Delaware gazette. [volume] (Delaware, Ohio) 1855-1886, 1867-10-25

q
Tquite often for sewing, and could do uE
the fine IaCes and rufIles for her as nc
one bu6mOther ever did, she said. Then
Miss Louie had been born at the Hall,
That was before father died so used
to 20 with him, and see her, in the
grounds playing, and play with her,
too (for they were very good TO me al
EYYaYs), and see her wax dolls, with
their silk and laced frOcks, and her
greyhound and pets. She never felt a
fbit above me-nOt even when she grew
To be a young lady, the only heir Of her
fathers wealth, when every Summer
Z she came often to see me, saying she
loved me as we'll as her city friends,
/ and size always loved the cakes and
the atheE little things used to like to
fix f91 her. But this is not my story,
after all.
She was the fairest. daintest little
/ beauty I have seen-nCt more than a
| child in her ways and feelings-gentle
and kind, and oh so very winning
She had the softest, whitest skin, and a
pretty pair Ofeyes as pretty as her span
iel's-thOugh that is not pretty thing
to compare to Miss Louie. And her
hair 1t Curled ia little loose rings
when she was child, and had a dark
| touch on it with a gOldy color in the
lght-it was prettiest hair in the world;
and so proud as her father was of it I!
he would not let her cut it so she wore
great, long, loose curls, dropping down
her shoulders to Eer belt, and drawn
back from her brow with blue ribbon.
And such bright cUTls as there were on
her forehead and behind her ears--lit-
tie rings, that the wind tossed about her
eyes 1 used to think she was the fIn-
est lady of them all, with her sweet,
pure ways, just as fresh as little chiid'g
So do not wonder that any one could
help loving Louie Irvingham.
I found out, suddenly, that John low
IL
first. He used to drive the Hall car
riage, until he bought his yacht-fOr he
loved the sea more than anything else.
Miss Emily had old Robert, who had
been there ever so many years but
John was SO careful and steady that
from his place in the stables, Mr.. AL
fred had him drive his carriage. So he
knew Miss Louie as well as I, ever
since he use to carry her in his arms,
and hold her on the backs of the horses
las she used to love to ride. Then,
! when she grew older, it was John who
taught her to ride, and went with her
/ and I thinks they eEene ano6laer2s beau
ty OF, even if it is foolish to say so. But
when found he loved her, was a lit
tie troubled.
1t was this way. It was late in the
Fall, and Joe was not back yet, and
the family at the Hall were to leave
/ that week for town, Miss Emily and all.
| I remember the day had been saltry
for September, the last day of the
month, and the sun had left the sky Iu-
| rid. The sea was fine sight the red
sky had given it a frery look, and the
/ green lights Of the waves broke in bits
| Of Opal-lilZe foam. The sun showed a
few smacks and small craft lacking
| against the night breeze, and the beach
/ had it's crowds of fiueIy-dressed people
from the hotels to make the picture
prettier. I know Charlie was with his
father that cruise, and I sat alone with
a bit of sewing on the doorstep, The
/ very smell Of the salty air comes back
| to me, the line of gray sea where the
sky met it, the sound Of the waves, and
the smell of the few late flowers in the
little garden. The house fronted to-
ward the sea, the cosy little place,
4 warm and snug in Winter tried to
make it home-like for Joe.
/ I know sat that night quite late, till
/ it grew too dusky to see, and let my
work fall down on my lap. think
was little sad, wondering if ever
/ should be anything more than house
/ keeper for Joe ever see into the world
/ that those crowds of beautiful ladies
lived in ever be a whit beyond the old
4 sad life led, never thinking how much
it held, and forgetting Charlie and Joe
| would be all alone, you know. felt a
| little bitterly as leaned my head down
/ on my hard palm-hOW soft, and daiu-
| ty, and jeWelled those hands yOnder
How finely clad those delicate limbs
/ and girls no youn ger than were walk
ing there with brave, strong lovers in
! the twilight and the fresh sea air.
/ Would ever have a lover ? Not Jem
! Jenkins or Tom Coles surely, but a low
er who was full Of the knowledge of
books and men one who knew all I
/ yearned to know /; one who could teach
me what I craYed one who was strong
| and brave, and whom I could trust
| trust as much as I could have done just
then
My foolish head went down with a
silly little sob into my lap, as I thought
how vain and useless my hopes were.
just then the gate-latch clicked, and
/ in the gloom I saw Johns tall, grace
ful figure, with that quick, brisk step
! like his words, sound and frm-com-
! ing up the gravel walk. Whatever else
I had been dreaming of was lost as il
/ came to me in a mad, wild whirI Of
sense ftJenny, you love this man, and
/ he is the lover you dream Of"
/ I laid my hot cheeks down into my
/ palms. At any other time he would
/ have noticed it but he came steadily
4 to me, and threw himself down beside
| the steps on the grass He often lay
| that way, with his head on his arm, in
the cool, if there were no parties TO 90
/ ont in the Yachts, or when he came for
I a word of Joe, or to cheer me. But TO-
NIGHT as I raised my face, glad il was
] beat, I caught q low sob, short, and,
| from the sound, fearless, but a mans
sob. Itstruck me like stab. felt
pitifully weak fear creeping along the
veins and settling above my heart.
/ T3rt it was nv way to face things, and
sat quite stills till IsWas sure I could
speak, in brokeu3 surge-l1ke whisper.
/ ffIs it of Joe and Charlie, John ~
| Then my voice broke quite down, and
l I sat shiveriug in the damp wind, with
1.-THE hair wet and blinking about my
/ forehead. John sprang up from the
i grass and stood before me.
elbow blind what fool I have been!"
/ But his hand on mine was cold and
shaky, and his voice hoarse. ENo,
! Jenny, not that. Joe and the boy are
/ quite well, and on their way back, for
! Christie Burns's vessel is in but-but
-" his voice sinking even lower, sit
| was a trouble of mine--a trouble that
seems like to kill me. I've hidden it.
/ I've tried TO bury it. I even tried to be
! careless of it. It won't do. It is there,
i And now, when the last hope is going
foreyer-I am quite q boy, Jenny-I
t thought of you. / thought you might
/ help me, and Jenny, for Gods sake,
i tell me what to do"
There was a deep feeling in his voice,
and John never spoke that name light
i ly. went up TO him where he had
/ crouched in the grass again, and gath
4 cred the damp hair from his brow.
seTell me, John" said. But the des-
pair that I had in my voice BE lifted
his face and covered it with is arm, as
I he had lain hundreds Of times asleep in
the old Yacht when we were children.
"Jenny, love Louie Irvingham I
i poor. unlearned boOr Of a fellow, and
She a fine lady with a fortune more
! than I could count. Ever since the
/ time I used to make her little boats, and
trot her on ROver's hack, I've loved her
land now all the more since she is to
20 abroad next month for years, and
maybe marry a fine lord or nobleman-
and I-why Jenny, 1 would die for her.
But must live, live and work, and be
poor, and know nothing OF books and
fine society and such life as hers"
With the sudden knowledge that
woman has when a loveless, shadowed
life such as mine comes to her, said
"John, can't you bear sorrow that
win never tighten, patiently, quietly,
with a will of iron ? in a life where the
sunlight has become hated, tolIve try
ing to forget the pain, and being cheer