KITTY MAYNARD.
ALL that I have about Maurice happened in the spring. Early in the summer he went with his mamma to the country to spend three months with grandma and grandpa Seyton.
Papa's business kept him in the city, but he came down to F— every Saturday night, and promised to try hard for a two weeks' vacation in August.
Almost the first question Mrs. Seyton asked was,—
"How is Kitty Maynard?"
"About the same," was grandma's answer. "She has convulsions nearly every day; but she's the most patient, cheerful creature I ever heard of."
"Who is Kitty Maynard, mamma? And what is the matter with her?"
"I must go and see her to-morrow," remarked the lady, not answering her son. "Indeed I generally make my first visit there."
"The pieces of silk and velvet you sent, did her a world of good," grandma went on. "I believe the cushions and knickknacks she's made of them have brought her in near thirty dollars. Poor thing, you ought to have seen her when I unrolled the bundle and laid 'em out, one by one. You'd have thought she'd had a present of a mine of gold. She worked and worked with her poor deformed hands, trying to hold them up and plan what they'd make, till my heart fairly ached. And all the time not a lisp of complaint or impatience."
"Her happy disposition makes her an object of envy," remarked Maurice's mamma.