Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1870-04-08

your eyes"
o. But should like to know how am
TO do my hair ?" said Flossy, plaintively,
II shall just knot 1t all up at the back OF
my head"
"Oh. don't ~ begged the doctor. "frs
such beautiful hair. l beg your pardon,
but have a sort of right to praise it.,
because IL Is so Scotch-the real gold
of a Highland lassie's locks The yery sight
of it HowlnB free from Its ribbon mood, in
these days of dragged.up and frizzled top.
knots, gives me home feeling. Do you
know have fancied more than once that
your forbears must have been countrymen
OF miner These eyes are certainly the
true Scotch blue, and you don't know how
II hurts me to pour this burning stuff into
them
The sudden, scorching pain made Flossy
hold her breath for few minutes but,
when 1t had subsided somewhat, she said,
eagerly.
SO you are ScotchP I never thought
Of it before, and yet | might have known
it by name, and by-by--"
"By what pleaset :" said the doctor,
with eager eyes on her face.
BY my learning to like you so quick
ly," said Flossy, frankly, though her color
deepened under his pleased look. " For
you must know, ! have always had the
greatest liking for everything Scotch.
| The Scottish Chiefs was my first novel I;
| could spout whole pages of 1t at the ma
ture age of seven, and Sir William Wal
lace has been my pet hero ever since.
After l got beyond Miss Porter, Sir Wal.
ter Scott took possession Of ME, and many
q scoldine got for lessons neglected be.
catise of his destinations. To this day no
poet has ever touched me as Burns has I;
and, in short, no country has ever inter
ested me so much as Scotland. Some day
| shall make pilgrimage therep
DR.. Buchanan flushed with a strange
| pleasure at this earnest praise of his "ain
countree." And are you sure" he asked,
"that you are not of Scotch descent your
self? cannot help thinking so now more
than ever"
gravely, Though my father was of Irish
parentage But, you know, once upon a
| time-I'm sure don't know when, for |
never can remember dates-but not such
very great while ago, number of
Scotch families exiled themselves to the
north of Ireland for the sake of their re-
ligion, and formed colony there, whose
descendants arc still Presbyterians. am
sure my father came of these people,
though L was too young ever TO be talked
to about these things For he was the
perfect realization in mind and person of
my idea of a Scotch Covenanter tall and
large and austere, with blue eyes that
looked right through one, and mouth
that seldom smiled. He was Presbyte-
rian, dyed in the wool, and his idea of
milk for the babes was the Confession of
Faith, and the Westminster Catechism.
How well l remember standing up before
him of a Sunday-I mean Sabbath-after-
noon, when about so high beginning at
What is the chief end of man ? and
going through all the mysteries of Re-
demption, Justification, and Sanctification,
about as understandingly as Deb Milton
used to read Greek to her father. And
my mother sat by-she was sunny
hearted Englishwoman-prote in
vain against her little ones being
taught that they were the children of
wrath, and, as likely as not, foreordained
by Gods good pleasure to eternal misery.
Oh, how plainly | can see it all now,
though it is many weary day since |
saw them"
Flossy leaned back in the great leath-
ern chair, and, shutting her poor eyes,
suffered herself to wander back into the
half-forgotten past and DR.. Buchanan
stood by looking down upon the wistful
young face, which he had only seen be-
fore sparkling with the sunshine of
merry mood, or pale with patience under
pain, thinking how sweet it was in shine
or shadow, and feeling a curious sensation
of sympathy and interest for his fair
young patient, stirring somewhere under
his vest
When he spoke, however, it was in the
old gay tone:
"Well, am delighted that my intui-
ton has proved correct about our being
one-country- folk" he said "And now,
do you know, l believe l could guess your
house-name; / could tell you at least,
what l think you ought to have been
called"
"What?" asked Flossy, laughing and
curious
"One of the sweet Scotch lassie-names,
of course; l cannot quite decide: Enie,
or Marian, or Flora. Flora, think, suits
yeu best. Do you like it?"
Flossy started in amuzed surprise, but
instantly assumed demure look. "Why
does Flora suit me best?" she asked.
DR.. Buchanan hesitated, Redeemed lit
tie, and then spoke out:
"You must pardon me, for you have
asked the question. 1t is because you
have such flower like face. Such peach
blossom cheeks and rosebud lips, eyes
like bluebells, and hair as yellow as the
golden gorse on our glorious Scotch
moors. You must know yourself that it
suits you"
Flossy's peach blossoms turned to car
nations, but she laughed in glee, and said,
merrily:
"Well, you are not far wrong. My
name is Florence"
The doctor started, and flushed with
pleasure.
"Is it so, indeed ?" he said, eagerly.
But l should-they should call you
Flora, as a pet name. Do they9"
mo-" said his patient. Fred-and
Fred is all have now" the shadow
crossed her face again" calls me always
Flossy." The glow faded from the doc
tors face likewise, and he bit his lip. He
had forgotten, for moment, that she be-
longed to Fred" and he did not find it
pleasant to be thus abruptly reminded of
it. He said, presently, in quiet voice; {;
at is a pretty little name. And, now,
here is your medicine, and you are not to
forget that after this we two Highland
folk are to be real friendsg"
think that we are 30 already" said
Flossy, simply, looking at him with a
clear glance OF her truthful eyes, and put.
ting her hand frankly into the one he Of
fered, as she rose to go.
So the days and the weeks slipped by,
and the friendship, sudden as it was,
lost none of its interest, but rather
grew in strength and nearness, The
visits of so sweet and bright a
patient were like oases in the
desert of the doctors daily toll; and
Flossy, without acknowledging it to
herself, passed the happiest hour of her
day at his office. They somehow suited
each other exactly; and, no matter what
was the topic touched upon in their many
talks, whether "grave or gray, or lively or
severe" there was sure to be something
which gave unconscious proof of their
harmony of taste and temperament and
neither felt so happy, so natural, so en-.
tirely the best SELF as with the other.
DIR. Buchanan made some Intellectual
struggle against the growth of feeling
which, he knew, could lead to nothing
| fIrthar. ElOaSu in ahildlika rnpnn aciOue q.