Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1867-03-13

she stays shut in the dim old house all day
and energies only towards evening for he,
walk upon the beach, and her peep at the
little grave, with its coverlet of pansies in
summer and its white drapery of snow il
winter. Upon the night of which 1 have
been writing, she made her way back, as
have said, into her own room,-a room
where her prevailing tastes could quickly
be discovered. A peculiar depth and bril-
liancy Of coloring pervaded everything
carpet and curtains were of the same vivid
crimson, and the large bay-window filled
with plants was gorgeous as festal-roon
of the fairies. Everything was old anc
much worn, and had a look of old but not
faded splendor. A few books occupied a
cabinet in one corner, and a piano, which
was always locked. stood in another. An
easy-chaIr was drawn up to little stand
near the window, and upon it lay an oper
Bible. This was the place where she sat
and read hour by hour and day by day, al
ways from the Bible, only varying her occu.
patton by weary hours over intricate and
elaborate pieces of fancy work,-more
beautiful and marvellous than such pieces
of work ever were made before, but always
things which required only mechanical
kind Of ingenuity, and needed genius and
taste only in the coloring-and these she
sold at the nearest town, and so earned her
daily bread. After she had taken her ac-
customed seat this evening, she was startled
by ring at the dOor,-a sound so unusual
that she trembled like a leaf as she took
the lamp and started to answer the sum
mons. She had got halfway down the
stairs, when she stopped, and called lightly
to the dog, who was beside her in a mo-
ment, and together they opened the door
\ grave-looking elderly gentleman stood
I there, who inquired if he had the honor OF
addressing Mrs. Wayland.
THAT is my name, sir" she answered
not opening the door or bidding him enter
= And mine is Ashly, madam. | am a
clergyman, living in Boston, and | am
seeking a quiet place, near the sea, in
which to spend the summer | have been
told in the village yonder that YOU some
times receive boarder, and | think your
place will just suit me- | have recon-
mendations, if you wish
But Mrs. Wayland did not need them.
She was too good a Judge of character
despite her long seclusion, not to see at a
glance that he was what he asserted, and
that, if she must have boarders at all he
was just what she wanted. 50 she invited
him in, without relaxing a particle in the
! coldness Of her demeanor and, giving him
a seat in cheerless- looking and scantiy-
J furnished dining-room told him in as few
words a. possible what she would do for
him and for how much she would do it-a
aightforwardness which raised her very
/ highly III the reverend doctors estimation.
although she designed, if she had design
IN the matter, quite "A contrary effect. She
had sometimes had some trouble in keeping
her bOarders at sufficient distance to suit
/ her. and she had found it necessary upon
! their first arrival TO have it distinctly I'M
derstOod that they were to expect no sort
of companionship from her ; that she gave
them a room and their board such as it
was, and She never took any pains 10 make
II good or attractive, and that was all she
wanted of them. But DR.. Ashly had a
great horror of bustling and gossippy
landlady, and thought he had found a per-
/ feet treasure and when she had shown
him the room he could have if he liked.
he eagerly agreed to take it, and said if
she had no objection he would take pos
session forthwith, and not 90 back to the
village till morning. To this She assented
indifferently, and soon left him alone,
calling the one house-maid to get him some
/ supper, and, retiring to her own room, was
soon buried in her accustomed thoughts,
and scarcely aware Of his existence And
as landlady and lodger were equally pleas
i L. L, IL Il. Il
intercourse between them for several weeks
But one night, when the doctor had been
/ for long walk Oh the beach, he saw. a.
he was returning, Mrs. Wayland, in her
usual evening exercise, pacing up and down
/ the beach, and was struck by her appear
ance a. she walked thus, and stood still for
a time observing her, and followed her at
/ last, at little distance, while she made her
visit to the childs grave. His kind heart
was very much touched by the sight, and
he determined to talk with her and give
her his sympathy and friendship, if she
needed them. So he gathered some of the
pansies off from the grave, and holding
them in his hand, went into tea. Mrs
Wavland had laid aside her shawl and was
already seated at the table. They usually
had little conversation at these times, and
that Of the most commonplace character.
| This evening, as he came through the door
and she caught sight of the flowers in his
hand, she exclaimed, in quick, excited
way, You have been to my grave.'
| She spoke as though he had intruded
upon her most sacred privacy, and he ans
wered, apoogeticaIIy. "Yes. 7 have visited
the little grave in the garden. | hope |
have not intruded [ have a little grave
| in the church-yard at home, and such spots
are very sacred to me-
! Agnes Wayland was lady and she
would not have been guilty of a rudeness
for the world, so she hastened to reply
! "Oh, no, sir. you have not been guilty
has ever visited my grave, and L have
watched it so fondly for so many years that
| almost felt jealous that any other eyes
should ever look upon it,
! And | have not only looked upon it, .
said the minister, very softly and benig-
nantlv, "but | have dropped tear upon
it."
That is something that | have never
done"
Then | pity you with all my heart, my
friend. If I had not been able to weep
over my child's grave, | think my heart
would have broken
mime, sir, was broken before the child
died." and, as she said this, she arose
hastily and left the room.
The minister was much interested and
full of sympathy for this lonely woman
whose lot was so isolated, and as he lay
that night and listened to the deep, hollow