice stopped suddenly, and the chain that bad bound Lois for jtwentv years was broken. She w;fs free. Hut what was freedom worth to her ? The "zest was gone out of life ; she had grown away from her old friend and made no new ones ; there was no tie to bind her to Hillsborough, aud she felt the full extent of her loneliness when she realized the fact that she had no ties in any place in the wide world. But she could not stay in her old home ; so af ter awhile she sold the farm aud moved away to a small town near Boston.gui ded in her choice only by the fact that from this towa had come some of the friendly stranger letters. Here she set tled herself in a comfortable home, and faced resolutely ths thirty or forty years which in all human probability lay before her. The people about her proved kindly aud intelligent ; she found more congenial society than 'she had ever known before ; her pleasant house became a center of quiet socia bility, and she enjoyed a kind of au tumnal happiness. One afternoon, some eight years af ter her coming to Springyale,Miss Lois, sitting in her chamber, writing, heard the gate creak, and looking out, saw a peddler coming up the walk. He walk ed feebly, and alio noticed that as he neared the steps he straightened him self with aa effort. -Her little maid was out, so she laid down her pen and went down to him. The man stood looking through the open door iuto the wide old-fashioned hall. It looked very cool and inviting after his hot tramp,and Miss Lois,com ing down the stairs, fair and sweet in her soft gray dress and lavender rib bons, seemed a part ot the peace and quiet of the house. She saw that he looked hot and tired, and asked him in,setting the large hall chair for him. He dropped into it wearily, and opening his stock without the volubility common to his kind. It consisted of the usual small wares, and Miss Lois made her selection of pins, needles and tape with the careful delib eration of a New England housekeeper. Suddenly she turned very white,and laid her hand on the stair-rail as though for support. It was over in a moment; and when the peddler looked at her a gain she wore her usual calm face, though the hands counting the money trembled a little. As he was gathering his wares together she asked him,"Have you been long at this business V" "No, ma'am," he answered, rising stiffly; "only a year or two. I used to do a good business in Cleveland, Ohio, and had a house as pleasant as this,and a wife and a child; but I failed in busi ness ; then ray wife and child died, and I had a long sickness. After I got up from it I tried several different things, but finally came to this. Thank yon, ma'am," putting the monej in his thin pocket-book. "You look like somebody I used to know in Hillsborough, where I was raised." But Miss Lois made no answer, ex cept "Good afternoon," as lie went down the steps. , When the gate closed behind him,she went up to her chamber, unlocked a drawer in her bureau, and taking from it a thin package of letters, sat down with tnem in her hand. There was no need to read them ; she knew every word in them. Tney had come at long intervals during the first nine years of waiting; she could tell the very day the last one came. She sat there very quietly until her litt'e maid called her to tea; then she put the let ters back in their place smoothed her hair, and went down. And neither Polly nor the friends who came in the evening suspected that Miss Lois had seen a ghost that afternoon. The next morning Polly returned from the grocery in gieat excitement. A peddler had a bleeding-spell there the night before; they had made him a bed in the back room, and that after noon the select men were going to take him to the poor house. Polly had seen with her open eyes. . Miss Lois fihished pasting the paper over the last tumbler of current jelly, then washed her hands calmly, took off her apron, and went up-stairs. In a few minutes she came down with her hat on. "I'm going out for a little while, Polly," she said; "and while I'm gone you may make up the bed in the east chamber." Polly was amazed. Of course nobody in the town would come to stay all night; and Miss Lois had had no letters for a few days; besides, there had been no extra cooking. What could it mean? But, being an obedient little maid, she did as she was bid. Bed-making was an extra science with Polly, who had been carefully trained in it by Miss Lois; so the feather-bed was rolled and thumped until it stood up a great fluffy mounted to be laborously and critically NO. 11. rNSWWr&PBS LAWS If subscribers odtr t(ie nfflre to which the* are sent they are held responsible until thev hare settled the bills aiid ordered them discontinued. If subscribers move toother places without in forming the publisher, and Uio newspapers are sent to the former utsee. thev are r*o>onblble, ADVERTISING RATBS, 1 wk. 1 mo. 8 loos. 6 ino* J yea 1 square f 200 *4 00 f 800 |6 00 I* 05 H " 700 10 00 15 00 .10 00 40 00 1 * 4 10 00 15 00 25 00 45 00 75 00 One Inch makes a