The Bloomfield times. [volume] (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1867-187?, 1873-04-22


The very thing Argeline answered the
advertisement Immediately, and in less
than week she had the reply of the com
mittee. She might come out to Ellwood,
if mutually pleased, she could enter upon
her duties at once. She could come to the
house of Esquire Dracut, where the teachers
always boarded.
She packed up her wardrobe, took Edith,
and went to Ellwood. The place disap-
pointed her most agreeably. One might
travel hundreds of miles, and not come
across SO attractive a spot as the quiet val
ley in which Ellwood was situated
Esquire Dracut met her at the depot, and
carried her home with him, in the super
animated, bellows-topped chaise. The
Dracut farmhouse was gem, she thought,
as they wound slowly up to the broad porch
through green lane of sycamore trees.
If was set down in the middle of great
ield-old, rambling and roomy-surround-
ed by trees century old and command
ing from its windows the most delightful
view in the world The blue, hazy hills
stretching away into the distance, pile
upon pile the unruffled lake, mirroring
every tree and shrub with life-like ac-
curacy; the dense forest of maple and beech
clad in their young green-O, it was beau
tiful to Argeline and to Edith, the city
child, who had never seen a field larger
than the dusty park, it was like glimpse
into paradise.
Mrs. Dracut was just the woman one
likes to see the mistress of a farmhouse.
Robust, ruddy, active, cheerful--she made
her guests at home without ceremony.
The school would begin the ensuing
Monday, if Argeline passed the examin-
alton. She did pass it, so splendidly that
old Deacon Grimes rubbed his hands, and
declared that she must have managed to
smuggle herself through Dartmouth. The
old man had prevailing belief that no one
ever achieved eminence unless he had been
graduated at his own Alma Mater.
The school was new business to the
tempt to apply herself to work, and it came
hard, but she had brought to it a brave
heart, and determination to succeed.
She did well. The scholars liked her
she pleased their parents. She was solicited
to take charge of the fall term, and gladly
accepted the offer. She liked Ellwood-
Edith could keep on with her studies the
same as though she were in the city, and
the country air made such beautiful girl
of her
The term closed with an examination,
and among the strangers present, Argeline
saw face that interested her strangely
She did not inquire to whom it belonged
it was not like her, but she heard George
Phelps, the medical student, address hin
as Mr.. Ashcroft.
So the pale-faced, dark haired man, with
the singular expressive eyes, and smile ol
womanly sweetness, was Eugene Ashcroft
the master of Ashcroft Hall. Argelin,
passed the grounds of this fine old mansion
every day on her way to school, and more
than once she had stolen a blood-red rose
from the profusion of vines that had crept
over the high fence to brighten the dusty
road.
She had heard great deal of Mr.. Ash
croft since she had come to Ellwood. III
had been absent in New York through thu
summer now he had come home to oversee
the harvesters. Is there country village
under the sun which has not its celebrity
its own particular great man? OF cours
not. And Ellwood was no exception, TO
it claimed Eugene Ashcroft.
Argeline heard his praises rung, and hi
faults chronicled by every young lad.
whom she had met-they said he was hand
some, wealthy and very self-conceited
Women have way of flattering men til
they fill them with selfconceit, and ther
blame them for it.
Mr.. Ashcroft was naturally noble-heart
ed-but fiattery, and the worlds fame ha'
tarnished the fine gold of his character, ant
given him, perhaps, too exalted an idea o
his own attractions.
Argeline could not help thinking of hin
that night; seldom had she been more in
terested. She was obliged to confess tn
humiliating truth that she thought of hin
SO deeply as to dream of him when sh
went to sleep, and remembered the very ex
preston Of his eyes the first thing whel
she awoke In the morning. '-t
A week afterwards, there was picni
in Harvey's woods. Argeline was rathe
late. John Dracut, the oldest son of til
squire, drove her over. The party ha'
struggled of, sonie In one direction, an,