The mountain Democrat., 1864-11-19
ThsOaA AEealE RaEna,,
By vIsorN1A ?. TOWNSEND.

| o8S
small spinning-wheel, for the time Of
which write was 10 the opening Of the
nineteenth century, and the Bslht dc ele.
ment occupied . comparatively incO0spic.
uous position in the education of the
daughters Of the Puritan men and women.
Pianos bad not supplanted the accom-
plishment Of pudding making, aud the
crinoline did not stand in the way Of
cheese pressing or churning 1t was a
large cool room, and its two side windows
looked out on pleasant reach of pasture
land, and beyond this to grove Of pines,
rocking to and fro to the soft music Of the
winds, and still beyond these to the sea
stretching away and joining the horizon,
blue and bright and tranquil as though no
tempest bad ever walked over its face in
darkness and anguish and wrath. You
wOOld hear from those south windows the
soft playful plash Of the waves on the
sands, which mingled pleasantly with the
sluggish wind in the pines, and the robins
song in the great, rambling old apple trees,
whose every bough was 6uted and span
gled with blossoms for it was in the last
days Of May-the earth had put on her
garments OF praise.
So Charity Ames sat there with the
sweet spring winds and the pleasant sun
shine slipping through the sosth windows
with snatches of q low psalm tune futter.
ing out Of her lips, and faltering back and
forth in the air, picture to gladden. the
eyes Of any man, in her dress of home
spun plaid, with the small white ruff1es
running about her neck; and her sleeves
tucked up q little above the wrist, with
| Just the daintiest intimation of her round
plump arms.
She was not beautiful, Charity Ames,
but she was little dainty, plump, girl
woman, with soft full outlines, and cheeks
where roses forever were going in and out,
and blue eyes with dimple Of sunshine
! in them.
She was the daughter of New Eng
land farmer, . man whose sole earthly
possession was his little yellow brown
cottage, and the few acres of land around
it. His health had been broken many
years before in the wars, for be had served
in almost every important engagement
He was staunch patrior deacon in the
stone meeting house : an honest, consci.
entious, God serving man. OF his family
only three remained Charity and her
younger brother; for his vife and his four
children, he most humbly trusted, were
in heaven.
Charity was the light of her fathers
eyes; she was like spring bird in that
little brown home nest; always full of
smiles and snatches Of song, and pretty,
graceful household ways; for the whole
domestic charge had fallen on her since
her mothers death, six years before. -
| Charity was t~eRty-two. Of course she
had not blossomed into all these years
without having her share Of admirers; and
at singing schools, and quiltings, and ap-
pleb that bright, sweet, vivid face
flashed in and out among the rustic beaux
and maidens; bit the fragrance aud beau
ty Of its life were still kept to gladden. the
old yellow brown house on Woodford
turnpike.
But that afternoon, while the snatches
Of old church airs and the drone Of the
spinning heel were woven into each 9th
cr like a bright wool and gray warp,
there went on in the breast OF ChaIity
Ames good deal of serious dubitation,
somewhat after this fashion:
1T isn't an offer to be snuffed at, now.
And to think l might really be Squire
| Hemingway's lady, and live in the great
white house on the hIi, With all those ele-
giant carpets and mahogany furniture =
Then Id have carriage to ride in ID; and
be so grand. And. what is more than all
the rest, father is growing old and giving
out ell the time, and could be such a
comfort and helP to him. And seOd 10.
seph TO school, for that boy was cut cot
for q parson or a lawyer, or something
more'n common, and I'd contriVe some
way TO pay np the mortgage on the land
without hurtiH' fathers feelings. and set
his mind ct ease, now he's falli1' into his
seventies The Squire's almost fifty, it's
true, bu: he's handsome man, though
his hairs got good deal gray and he
has little pompous way, but s'pose it's
natural Mrs. Squire Hemingway that
s>unds well. And how everybody would
open their eyes; but dear me!
Something strong, and stout. and deep,
lay beyond that dear me 4 for it crept
out of the girls lips with deep sigh, and
the roses hurried into her cheeks, and
sudden impetus seized the wheel, and the
small feet did double duty on the treadle
Just at that moment the small brown
wicket opened, and q pair of feet came
softly through the thick grass, and round
BY the side OF the house so softly that
Charity Ames did not hear them, until
she looked up suddenly and saw 8 some.
what slender figure, and q fine. honest,
sun bronzed face standing in the door.
Good afternoon, Miss Charity The
tones were clear, brave, pleasant; some
how they suited the face.
The girls head bridled little. She
had one of those heads that are never
still, that are always restlesSly swaying
and 1uttering about like leaves in sleepy
winds.
Good afternoon; won't you walk in,
Mr.. Taylor?'
The voice was soft and steady enough,
and so was Charity's face. for she was
much engrossed Just then in tying head
Of fax to the dist&ff, with fingers not
quite so steady as the voice and face.
Thank you can't stay to sit down,
answered. the young man, as he crossed
the door; but Miss Parsons wanted me to
stop on nv way to the mill, and see il
you would have her cheese ready this
week
%, yes, shall take it out of the press
to morrow
The errand was accomplished, but some
how the young man fingered, aud finally
walked to the window little awkMardly.
and broke one Of the lilac bOughS from
the tree, Though the small pink blossoms
had scarcely 6Bgun to tuft it,
What pleasant view you have from
thia snnth HindnHE. continued the visitor