The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1863-06-05

secret away from tho prying, curious gaze OF
those who were searching for it.
did not often meet John, and but twice
during that summer werc we thrown into
each others company for n sufficient length
of time to exchange dozen words. Once
we met at a picnic. From the moment that
stepped upon the grounds | knew that he
was intending to speak to me. Perhaps felt
it by the way he watched me rs went from
place to place. When he came to my side,
It seemed that the whole party hushed voice.
heart and soul to listen to us. He smiled ut
this, and commenced talking in pleasant,
gosspy way about tho weather, appearing
not to notice my flushed faco and slightly
disturbed manner.
Are you enjoying tho best of health, this
summcr?' he asked, ut length, with, rs |
thought, faint touch Of mischief in his
countenance.
Tho very best of health, Mr.. Blaiklie,' /
answered, curling my lip. perhaps you
have been informed to the contrary, how
ever" continued, moro in answer to his
smile than aught else. 'Cranston gossips
have, believe, given me the credit OF bear
ing up under settled heart disease
They arc inferior judges, Bessie. Do not
class me among them
Il never have, answered, drily.
NO, Isuppose not, hc said, smiling again.
This is beautiful grovc'
Very answered, feeling that it was my
turn to smile now.
Have you noticed the arrangements made
for daucers?'
shook my head.
Come this way, then, II you please,
Hc offered me his arm, which took with
out thinking to thank him. For little mo
mcnt forgot that tho right Of claiming his
attention was not mine. 1t seemed so like old
times to be walking by his side, watching his
face and listening TO the tones OF his voice.
Before l could help it, | found myself sigh
ing long and deeply. lf John noticed it he
was very forbearing, for by look or word hc
did not reply to it (; but thought the silence
was little too long for an ordinary one, and
so made bold push to break it. Again /
forgot myself.
'What nice place this is l said. DO
you remember, John, how crazy used to be
about dancing? My father used to say il
my heart would always keep as light us my
feet. life would go easily with me-
yes, yes, | remember he replied, as ]
thought, little sadly. 'Will you dance with
me to.day?'
'Oh! yes. certainly
was glad to have him ask me that. or
all persons in the world. best loved to dance
with him. had told him so hundreds of
times, too. so. that he knew well enough
what my smile meant. We danced together SO
many times that day, that the Cranston peo.
pie, or ut least all Of them that attended the
picnic, grew big eyed with wonder. Motto.
ing how close they watched us, John said,
rs he led me to my seat for the last time, af.
ter dancing
I'VE have saved our good townsfolks from
n great deal Of sin, Bessie; because while
specializing about such innocent sort Of
people us you and |, they cannot be talking
about worse ones. Wenre getting famous.
was happier that night, after | returned
home than had been for weeks before. But
my happiness was Of short duration, for after
the supper was cleared away, and while sat
bv an open window. recalling the events Of
the day, my mother said to me
'Your aunt Hastings was here to-day, and
she said that John Blaiklie was finishing his
house on the hill. Did you hear anything
about it at the picnic|
NO. l said, scarcely above whisper.
'And she said that if Fannie was going to
marry John. she kept It dreadful sly; for,
besides piccing up few squares Of patch.
work, she has not made the first step towards
getting ready. What do you think about itT
Il think she will bc ready as soon as tho
house is, answered, turning my face toward
tho window, that she might not notice the
expression Of my features.
well, take it all together, Bessie, 'it's q
queer piece of business
did not answer, but only let my forehead
droop low upon tho window seat. Seeing this.
mother camc up to me. and rested her hand
upon my head and said
Poor child =
How from my heart ] blessed her for her
quiet sympathy.
The next two weeks that followed were sad
and tedious ones to me. Every way that
turned, news of John Blaiklie's approaching
marriage with cousin Fannie was poured into
my ears; and even Fannie herself, who had
always been very prudent about it, seemed
pleased in telling INC Of the arrangements that
were going on up ut Johns new housc-of
this piece OF furniture he had selected, of the
carpets which had been left to her judgement
exclusively, and of the beautiful toned sera.
phinc that Johns uncle had presented him
for the little parlor.
You will be very happy said, one day.
in answer TO all this.
Fannie looked up suddenly into my face.
thought quizzical expression driftcd across
her features.
How pale you look, Bessie, she said
what is the matter with you?'
Nothing, am sure, answered, with
some little show Of spirit.
81 am glad Of il; but, indeed, you do look
downright i'll. Won't you 90 up to the new
house with me tonight? Perhaps tha, will
make you fell better. believe you keep too
closely in the house. But you need not
shake your head you will go. John will be
there, and we will have o pleasant timo of
it,
Iwcnt, in spite Of myself. although every
step towards the house that was once to have
been mine was like very torture to me.
Oh what pleasant house IL was; and
how simply aud tastefully furnished, from
the cunning, neatly grained kitchen to the
we'll carpeted parlors. Everything was just
ns had planned it, hundred times, in a
laughing, jocoSc way to John. Had hO, in