He turned on his heel towards the barn.

Lucile went into the house. That chapter in her life was closed irrevocably. But a sudden thought flashed across her mind: What if Emerson were to owe some of his happiness to her, whose love was so despised? Sabrina was not made for the discipline. of poverty; she would harden under it, and sink into the aimless life of a disappointed woman, a drag upon her husband. And he-how passionately Lucile felt his limitations!-he, too, would grow coarse and indifferent, the friction of a sordid home and unprogressive business daily wearing away what finer points of character he had.

"Uncle Si," she said to that worthy man the next day, "it'll be better not to worry Aunt Juliana about thatabout Sabrina. She don't like Emerson."

But could she herself take her aunt's money at the cost of what her aunt demanded? A hateful promise it seemed-false, because she could only give it now that she knew it could never be acted upon. The doctor forbade the hope that the old woman might recover. Lucile knew that one word of Emerson and Sabrina's plans would settle the matter beyond her help. Yet she could not say that word. So long as she refused to humble her pride, there was the chance that her aunt would leave it all to Sabrina. She knew instinctively that her aunt had calculated on Sabrina's fascination to detach Emerson from herself, though the old lady's intense dislike to him blinded her to the possibility of his pleasing the girl's fancy in turn. She expected Sabrina to amuse herself and then throw him over. Weary with her miserable problem, Lucile sank into troubled sleep, to wake and face another day of irresolution and pain.

"Ain't Silas took any word ter Mr. Dean, Lucile?”

Lucile started at the sudden question put with all her aunt's old abrupt decision, despite her weakness.

"I don't know, Aunt Ju."

"I guess you don't want ter know. You jest go out ter the barn an' tell him ter hitch up right away. I'm a goin' to hev my affairs settled up."

"Don't you feel as well to-day?" Lucile put the question timidly as she laid aside her work.

"Well!" The sick woman gave a short, hard laugh. "I dunno's you'd care, anyway, Lucile Thompson." "O Aunt Ju, it's all wrong; you don't understand."

"Oh, I understand fast enough. You go and tell Silas."

When the noise of Silas Thompson's departure died away, the invalid sank into a long silence, broken only by the faint rustle of Lucile's work. At length she rose to prepare her aunt for the lawyer's visit. As she turned to set down a cup, the old woman's withered hand clutched at her sleeve.

"Lucile, you ain't goin' ter be obstinate! That money's fer you. You won't let that triflin' Emerson come between us at the last?"

There was both coercion and appeal in her voice. The girl's heart answered to the half expressed tenderness.

"Dear Aunt Ju, won't you understand? There's no need of a silly promise. I'm a born old maid," she added with the ghost of a laugh.

"Oh! if that's it you needn't be so scared ter tell me you'd never marry Emerson Buell."

"I can't, Aunt Ju." There were tears in Lucile's voice. "I can't promise to refuse what will never be mine to take."

The old woman's anger rose. "I tell you one thing you can't do, Lucile Thompson, you can't fool me. I s'pose you're goin' to wait tell I'm gone-it won't be a great whileso's you can hev him and the money I've slaved for too. I dunno what you call it; I call it mighty like lyin'an' I brought you up honest."

Lucile's cheeks flamed. "Emerson Buell hasn't a thought of me, or of your money, Aunt Ju. And I don't want your money either, and I can't

talk about it. Leave it to anybody you want."

"I never supposed I'd have ter feel Sabriny was more ter me than you. At any rate, she'd have more proper pride than ter throw herself away."

Lucile turned to the window to hide her face.

Uncle Silas ushered Mr. Dean into the room with a solemnity befitting the occasion, and the few preliminaries were quickly disposed of. Aunt Juliana hesitated long to name the legatee. She looked wistfully at Lucile, but Sabrina's name was inserted, and the two hired men were fetched in to witness the signature.

Mrs. Alling ran in the next morning, installed herself as nurse, and ordered Lucile to rest.

"But Mrs. Alling, I must be here when she rouses up again."

Mrs. Alling shook her head doubtfully. "I d'know, it don't seem likely she's goin' ter know anything ag'in." "Oh, you can't think that; she's been so before."

Mrs. Alling's kindness prevailed and Lucile only begged to be called if there were a change. Left alone, Mrs. Alling settled herself in a rocker which commanded at once a view of the road and of the bed. The sick woman had ceased her plucking at the sheet, and lay so still that at length the watcher crossed on tiptoe to listen for her breath. It came feebly, but with the regularity of natural sleep; and Mrs. Alling returned to her chair, pondering on the toughness of the Thompson constitution. A curt question from the bed startled her.

"Where's Lucile?"

