[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER VOL. XX.—NO. 1021.] JULY 22, 1899. [PRICE ONE PENNY.] AFTER THE STORM. BY SARAH DOUDNEY. Patience! for the strife is o’er; Weary wave and dying blast Beat and moan around the shore; Peace must come at last. Lo! the seagull’s silver wing Flashes in the sunset gold; Wait, another morn shall bring Gladness, as of old. Sunlight on the yellow strand, Shadows lying still and clear, Pearly fringes on the sand; Murmurs, sweet to hear. Storms of life must have their way Ere these changeful years may cease; Foam and tempest for to-day, And to-morrow—peace. Never till the fight is won, And the bitter draught is drained— Never till the storm is done Shall thy rest be gained. Waves and winds fulfil His word; Thou, like them, shalt do His will, Waiting till His voice is heard Saying, “Peace, be still.” [Illustration] _All rights reserved._] THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH. BY ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object in Life,” etc. CHAPTER XVII. LIFE’S LITTLE AMENITIES. Determined to do all she could to please Florence, Lucy donned a pretty evening dress which she had already worn on the few occasions when she and Charlie had left their “ain fireside.” She had freshened it up with white net ruching about the throat and arms. She indulged herself with a cluster of roses, and in order to arrive as early as possible, she treated herself to a cab, though otherwise, in the warm summer evening, her thrifty inclination would have been to shroud herself in a cloak and eke out the journey by an omnibus. Still there seemed something exhilarating in the little outburst of elegance, ease and harmless “extravagance.” For once, surely, Florence would be quite satisfied. And certainly Mrs. Brand’s glance swept all over Lucy, from her little comb to her very shoes, even before she kissed her. Mrs. Brand was not yet in her drawing-room awaiting her guests, but in her own apartment completing her dinner toilet. A tired sullen-looking servant was in attendance, and was curtly dismissed by her mistress when Lucy came in. “It’s getting late, Lucy,” said Mrs. Brand, “and the few minutes we can have now is all the time we shall enjoy together. If I want a hand, you’ll help me, won’t you? I’m glad to get rid of Sophy, she’s so stupid and clumsy.” “You haven’t started a maid, have you, Flo?” asked Mrs. Challoner. Her sister looked at her, half-bewildered, then replied—