Ashtabula weekly telegraph. [volume] (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1853-1873, 1871-05-06
How it was Settled.
ny AMY RANDOLPH.

A little jewel of village, nesting be-
tween the grand old wall of primeval
forest and the blue shrine of the broad
winding river-when people talk vague
ly about "out west" they scarcely pic
ture to themselves such q scene as This.
And the naples were already hung with
their veil of crimson bloom, and the
spring butter cups were nodding their
golden turbans over the slopes of the
hills and the prairie rose over the
porch OF Langdon Cleye's "law office"
was putting on its drapery of soft green
leaves to serve as background for the
by and-by roses.
"lf l had thought it was going to be
such bother as this" thought our hero,
"fd have seen Riverglen in Jericho, be-
fore l consented to serve as school trus-
tee. And there's old Squire Milliken,
wagging his fat cheeks and saying, q
leave it all to you, my dear, young
triend;' and Eliakam Miller, taking snuff
and protesting "taint never his style to
meddle in none o these things = l sup
pose have as much patience as most
men, but l declare it is sorely tried
sometimes.
He was handsome man to look up.
en-, this Langdon Clevc, with bright,
brown eyes and healthy, brown com
plexion, and a mouth 50 shaped that it
stood in need of no carefully trained
moustache to hide its well curved lines
Apparently his twenty,seventh year of
existence had brought him nothing but
good and pleasant things, yet he was
out of patience at last.
If Pve asked What are the principal
rivers OF South Africa ? once, I've asked
it hundred times" he went on, wbim-
sically, TO himself, "and as for the multi
plication table and simple interest, why,
they haunt me. shall fetch up in lu-
natic asylum at last, if can't get the
district school off my hands. There
comes one now It's the pretty girl with
hazel eyes. Itold her to come to-day.
but | don't know any more what to say
to her now than l did yesterday. And
the other pretty girl, the one with the
blue eyes, will he here presently, and
what TO do don't know, unless divide
the little brown school-house into two
sections, and establish a queen over each
division"
Mr.. Cleve dislodged his feet from their
airy position, and rose dispairingly from
his seat, as a slender, graceful figure gil
ded in.
81 have called to see about the school,
Mr.. Cleve," said this young lady-Miss
Dora Brown by name and distractingly
pretty by nature.
- So;1 o,,. ho.n p,nyipor
forward chair. "Pray be seated. AS
true asl'm living creature, (this under
his breath) there comes the other one ~
And scarcely two minutes behind ap.
plicant No. /, came applicant No. 2.
Jenny Smith was blue eyed, with shi-
ming, brown ringlets, making pretty,
tendril-like confusion over her face, and
a sweet, cbild-moutb--red as rose and
twice as sweet. And as Jenny came in
she colored and looked timidly up in the
face of the tall trustee, and murmured
something about "thc school,"
"Won't you sit down. Miss Jenny ?"
asked Mr.. Cleve, moving up a second
chair
Jenny and Dora looked shyly at each
other, and Langdon Cleve wished him
self anywhere in the world but just
where he was. For how on earth was
he to decide between those two pretty,
imploring, young creatures, both Of them
eager and anxious to toll for their daily
bread, both of them cspitally well quail
fled for the position, and both of them
fully posted about South Africa and
compound interest. Had Jenny been
a whit less informed, there might be
the shadow of an excuse for appointing
Dora. II Dora hesitated about a single
question, Jenny would undoubtedly
have had the position at once. Both
were competent as competent could be
to preside over the dozen "young ideas"
in the village school, aud Langdon Cleve
was fairly overshadowed with the horns
of the dilemma.
In this sore perplexity, Mr.. Cleve be-
thought himself OF an ancient saying in
''multitude of counselors" ft
excuse me an instant" he said, bow
ing to the would-be school marms.' 81
mast 60 and get the minute book"
81 wonder what minute book is,"
said Dora, timidly.
"Pm sure don't know" Jenny an
swered, under breath, as if the dusty
bust of Shakespeare over the Bookcase
could have heard her