Clarksville chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1857-1865, 1860-12-14
I" LITTLE MRS. HAYNES.
BY MARGARET VERNE.

1t was an eventful era in my young life
when my father announced his intention
of renting the light, airy southern cham
ber of our old brown house to young
portrait painter who was about becoming
resident in our village during few weeks
of the summer Never before had an event
SO stirring and exciting broken over
the monotony of my existence. Never be-
fore had my childish imagination been fur
nished with so wide field of action, or pay
little heart throbbed or palpitated with
such strange mixture of wonder and de-
| light. A portrait painter under our own
roof, within the walls of my own home-
What rare chance for my inquisitive eyes
to draw in new fund of knowledge! What
an object of envy l should be to my little
mates, and how daintily would 1 mete out
to them what l learned from day to day Of
the wondrous employment
had heard of portrait painters before,
it is true, but only as had heard aud read
of fairies in my little story books, or lis
tened to my father as he talked of kings
and courticrs in great world afar Off
Upon our parlor walls, from my earliest
remembrance, had hung portraits Of my
grandfathers and grandmothers, but had
no idea how their faces become stamped on
the dark canvass, or when or by whom their
shadows had been fixed within the heavy
gilt frames. Like the trees that waved
by the door, aud the lilacs that bloomed
every year by the old gate, they had to me
always been so.
But now my eyes were to rest upon the
face of one whose existence had been like
myth, fablel What dark visage he
would boast, and what a monstrous, giant
like forml How entirely unlike every
person that had ever seen or known would
be this portrait painter.
While these speculations were at their
height in my busy bi ain the hero made his
appearance, scattering them mercilessly to
the four winds. There was nothing giant
like in the 1.-THE, graceful figure that spraag
from the village coach, or dark in the
pleasant, boyish face, shaded by soft mass.
es Of soft brown hair, and lit up by mer-
ry pair of blue eyes, running over with
mirth and mischief. His name, too, quite
like the generality of names, had nothing
striking or wonderful by which to charac.
terize it. He was simply Frank HayHes
nothing more or less and when, with q
pleasant easy grace, he sought to win my
childish favor should have been quite al
G home, had not the stunning knowledge Of
his art overpowered me.
1t was strange freak for child Of ten
E summers, but somehow it crept into my bs
by brain that must not like him, although
all the while, in spite of myself, prefer
ence for his opinions, ways and looks, grew
= up strong within me. If he spoke to me
. when any one was observing him, shranI
away from him timidly, but when we were
: alone, / ehattsd and chirruped like I
q young robin. thiRk he must have no
y y ticed this, and from it taken into his heaC
a the boyish idea of teaEing me. To him
n he said, l was little Phebe Lester no lon
i ger, nov that he knew how much eareC
: for him. For the future he should call M
= Mrs. Haynes little Mrs. Haynes, anC
Il should be sorry if everybody in the hous
did not follow his example. must no
J ever have any little beaux among th
: : school boys, now that my name was chan
' ged but must be prim and proper, lik
il any married woman who was faithful &
Is her husband.
ss "Would agree to this?" he asked.
9 / glanced up from the hem Of my whit
st muslin apron, which had been twisting
; about my fingers, to meet my mothers ey
i. fixed laughingly on my face. In mo
y ment my lips were closed absolutely, Will
/ ne, seeing at once the cause Of my silence
'rcaohed out Of the window aud plueked