C. C. ROBERTS
MABEL ASHTON'S DREAM
As the guests came together in the brilliantly lighted parlors at the home
of Mabel Ashton that crisp winter evening, there was nothing unusual in the
appearance of the rooms to indicate that the party to which they had been
invited was to be in any respect different from the round of gaiety to
which they had been devoting themselves for the greater part of the winter.
Some of the guests, as they greeted their young hostess, noticed an unusual
degree of nervousness in her manner, but, attributing it to the excitement
of preparation and anticipation, thought no more of it, and all were soon
engaged in conversation.
The musicians were in their places, and the young people were beginning to
wonder why the signal was not given for the orchestra to strike up, when
Mabel Ashton, her sweet face flushed and pale by turns, took her stand near
the musicians. After closing her eyes for a moment, during which the room
became perfectly still, in a voice at first trembling, but clear and
steady, she said:--
"Friends, I know you will think me very queer; but before we do anything
else, I must tell you a little story.
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