square. Administrators* and Executors' Notices fcl-50. Transient adver tlsements nnd locals 10 cents per line for first insertion and 5 cents per line for each additton affnsertlon' leveled with the broom-handle, Polly's arras being far too short for the pur pose. ,Then the lavender-scented sheets were carefully laid on, with due regard to wide h*m and narrow hem ,the home spun blanKet, with its herririg-bone bolder, was spread* without a wrinkle and tucked under the smoothly-rounded edges, and over all went the big white counterpane. It was a sight to do your eyes good. Polly was standing with the end ol* a pillow between her teeth, her head very far back, trying to slip the pillow case on, when there was a sound of wheels at the door. Without letting go the pillow she managed to apply one eye to the shutter. It was the public carriage, and, wonder of wonders, the doctor got out, then Miss Lois, and, with the help of the man was taken out and caried tip the walk. But other eyes than Holly's had been busy and within forty-eight hours ev erybody in Springvale knew that Miss Lois had recognized an old friend in the peddler and had taken bim home to nurse. And I think that it is to the credit of human nature that, while a few said : "Did you ever ?"and "How it looks ?" the majority approved of the act and only hoped Miss Lois wouldn't get sick herself. But Miss Lois' kindness was not to be taxed long. Hhe man failed rapidly, and another hemmorrhage made the end certain. lie was delirious most of the time, aud taJkec' much of "Mary" and "Willie" and names strange to Mfks Lois; but as the end drew near he ceased muttering, and lay apparently unconscious. That night, as she sat beside nim, be looked up suddenly, his eyes bright and clear. "Why, Lois J" he said. He made an effort to speak, his eye lids|quivered, a breath—and a second time he had gone on a long jonrney, leaving her behind him. When the town authorities came to make arrangements tor the funeral, Miss Lois asked that he be buried in her own lot, for in the months of her homesickness she had bad the remains of her father and mother brought from • their bleak hillside graves to rest near her. 80 he was laid besides his old townsman, and a few months after a plain marble slab was placed at his head, bearing only the name "David Price," with the date of death, and his age, "52 years." When Miss Lois wore the gray dress agaiu Polly noticed that the lavender ribbons were gone, and about this time people said to each other that Miss Lois was beginning to show her age. Not that she grew gray and wrinkled sud denly; but there was 9. change. It was not her that was changed, for her friends found her more and more de- lightfu), and her house was the fayorite stopping-place for young and old. She seemed to have a special tenderness for young girls, and many confidences, blushing or tearful were pcured into the sympathetic ear, and many were the lovers' quarrels healed by her gentle counsels. She used to say sometimes in a wistful way : *'l want them to have all the happiness I haye missed." But her sympathies were not confined to the young ; they overflowed on all who needed them. Discouraged men and women slouched into her gate at nig!itfall,and came ont with their faces lifted and fresh hope in their hearts. Naughty boys,who deserved and dread ed the rod, knocked meekly at her back door for help, which was always given, given, mingled with such wholesome reproof that a boy seldom came twice on the same errand. Even hurt and homeless animal 9 seemed to know by instinct where to find an asylum, and took the shortest route to Miss Lois' door, and Dot one was turned away un helped. So the peaceful years slipped away, until one day her friends gathered to keep her eightieth birthday ; and they ajd,to each other how well Miss Lois was looking, and that they hoped to keep her for another ten years; and the house was gay with flowers and little children,and Miss Lois beamed on them until her face seemed transfigured. That night,as Polly,now grown staid and eldery, went up to her room, she stopped to see if her mistress wa com fortable for the night. She found her sitting in her great arm-chair, her head resting lightly against the cushions,and her eyes closed as though in quiet sleep. But it was the long sleep. One hand rested upon a package of y llow letters, and the thin forefinger of the other had stopped at a verse in the open Bible in her lav; and when they laised the stiff ening hands they read the words?.' Even Christ pleased not Himself.' Old and faithful friends gathered up hei treasures,and when in looking over her papers they came to the package of yellow letters and read the signatures, they suddenly remembered the name on the stone in the graveyard, and looked at each other with pitying eyes, half guessing the atory ; but the story was ended. 'I am surprised, John,' said the old lady when she fouud the butler helping himself to some of the fluestold port. •So am I, ma'am, I thought you had gone out,' was the reply.