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Ivy's father was an insurance man, alderman of his ward, president of the Civic Improvement club, member of five lodges, and an habitual delegate. It generally was he who introduced distinguished guests who spoke at the opera house on Decoration Day. He called Mrs. Keller "Mother," and he wasn't above noticing the fit of a gown on a pretty feminine figure.

And now, what mercy could I expect from him? He would trade on mine if he knew it. He would hunt the old fraud out, and stick to the money for a year. Ivy's money. And I haven't kept a penny for myself. How am I going to live for a year. A year! In a year there will be no sun in the sky for her father."

Ivy's been after me agin to send him to the Widows and Orphans' Home. She says she can git him in, and they'll learn him to read and write." "Well, he ain't goin'! I guess as long as I'm a payin' the grocery bills, I got a right to say who'll eat the food! What's that you are hidin'?" Maria, who had been attempting to remove something surreptitiously from the table, looked apologetic.

"Anything very special?" inquired the proprietor. "He's rather busy just now. Wouldn't anybody else do? Of course, if " "No," growled Keller. The boss turned. "Hi! Schlachweiler!" he bawled toward the rear of the dim little shop. "Yessir," answered a muffled voice. "Front!" yelled the boss, and withdrew to a safe listening distance. A vaguely troubled look lurked in the depths of Ivy's eyes.

He didn't seem to be interested in my conversation, so I thought I'd liven it up a bit by saying I was a friend of Lord Ivy's. And you happened to pass, and I happened to remember Mrs. Shaw saying you looked like a British peer, so I said: 'That is my friend Lord Ivy. I said I was your secretary, and he seemed greatly interested, and " Kinney added dismally, "I talked too much.

It happened that her attire was to-day even more careless than usual, for, the weather being wet and cold, she had just thrown a cloak over the frock in which she lounged at home, and driven out in a cab with the thought of stepping directly into Ivy's sanctum.

Why, the ivy's hanging right down through the top." "Yes," said Waller: "plenty of ivy here. Now you'd like to see the library?" This was looked into, and then a slight search was made of what Waller called the schoolroom, and a little, old-fashioned boudoir. "That's all here," said the boy, "except the servant's places." "What about the cellar, sir?" said the sergeant.

"What you need," came the murmur of Mrs. Ivy's voice from the next room, where she was taking leave of Maria Flathers, "is more beauty in your home, something to uplift you and inspire you. I am going to send you one of our traveling art galleries, you may keep the pictures a whole week, long enough to learn the titles and the names of the painters.

Geer's entrance, and he now expressed his regret for Ivy's illness, and hoped that she would soon be well, and able to resume her studies; and, with a few words of interest and inquiry to Mrs. Geer, took his leave. "I wonder if Mrs. Simm has been putting her foot in it!" thought he, as he stalked home rather more energetically than was his custom.

Frequent down this greenwood dale Mourns the warbling nightingale, Nestling 'mid the thickest screen Of the ivy's darksome green, Or where each empurpled shoot Drooping with its myriad fruit, Curl'd in many a mazy twine, Droops the never-trodden vine. ANSTICE.