The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1863-05-08

FANNIE AND L.

you," l said in tone which meant
should be particularly severe. "Let the
conversation end here"
Mr.. John Blaikle laughed in my face,
which by the way, was just what he
ought not to have done. The conse-
|. quence was that l grew angry in a mo-
ment.
"You can laugh as much as you please, !"
l continued. "There is certain class of
people in the world that characterize
themselves by laughing at their own fol-
ly. You have heard of them, haven't
your"
go, yes!"
Again John Blaiklie laughed good ma
tured, happy laugh, which did not testify
very strongly for the depth of his anguish
at my decision. OF course I grew more
and more piqued; nothing more could
have been expected of me-
"You are very gentlemanly, Mr.. Blaik-
lie," | said, in tone which | meant
should be very sarcastic.
"And l am aware of that, too, my little
Bessie" he answered good naturally.
"Cousin Fannie admires you very
much," l said, significantly, for moment
forgetting my anger.
"She does?"
He grew suddenly thoughtful, and bent
his large, honest blue eyes to the floor.
Then as if a new resolution had suddenly
become fixed in his mind, he arose, saying,
You are quite sure of this, Bessie,
quite sure?"
eyes, quite sure. If you wish to try
your luck in that direction, you may be
certain of success
"Thank you, Miss Bessie l acM try"
"Miss Bessie!" In all his life John
Blaiklie had never addressed me in that
way before. stared at him in very sur
prise. He did not appear to notice me,
but went towards the door, saying, little
sadly, | thought, as he paused at the
| threshold:
81 have troubled you, not importunate-
ly, Bessie, but because, until now, have
| been ignorant of your true feelings The
future shall speak for itself. Good morn
ing!"
"Good morning. l faltered forth, still
staring at him in blank amazement. For
a moment could not really believe that
he had gone-not until his footsteps grew
faint in the distance, and looking out of
the window could but dimly see his tall
| figure through the thick mass of shrubbery
that lay between the house and the road T.:
then l drew long sigh, not of relief, l
am sure, as might have been expected
from a young lady who had suddenly found
herself ridded of an annoying lover, but a
sigh which puzzled my own heart to de-
fine. do not know what first put the
thought iuto my head that l should not
marry John Blaiklie. From my childhood,
even, had been taught to look upon him
as my future husband Through the whole
neighborhood our engagement had grown
to be such settled affair, and of such
long standing that the people forgot to
tease us about it, and passed by US as in
differently as though we had been mar
ried couple for years, instead ofinteresting,
engaged young persons. But somehow,
as said before, l cannot tell why it came
to me, the idea that marrying John Blaik-
lie was not the best way of settling myself
for life, after all ana so, working upon
this, grew to believe that did not love
| him-and not loving him, what could | do
| but assure him that | should never be his
wife? And that assurance / gave him as
| have already shown.
But after he left me that morning, |
felt anything but comfortable; indeed the
tears came constantly to my eyes, and
| though | tried as well as | could to keep
them down, they conquered me at last,
and sinking down in my chair, gave up
and had good hearty cry. felt little
| better after that, and tried to persuade
/ myself, in my own mind, that l had done
just the best thing I could do for the in
surance OF Johns and my own happiness.
| But the worst was yet to come
The next Sabbath John attended Cousin
Fannie to church. This was such new
and strange order of things, that it set the
whole congregation to staring. Cranston
could not sleep under anything so incom-
prehensible, and for the Sabbath, at least,
| good Parson Green preached to wakefnl
set of hearers. But they could only con.
lecture as to the cause of the change, and
conjecture they did without leaving but
little time for any mental speculation.
Some were ready to declare that Cousin
Fannie had supplanted me in Johns attec-
ton, and that | was breaking my heart in
a secret kind of way about it; others said
IAstO CuO loulU ASStSu Ill anu L W d.
looking in another and higher direction for
a lover. But had the truth, and most
sacredly did l guard it. 1t grew to be a
very plain truth before the summer was
gone. AS time wore away, and l saw
plainly into the depths of my heart, |
knew that for a childish, girlish whim,
had put the happiness of a lifetime
away from me. But l could only wear
brave face, and keep my secret away from
the prying, curious gaze of those who were
searching for it.
did not often meet John, and but twice
during that summer were we thrown into
each others company for sufficient length
of time to exchange dozen words. Once
we met at a picnic. From the moment
that l stepped upon the grounds l knew
that he was intending to speak to ME. Per-
haps felt it by the way he watched me as
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 at this, and commenced
talking in pleasant, gossipy way about
the weather, appearing not to notice my
flushed face and slightly disturbed manner
A A.