The Vermont transcript. [volume] (St. Albans, Vt.) 1864-1870, 1868-04-10
General Miscellany.
A MARRIED LA0YS STORY.
nY MIRIAM ALIEN.

"A MARRIED lady'- story!" eXclaim-
ed sarcas ic visitor, looking imperti-
nently over my shoulder. rs I wrote the
title of this sketch. ..That must he
thrilling. a collection of excellent re-
ceip- for doughnuts. and complaints of
cook and chambemaid; deliver NE
from reading it!'
! pared her the inhiction but I bcg
the attention of that sympathetic myth
known as "thc gentle readern who is
probably q very Young lady. whom my
experience may benefit.
At LNteen, I was sentimental Is any
Aramimta Matilda as ever sighed. it
was partly the tendency of a misguided
imagination, and partly owing to i'll
health, which produced q morbid dispo-
sition.
Medicine won't help Miss Matte -
said our good family physician. ''She
needs change ofscene,a journey, country
living
"Mount Washington ." suggested my
mother.
"A0. madam" said the doctor en-
phaiically Mount Washington would
create a Rhapsody that might terminate
ln brain fever. HASN'T she q grand
mother living on pretty farm, where
she could spend a few months ~
There's Aunt Martha's !" exclaimed
my mother delighted
Where is it ~ inquired the doctor.
"In Hampshire county"
THAT viii do, and the quicker you
send her off the better
Accordingly, much against my viii, /
was sent tony good aunt's, whose name
! bore. / left home in tears, with mis-
cradle foreshading that | should not
journey had passed, when the wisdom
Of the Doctors prescription was mani
fest. ! became interested i'm my fellow
passengers, in the novel country sights
that met my eyes; in fine. when, late in
the afternoon, arrived CT Hillside, did
not seem like the same Matte King
that left Boston a few hours before in
such q suicidal mood
Ny new home was very unpretending
but most nleasant-lOOking, q low. ir-
regular farmhouse, nesting half way
down daisy-sprinllled hill. a few
kingly eims waved Off the too intense
sunlight. over the porch, thrifty
h0p-Vine trailcd its green rassels, and
some Of The maynard, graceful sprays,
tired of dancing with every vagrant
breeze had climed upon the sioping
roof, and gone to sleep on the brown
moss there.
As the numbering coach approached
the rustic porch, two hands parted the
vines, pair of calm brown eyes met
mine, and with a motherly welcome in
them Aunt Martha lifted me from
the coach with great tenderness of man
ner. but not over many words. One
smile from her meant and expressed
more than volley Of sweet words from
other people.
was wearied with my journey, but
not too weary TO observe the beautiful
order that reigned within the house; the
table was spread in the kitchen for five
o'clock supper; an attractive board
with it, homemade bread and butter,
amber honey-the gathered sweetness
of all beautiful fiowers-and the bowls
of Strawberries, kissed crimson by the
June sunshine.
Aunt Martha did not stop here, but
led the way through a shady parlor, to
the cosiest and sweetest of all bedrooms.
[ looked surprised, on coming to such
an apartment in that quarter of the
house
..You are not afraid to sleep below
stairs. niece - said my aunt. "Remem-
Der, we have no burglars at Hillside"
Afraid The idea of burglars enter
ing this charming bit of Arcadia was
prcpOsterOus.
Aunt Martha removed my hat and
cape, then placed me in a snow-white
easy-chair. to rest till she should call
me to supper. There | lounged, too
weary to think-iust Illustrating in the
comfort of my position; in the clover
breath that fiOated through the opened
window i'm the fresh beauty outdoors,
and the nice order within. | soon
learned that there was practical life be-
hind this fairness, as there must be in
all farming outside of bucolics. 1t was
no dainty-fingered toll that titled the
fields outdoors, and ordered the dairy
and kitchen within. But with health
came improved ideas. What l had des-
pissed as degrading and servile, | came
to take great interest in, and my aunt
consented TO let me share in light house
hold duties.
One July twilight, l was in the gar
den, picking currants. Suddenly l be-
came conscious that ] was remarkably
ambitiOus-content as if the low gar
den wall measured all the aims of life,
in its capabilities of jellies, pickles and
bouquets "This is, after all, little
stupid,r / confessed, with a bit of
sigh.
Ny unspoken wish for romance was
momentarily granted, by the clear ring
of horses hoofs up the hill. The
horse-a dark gray-with a white name
flowing over his proud neck; the rider,
a dusty Apollo, with restless spirit in
his blue eyes.
| stood, screened by the currant BUSH
es. admiring the easy grace with which
he dismounted. and tossed the reins to
Jared, the ploughboy, who stood con-
veniently near. The next tableau was
Aunt Martha, fairly worn out of all re-
serve, as she embraced the handsome
youth, and called him my dear boy"
/ was convinced, then, that my unex-
pected hero would not "vanish into thin
air. / knew he must be Aunt Martha's
fascinating stepson, Gerald M'Kean.-
No matter for the currants now!
swung the baskets on my arm, and
walked towards the porch, where L
stopped short at the sound ofthe strang
er's voice just within.
"What little girl have you here,
mother ~ said he. II saw dainty bit
of pink-and-white behind the currant-
bushes
NY niece, Matte King; but she is
hardly little girl-quite young lady
you Will find. Gerald, how is Miss Dun
lap?n ., che ,r.sn,t
- nat ; all over, DlOl1tT- CHo ""oh
what she seemed
II thought she was sincerity itself"
90, she didn't know she was playing
a part; so grand in her diamonds and
laces, and all the time her father on the
verge of bankruptcy. They came down
with a crash. Pm sure / don't know
what's become of them"
left my baskets, and my disbonora-
bic position as eves-dropper, and strolled
down the hill, disappointed to hear the
words Gerald had just spoken, and
which revealed-but not so much as his
hard pitiless tone-a thoroughly selfish
nature. Why was l not true to my first
convictions? / forgot them when,