The Portland daily press., 1868-05-16
Selected story.
THE OLD RED SLEIGH,

delicate envelopes, which had been there for
months stored within, and silver pen and
penbandle, which had been birthday pres
ont in my school days.
l took them out and the ink bottle also
The ink was thick tor we did not write much,
either of us-aud | brought the vinegar cruet
nom the closet and thinned il to my liking.
Then sat down and looked at the paper
Then went to the stairs and listened 10 see
that mother was not coming. Ihen L actu-
ally seated myself squared my eibows and
began to write This is what | wrote:
Dear Miss Harrow: | am coward. Not.
hope, in one sense, but certainly as regards
you For a year have loved YOU. Yet. l
would no more have dared to saw so than
would had you been a queen. Perhaps be-
cause do not cherish b. ope that you like
me.
Tomorrow you and | will ride together.-
10 morrow had made up my mind to try
my fate, but L know | shall not dare to speak,
so l write. l will give you this letter to read
at home. II the answer be NO." it will be
easier for both of us. Will you try and think
well enough of me to be my wife one day
/ love you better than do my life, and
will do all can to make lite happy for you.
With little hope can make my way in the
world as Other men do, l am young and
strong, and not utterly ignorant. If | am to
have that hope, give me some sign-give me
line, your name only, anything to show me
what you mean. Ii am to be miserable
well then make me no answer. Silence shall
mean mo" L could not bear to see YOU or
speak to you after that
This is an awkward love letter, no Goubt,
am not used to writing letters of any kind
OF late. never wrote or said a word of love
to any one before That must be its excuse.
But were it ever so elegant it could not mean
more, for offer all the love in my heart
The only love have ever felt or shall ever
KNOW. ALMON CRAIG.
l sealed this note in the daintiest envelone
L possessed, and wrote Hepsey HarroW's
name on the back, and hid it in the desk
from mothers eyes; sharp eyes, that looked
after me anxiously as | drove away with old
Dobbin and the little led sleigh the follow
ing evening.
She was ready for me. My mothers hint
was IN my mind, and looked at her DRESS
All discovered was that il was blue: but
her furs were good, could judge OF turs
she must marry rich man, or one on his
way weal.hward," L said. "She shall, too. |
pVe more to start with than Washington
had" And tucked her into the sleigh and |
drove off to the meeting.
1t was pleasant drive, aud merry dance |
and sdpper, and as time went on / felt glad |
that had written the letter. For could
not have said what it said for me- 1t was at |
that moment when we were driving home |
ward that l mustered courage to ask her for |
the little leticule she carried, as the other |
girls did, with brush and some flowers in |
it, tor they had to touch up the curls and
Dralds after the windy ride before the dance
"Why do you want it?" she asked.
"To put something in it which you must
not look at till you reach home, L said"
"1o GU arouse my curiosity" she answered.
u shall look the instant have lamp"
And as she spoke l had dropped the letter
and snapped the clasp.
Not word more could 1 speak. But at
the door tried for the first time to kiss her. |
Her lips eluded mine, and dared not TO re-
peat the attempt.
took the red sleigh home and waited. |
waited hopefully, as knew afterwards, for |
an answer. None came-a day, week, a |
month. She had given me little, cold, |
smileless bow. l was rejected.
"Mother,' said that night, 'we must have
some one to farm the place. I'm going to
some city,"
"Why?" said she.
80 make my fortune,"I said.
"For that girl-the school ma'am ?" asked |
my mother, bitterly.
"No," said |, never for her,"
Mother knelt down beside me as I SAT on a |
low stool. She put her hands on nv shoul- |
der and looked in my face.
"She didn't dare refuse you?n she said.
boy, know you are in trouble. Pm your
mother. Tell me-"
"She did not accept me-" said.
The naughty minxp said my mother, 81 |
-."ther she burst into tears
And that's to part us ?" she said |
"Not il you'll 60 with me-" answered.
But she would not leave her lhome, and l |
went alone. In the frosty morning as | |
turned to look back at the little village from
the top Of the old stage, saw the little chill
dren iiing in at the school-house door, and
caught glimpse of Hepseys dress beyond
only a told OF her dress, but l knew it, The
school bell was ringing; but it did not say
turn again" turn again to me as it should |
have done, had 1 been such a prophet as |
Wilmington.
| made my fortune. l had a cousin in |
New York who was deep in the mysteries of |
Wall street. He helped me; so did Luck or |
Fate In five years | was a moderately rich |
man. My mother wanted nothing but nv
presence, She would not come to me, but |
she urged me to return to her.
AT trst my heart was too weak to be trust
ed among those old familiar scenes. To
nave met Hepsey would have been too much
to bear. But time helps us all. At the end
OF nve years wrote to my mother:
u am coming home again, since you will |
not live here with me. Expect me to-mor-
ow."
And on the morrow l went. My mother
had not altered much. But / had grown a |
long light beard, and was youth no longer |
"a fact which troubled her. There were |
changes in the place, too. Girls were mar
ried-old people dead. The tallest, hand
soonest man remembered, had met with an
accident aud crawled about wretched Grip
pie. The church was rebuilt, and the huts
in the hollow had been burnt. A factory
had risen, and the factory people's houses
were about it. Instead of the old frame
school house was brick building with many
windows and cupola
Who was the teacher? Was she there
Hepssy Harrow? l dared not ask,
Idly sauntered about the house, painted
and refurnished now; and idly, in the even
ing my second day at home, went out to
the shed where the little red sleigh stood
the Old shabby thing, with the green patch
on the cushions.
1T amt been touched since YOU left. AL
mon" said my mother. "Poor old Dobbin
How smart he used to take it round l felt
as If I'D lost friend when he died. Remem-
Der my patchin' the cushion
She lifted it as she spoke. From behind it
dropped something. What? Of leather. blue
with mould, crushed by its long lying under
the cushion, but reticule for all that. Hep-
sey Harrow's reticule 1 opened it. There
lay comb and brush; an artificial rose
how well remembered it in her ir!-and
my letter. Yes, my letter, that she had never
read, never seen, never known Of
What's the matter, Almen?" asked nv
mother.
For few moments did not know. At
last spoke.
ut is Miss Harrow's reticule"
"She must have lost it when you took her
sleigh-riding," said my mother. "Just like
her, to loose it and not know, extravagant
critter. She's teaching yet; likely toVsbe
amt married, no doubt she'll be an old maid.
and serve her right"
The rest my mother said to herself. for
waited for no more.
l took the reticule in nv hand and went
over the long-iorgotten path toward the
school house. School was over A figure
stood alone at the gate. did not know il at
frst. But onIa nearer view found it was a
mature edition Of Hepsey Harow's slender
lrame-not SO slender now, but pretty-iust
as pretty in the face, and fresh and buxom.
walked up TO her. She gave me puzzled
look. Ihen her check flushed.
"Mr. Craig" she said.
"1es Miss Harrow" l answered. uJam
here to restore your property You lost a
retlcue 10 my sleigh five years ago. To-day
found it. There is something in if which
asked you to look at when alone. Imake
the same request now. May see Won this
EVENING"" W" 'n's
She bowed. walked away. That night
went once more to see her. She had been
weeping; the letter lay on her knee.
"Sqch an odd relic of those foolish old
timeSs said she