The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1864-11-18
MAKING HAY.
Maudc Muller on many a summer day,

Mludc Muller on many summer uRy,
RiSed the meadows sweet with hay.
Paul Clifford stood leaning on his rake
with halt shut eyes and dreamy mir listening
to the trills OF u bobolink that perched on
the topmost branch of swaying elm across
the meadow. was filling the glorious morn
ing air with brilliant flashes OF song in II
hundred different tongues. Paul had the SOU
of true poet, and what with the clear June
air, the smell OF new mown clover and lilies
the fash Of the undried dew on the trees and
grass, the rich bird song and the memory oI
pair Of bright eyes he had seen that morn.
ing, he had 50 far lost himself that he was
wholly unconscious of the neighborhood ol
any human baing, until u clear, round voice
at his elbow syllabled forth in peremptory
tone:
"Lct mo have that rake; I'm going to
make hay"
Paul opened his eyes very wide and turned
round very quick, to find himself looking IN
to the eyes he had been dreaming about, and
rs he took u survey of their owner, he saw
what he iiad failed before to note, that the
face to which those ''soul windows" belonged
was very pretty face, would have been very
pretty bnt for IN expression OF scornlnl IN.
difference, almost supercilious, that lurked
in every feature, from the curs that clustered
on the white temple to the arched upper
lin and dimplcd chin. He colnprehended
her thought, yes her whole character, at n
single glance. as he saw her looking with
unconcealcd sneer ut his course shoes, and
he smiled to think what mistake she had
made in spelling so fair lace to 80 poor u
purpose. and made quiet little resolve.
She repeated her command. even more CON
mandingly. only adding, "Aro you fright
ned?-one might think so from tho way
in which you stare"
"Not mt all frightened, thank you but
had half thought the bobolink had stopped
singing and gone to talking. This rake is
too heavy for you; will bring one lighter ~
and just glancing up at her to see tho look
Of scorn had changed to one OF surprise, he
turned away.
Nellie Moore felt, as a Yankee would say,
little queer. She would as soon have ex-
pcctcd IA compliment from one Of the colts
over in the pasture. as from Uncle Ben's hir.
ed man. whom she had scarcely time to no
ticc Mt breakfast time, when said uncle in.
troduced him in h,s plain way,--"Niece FL.
len, this is Paul Clifford, our hired man. "
She had not given him even u second glance
feeling herself almost nsultcd by being
brought down to what she mentally denom-
mated vulgar level with country servants,
and here he had turned her the very prettest
compliment she had ever received. albeit
pretty sayings and batteries were not new to
her; her little head had been nearly turned
by them last winter, for last winter Nellie
came out, and was the belle par ercellcnce OF
a very select set. She was now on visit
to her unclc's in the country, to recover her
health.
Well there she stood wondering and wait
ing, and when she saw him coming she said
to herself, "let us see what manner Of u man
this Sir Rustic IS who talks poetry to me;"
and to her surprise she saw that he had the
bearing of gentleman. despite the blue ov-
erall and smock frock. and as he drew near
er. surprise deepened, Tor she was sure she
had never seen handsomer face than that
under the shilling palm leaf that was pushed
back from the broad white brow, whittier by
contrast with tho bronzcd check and bearded
lip.
"I wish I had stayed at the house; hc
must think me bold. sho said to herself ;
then tossing her head angrily, "but what
do care what suc! specimen thinks OF
me-" aud she fell to pitting the fallen grass
with her boot too. hardly looking up when
Paul handed her the rake. He went on
with his work, and she went on with hers,
but somehow things did not 90 just as she
exnected. she nushed as much hav hack AZ