The Middlebury people's press. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1841-1843, 1842-12-28

, of tenderness in throbbing pulses in bur
!; ming cheeks; in fearful eyes. On boil
, sides there was doubt; with both, also
J there was hope.
| How soon do you return to the city
Madeline ? inquired the young schoolmas
: ter, as they paused at the brink of the little
brook which was rejoicing in the freedom
, brought it by the first warm days of spring
, Indeed, said Madeline starting; Il have
scarcely thought. As came with the de.
: sign of cheering merely the wintry hours to
my Aunt, shall have no excuse to prolong
: my stay now that beautiful Spring has
come
But we shall have many gloomy days
yet Our Spring, you know, is exceedingly
, capricious. And when those gloomy DAYS
come, Aunt Lydia will be more lonely than
ever, if you are gone. And some one else
will be lonely, too, Madeline
Il confess, Henry, 1 shall be sorry to
leave. My visit has been very pleasant here,
and scarcely know when can pass other
days as happily. But suppose you, also,
were soon to leave
In one month Madeline In one month
from this shall be welcomed home to my
fathers house To that home shall carry
the sweet picture which is painted on my
heart; and it will be cherished there with
tenfold sacredness.'
a Dreading what was to follow, Madeline
said hastily, and in a voice which to Hen
RVS ear sounded cold and constrained, I'VE
must return to the house, Mr.. Waldo. Aunt
Lydia will be awaiting u.s.
Mr. Waldo obeyed in silence. She
is offended that love her, thought he
Well, / will not annoy her with protesta-
tons. | have strength, thank God, to smoth-
err my feelings in my own SOUL
! From this time his visits to Uncle Jo-
tham's became very rare; and when he did
call, his intercourse with Madeline was
constrained and brief Aunt Lydia noticed
the change but forbore to mention it to Ell
Their party, feeling that she had perhaps al
ready gone too far in countenancing their
intimacy. Henry was so young and desti-
tute, she reasoned. He had not yet acquir-
ed his education, nor formed his character;
long engagements were usually unfortu-
nate his feelings might very naturally
change as he grew older,-and Madeline,
too, was his senior.-She was liable to be
sought by persons of more suitable age and
conditicn.-All things future, too, were so
uncertain,-it was, doubtless, altogether
best the intimacy should cease
1t was bright afternoon in April, there
was a soft Indian summer haze in the at
mosphere through which the sunbeams fell,
warm and golden, upon the dappled slopes,
and through the interstices of the trees into
the paths of the woodlands.
Madeline was walking alone in the grassy
lane of the woodland that bordered the vii
lage stream. On her arm hung willow
basket half full of wild roots, buds, and
herbs. In her hand she carried stout
case-knife which she used for digging and
cutting, but by the stains upon her fingers.
it was evident she was not afraid to make
use of those also.
The glow of exercise was upon her
cheeks, and a corresponding brightness in
her gentle blue eyes. Nevertheless, a
slight expression of trouble now and then
| fitted like a shadow acorss her fair brow.
Still she went on culling her simples as in
dustriously as though her heart had been
overlooking with joy. She was kneeling
to gather some sprigs of the Chimaphila,
when the sound of approaching footsteps
startled her. Rising hastily, she encoun-
tered the young schoolmaster He was look
ing pale and sad. Dropping her knife up
on the ground, she a!fectionately extended
her hand. He took it, pressed it gently,
but instantly released it.
You are sick, Henry she said. 9 1t is
long while since have seen you.
thought YOU had forgotten me- Are you
not i'll p
! Not at all. If l were, it would be but
matter of little concern to you
Henry There was whole volume of
reproach in this simple exclamation, and it
thrilled to the young mans heart. For
give me- he said. ought not to doubt
the kindness of your heart after the proof
you have recently given oft. have heard
of your good deeds to old lady Winston
ooh no particular goodness, Henry. The
old woman was alone, and sick Everybody
else was occupied. | had nothing to do
but nurse her. She is now nearly recover
ed She thinks she should be perfectly
well II she could only have glass of dire
drink, as she calls it, occasionally. She
dared trust no one to gather the herbs for
her, for fear ofpoison, being too blind to in
spect them herself told her Twas perfectly
au fat TO the business-that | knew every
herb and bush and tree, as well as the med
icinal qualities of earth. This she at first
doubted. |, who had always lived in city,
she said, what could | know of'drbs ? By
naming over a long list, and specifying the
particular properties of each, she was finally
convinced. She consented to trust me
so you see in the basket yonder, the result
of my last hours employment
ooh Madeline said the young man
somewhat bitterly. You who are so kind
to every living thing, however humble and
unnoticed by others, why is it that you are
alone cruel to me ?
Cruel, Henryl l certainly have not
been-at least not intentionally
You have been cold, Madeline She