She went over to the bed. "Why, she was tired out, and I jest packed her off ter git rested. She didn't want ter leave you, but I said I'd fetch her soon's you was awake."

"I don't want her."

The sharp, ungracious tone jarred on Mrs. Alling. "Why, Mis' Thompson!"

"I tell you I'm done with her, an' I don't want no talk about it."

Mrs. Alling was silent. She devoted herself to feeding her patient, who, propped up on the pillows, muttered to herself and glared at her companion's puzzled face.

"Sarah Jane Alling," at last she broke out, "I guess you think Lucile's a saint, an' I'm a cranky old woman not equi t' appreciatin' her." She stopped for breath, and then added emphatically: "That's all folks know."

Mrs. Alling's mild voice interposed. ""Tain't in Lucile to be anyways but kind an' good."

"Kind-and-good!

There's jest

-one thing's I wanted her ter do,an' she's too set ter do it. She'll doanything-'cept the one think I arsk her. If I thought there was a girl in creation as hed too much sense ter run after such a feller, 'twas Lucile."

"Land sakes, Mis' Thompson, Lucile ain't had no time fer fellers sence you've been sick. I ain't seen her speak t' a man, less it's Silas or Emerson Buell."

The old woman clutched at the bedclothes. "Emerson Buell! I wish ter the Lord he'd stayed where he belonged!"

"But fer mercy's sake, Mis' Thompson, what's he got ter do with Lucile an' you?"

The excited tones had roused Lucile; she stepped into the room and made a hasty move forward.

Mrs. Alling's broad back was towards her as she went on: "Ain't Lucile told you? He's goin' ter git married ter Sabriny."

She stepped back in dismay, terrified by the expression on the old woman's face, and she saw Lucile, with fear, regret and helplessness in her eyes.

"Lucile- Lucile you lied fer”. Rage, pain and defeat were in the old woman's hoarse cry.

The words died into an inarticulate muttering, the mouth worked in a fruitless effort for words, the look of futile agony froze into a dumb horror, as the light of consciousness faded, while Lucile, shaking with sobs, dropped by the bedside.

CITY OF PROVIDENCE

ANCORPORATED

FOUNDED

Nin

O city the United States is at the present time making greater preparations for the future than the city of Providence. Her citizens believe that she is destined to occupy an important place in the development of the nation during the coming years, and they have shown their faith by inaugurating a comprehensive series of both public and private improvements, which will put the city in the very front rank of American municipalities.

The story of the founding of Providence combines many elements of the highest human interest. The unique and strong character of Roger Williams, his varied career, his philosophy, and the substantially new experiment in government which he inaugurated

and

REDRAWN AFTER A SKETCH BY F. E. DODGE.

successfully carried out, all unite to make the work which he and his associates performed of more importance than the size of the colony they formed would otherwise give it.

About the first of May, 1636, Williams, after fleeing through the forest. from the persecutions of the Massachusetts colony, was joined by William Harris, John Smith, Joshua Verin, Thomas Angell and Francis Wickes, and a settlement was begun on the east bank of the Seekonk river, within the present limits of East Providence. Finding, however, that the settlement was within the bounds of the Plymouth colony, Williams and his five associates early in June embarked in a canoe and

FROM THE ARCHITECTS' SKETCH.

THE NEW STATE HOUSE.

paddled down the Seekonk, through the broad tidal basin now the harbor, past the two headlands of India and Fox Point, and proceeded up the "great salt river," as they at first called. the Providence river, until they reached a beautiful and spacious cove into which two clear rivers flowed. On the northeast shore of this cove, at the mouth of one of the rivers, they picked out a spot close by a running spring, for a settlement. Williams, in gratitude for "God's Merciful Providence," and in recognition, as he believed, of divine guidance, named the settlement. "Providence." On their way down. the Seekonk, they are said to have been hailed by an Indian from a rock on the west bank, with the words, "What cheer, Netop?" and to have held a parley with this Indian. The rock on the Seekonk has always been

*The illustrations used in this article are from photos by Leander Baker, Providence.

known as "What Cheer," while the city's seal embodies a representation of this legendary event.

Roger Williams bought, at the time of the settlement-it is supposed by a verbal bargain from Canonicus and Miantonomi, the two chief sachems of the Narragansetts-the land which now forms the city's territory. This purchase was confirmed by a deed signed by the two chiefs, March 24, 1637, which deed also gave rights to considerable sections of the adjoining regions; a memorandum to this deed, dated March 9, 1639, and acknowledged by Miantonomi, confirmed the previous grant and gave the use of the territory "up the streams of Pawtucket and Pawtuxet without limit," "for our use of cattle." This language could be interpreted to embrace practically the whole northern portion of the present state of Rhode Island; and that was the interpretation put upon