The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1868-06-17
The Romance of an Old Maid,
By CLARA

how that woman manages 70 i've,
working early and late as she does.
add then having TO carry such heavy
parceIslV
Miss Carrie st. Maurice dropped
the crimson curtain over the window.
shutting out the dreary vision OF
falling snow. and withered clematls
tossing in the North wind, and drew
her velvet cushioned chair nearer the
glowing CRATE.
Her mother looked up from the
dainty crochet with which she was
busted. and said seriously" My
| dear. we never know what We al do
until we are brought to It.
But to be abroad on such a day
as thisl Ugh it makes me shiver
even before this warm fire to think of
the cold Without
Miss Anderson has a strong faith
In God, Carrie, and she accepts her
lot as the very best for her. But
/ sometimes she looks so pale and
wan that | fear she is wearing herself
Out with such iucessaut toll"
Gerard St. Maurice, Carries broth
er, closed the book ne had been read
ing aud turned to his mother. " Has
Miss Anderson ever had a romance.
mother2' he asked abruptly.
"A rOmancel Miss Anderson a
romancel laughed Garry. Ny dear
Gerard, what an absurd ideal |
should as soon suspect black Peggy
IN the kitchen of the soft impeach-
ment. No, Gerard. depend upon it,
Miss Anderson has made shirts aud
sheets from her childhood, and always
worn her hair IN a pug, and sported
a brown apron with pockets"
No. | do not think so" said Ge-
rard. There is something la the soft
light of her eyes-and she has beauti-
full eyes, you will admit, Carrie
something 10 the sweet culver of her
voice when she sees a beautiful pic
ture or a rare flower, that convinces
me she has a heart tender and loving
as that Of any woman. Am | not
right, mOther?'
Mrs. st. Maurice smiled a little sad
". Yes, my son, you are right;
Miss Anderson has had a romance"
Oh, mamma how strange! cited
Carrie. Do tell 1T to US [ am all
curiosity to learn how such q quiet
old thing could ever love any one"
"Carriel' said Mrs. St. Maurice,
reprovingly, do not speak Of Persia
Anderson in that i~rreverent manner.
1t is unlady-like. And when you
have heard her story, you will think
differently of her"
II beg pardon, So her
name is Persia2 What a singular
namel [ have noticed that she signs
her receipts p. Anderson, but | al
ways supposed the 2. stood for Polly
Be quiet, Carrie said Gerard.
and let mother tell US the story. /
confess to being somewhat interested
in Persia Anderson"
Mrs. st. Maurice laid down her
crochet, and took up a stocking from
her work-basket. II you have ever
noticed, elderly women invariably
take their knitting when they are 60
ing to tell a story.
"Twenty years ago, said she, the
fairest maiden in the town of Airing
ton was Persia Anderson. Iremem-
Der her distinctly just as she appear
ed to me the first time l ever saw her.
| was out to Bellevue visiting my Aunt
Annie, and quite a party of US were
riding over to Arlington Springs n
fine morning. The springs were then
somewhat celebrated for their medi-
oinal qualities, and the road thither
being a charming one, was a favoTite
with the young people of the vicinity.
1t led past the farm of Persias father.
and on this morning some one of the
party expressed a wish for a cluster
of the damask roses which blossomed
In such wild magnifcence by the red
gate of the farm house.
Aubrey Delmere volunteered to
procure them, and dismounting, be
was approaching the house, when
Persia came up the veranda from the
garden. She did not see US, but went
on tossing the string Of her apron
at the little yellow and white
kitten that was %trOlicking after
her. What a picture she
made No wonder Mr.. Delmere,
with his keen taste for beauty. paused
TO admire her, entirely forgetting his
errand. She was slight and willowy-
just as she is row-but her form has
| lost much of its rOundness and grace
in the hard life struggle which has
been hers. Her complexion was pure
and clear, flushed In the cheeks with
the color of the wild rose, and her
lip were ike The ripest Of red straw
berries. Her eyes, they are beautiful
now, as you say, Gerard, but then
they were magniiceut. Brown, deep,
tender-their expression changing as
the hues of the cha scion, but almost
always gentle, always womanly. Her
hair, which now she wears tucked up
so closely, hoated over her shoulders
in great curls of bronze gold. catching
every CLINT and gleam OF b esunshine.
aDtil it seemed a mass of living gold.
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