Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1867-04-05

COuTse Houc vi tlcSc t!liHhS COutu Iarll
old Aunt Matilda she was used to them
So there she was. winter, first of all.
And the years went by, one after an
other, dull and monotonous. but for the
cheer she got of working and waiting, un-
til twenty years had passed. and the bloom
was gone from her hand. bnt notthe
brightness from her eye, nor the elastic
ity from her step, though she was now for
ty years old.
Il wonder if she ever thinks of Nathan
Armstrong = the smiling matrons said
sometimes. as they got their heads togeth
er over quilt or cradle and then the
Old story was told over, for when, indeed.
are such stories forgotten ? And there
were sly winks and mods and low Whispers.
as though her love were in some sort a dis
graceful as well as laughable affair.
And from Matilda the talk would natu-
rally run to Nathan, who had been living
iu New York these many years, and was
become now man of independent for
tune, and his wife the mis- ress of an Gle
CANT establishment and the leader of a
fashionable circle.
And Mrs. Armstrong, the mother of Ma
than, was a widow now, with gray hair
and speetacles, bNt with much Of that en-
crgy still which characterized her youth
full days, and vigorous and strong for her
years keeping her house, and managing
the farm into the bargain-more advanta
gcously than it ever had been managed so
people said.
And once or twice every summer she
opened the press in the south chamber,
which had once been Matthews room, ana
took out all the things that were marked
with the initials NJ. Il. A.. summed thpm.
sighed over them, aad folded them care
fully away.
One day letter came to Mrs. Arm
strong with black seal and border OF
black. Nathan had lost his wife six
months ago, aud would his mother consent
to take Charge of his little Lam,ie for a
while; the only child he had left. and
mothcrless now. Though for that mat
ter, said Mrs. Armstrong. she is just us
we'll off as she ever was. for what | have
heard. one way aud another. And then
she said to Matilda, who always listened
with silent, rapt attention to every thing
concerning Nathan, that, although she did
not want to say any thing against the dead,
it was true that Eunice had never been a
faithful wife or Il devoted mother, aud that
she never could like, her, orer and ADORE,
AMI the truth. she supposed, was as trne
now as it was.
She had put on her bonnet and gone
straight with the news to her daughter. as
she called Matilda nowadays. And what
do YOU sax. nv dearn she asked, whei
she had read the letter. word for word b..
dint of spelling and going over again ant
again---'shall we take the little thing
though the dear knows, ii we do. for one
shall never call her Lemse--there is NJ
sense 20 the maine any how-and shall al
ways calls call her plain Ennlce, which wa
her mothers name before her.
'Iou must do just as you like, mother,
saws Matilda; 'of course you know 1t cal
be nothing to NE,
'Ah, but it is something to you. my dear
You understand that shall have to Tool
to Won great deal -miOre especial,
about her education and are You sure
you shall be quite willing to take her i'll
your school ?
The innocent child has never harmed
nc, and her father never meant to harm
me either
And this was the first time she had her
self spoken his name for twenty Years, and
now She avoided calling him Nathan -
i. And Mrs. Armstrong kissed the cheek thai
was burning with that faint, low red that
is not rose like, but like the asher Of roses
and called her thrice over her daughter
and her daughter. and then her own deal
daughter. And directly she went home
with il lighter heart thau she had carree
with her on setting out.
The next day she wrote to Nathan that
she would receive the little Eunce. ant
bring her UP in her own old fashioned way
the best she could and she added. quite
incidentally, Il am the more willing to
take the child on account of the excellent
schoo, here in which can place her i'm
mediatcv.' And then she said You will
-cmember You, old friend, and my friend
always, Matilda Hastings; she it is wins
teaches the school | have reference TO.
hope you will be satisfied
And when the letter was posted she
went straight to Nathan's room aud threw
open the blinds, and with her own hand
cleared it of dust and spider webs and
then she unlocked the press. an,t hung the
| long cherished iiucn. piece by peace lin
the sun lingering with tender tondness on
the faded marking wrought i'll 50 long
ago. So lona ago, and yet 1t seemed but as
yesterday.
'InlS room must nOt ne given up W ine
little Eunce may he Nat'-shc began to
call him Nat again-'would come home
sometime, aud she would have it all ready
| tor him. So she lived III her dreams; for
at what age do women not live III drea MS
She lived i'll dreams, not very clearly detin
ed even to her own heart, but all abnct the
coming home of Natty, to live with her,
and to be the prop OF her declining years,
with some shadowy fittings here and there
of Matilda, she knew not where or how.
| In due course of ,inc the child came-a
! bright brunette, with serious wondering
eyes. and straight hair as black as the mid
night.
Il declare she looks more like you this
minute than like her mother says Mrs.
Armstrong, as she led her one day into the
quiet little parlor where Matilda sat sew
inc, the ashes Of roses in her checks color
eli almost to roses as she took the little
girl on her knee and kissed her
You will know me after while she
said. and then hope you will come to
like me a little--a very little
no, but love You now, the child re-
Piled Il don't want to wait, for You are
the lady papa told me must love- aren't
you'
And she put her soft arms about the
neck that was bending toward her. and
drew the face close to hers. And perhaps
Matilda was not sorry to have her face
hidden at that moment, and II she had a
A., .oI,o hos IN hnr lnan sbn had