The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1866-08-03
SENTIMENT AND FUN.
RecOmpense.
FCoNCLUDED.1

II
looking wistfully after me, knowing as
a mother might the grief which / had
buried in my heart. And if her
words had given me a pang, it was
like some ointment which makes the
wound smart in its very healing. It
was something to be loved so even by
my old nurse.
Late the next day l led my young
charge from her glandfather's grave
to Betty's cottage. She kept my hand
upon the road as little child might.
/ had no thought but that she was
one, until old Betty's cry Of goodness,
Master BERTHE, | thought you said
young child! Why this is a grown
girl!' started me into consciousness.
1t doesn't matter, does it Betty?"
/ asked. She turned to the girl.
Take off your bonnet She said,
little grimly. Il want to look at
you. What is your name?"
The girl obeyed. =" I'm only Nelly
Hay" she said, and stood to be looked
at. Betty looked sternly at first, then
pityingly.
LA, no! Master BERTHE, it don't
matter" she said. 8 | don't see any
harm in her. There's a peg behind
the door, child. You can hang your
bonnet on that" And | left the two
together.
Not long, though; every day found
some new errand to take me to the
cottage. put on elderly airs, and
gave advice. | had her sent to school,
and went through grave examinations
on Saturday afternoons. | told old
Betty that when | was a man of mid
die age [ should take my little daugh-
ter home, and she should keep house
for us. And | began to fancy, very
soon, that there could be no such
happiness as a parent felt. The girl
was growing tall, it is true, and | was
only ten years older than she was; but
when she checked her light tread to
keep pace with me, when the childish
thing which could only make me
smile, felt that years are not the
only things which age US.
| was working hard at my profess
sion too. / had heart and hands full.
In year l found that | could pass
Aletta on her husbands arm without
pang. In year more | wondered
whether she had really changed, or
whether [ fancied black curls more
than | did golden bands, for [ found
myself thinking my little daughter
much the prettiest.
In the sultry evenings | used to
leave red tape and parchment and go
out to Betty's cottage to have tea with
her and my adopted child. Then,
while she polished up the cups, Nelly
Hay and [ used to walk down to the
river side. Tall as she was growing
l had way of holding her hand still;
and we had such pleasant talks, such
odd, unworldly chatterl Those walks
and simple tea-drinkings rested the
brain, wearied with law business,
quarrels and bubbles, and stratagems,
more than can tell.
The rough hands had grown softer
now, the waist taper, the bust full.
The sweep of woman's robes, the
tread of woman's lightly-shod feet
had taken the place of dumping
| leather boots and scant cotton skirts
| knew this, but Nellie was a child
to me all the same. Was l not by
adoption her father? Of course she
always would be young to me; and
why | felt SO angry if by chance some
gay young farmer chatted with her
over the fence, or some neighbor saw
her home from church, could not
tell. An old mans temper, | sup
pose" / said, and sighed like young
one
SO three years passed. At the end
of that time Aletta's husband died.
They had quarrelled, and she had
made him woefully jealous, it was
said; and all his property, save a
mere pittance, was willed to strang-
ers.
One day lady in black walked in
to my Office; when she lifted her veil
saw Aletta Stanton's face, closer to
me than it had been since we parted.
My heart gave no wild throb. l felt
as though | were mere stranger.
Courteously and quite calmly l
heard her business. She intended to
contest the will, and needed advice.
j gave her what / could / referred
her to brother lawyer as the one
who would best espouse her cause.
As for myself, I told her truly that
my time was too completely occupied
to undertake anything more, and l
wished her success.
She looked at me wistfully, with her
great blue eyes full of tears, as she
arose'to go.
at was cruel of him." she said,
every cruel to leave me so poor; but
he was never kind, neVer-not even
in the honeymoon"
L regret to hear it." | said.
4" could expect nothing more, she