Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1874-07-23
CLARA MARCHANT'S ROSES.

"Oh, dear, Mr.. Hunt, how you
startled mer' said Miss Marchant, as
she turned around from the open
window of her pretty sitting-room to
greet gentleman who was entering
the door. "See my poor roses are
all flying right and leftp'
II beg your pardon; let me help
you," said Mr.. Hunt, stopping to col
lect the lovely blossoms of climb
ing rose which had just been gather
ed.
''But they are all going up town to
Lady Merriman's," explained Miss
Marchant, ''to deck her rooms for the
ball. Oh, dear, l should like to go
with them. No, / should not! Stu
pid things balls are; and yet, Mr..
Hunt, let me tell you in confidence, l
feel terribly dull down here"
Strange words to come from Miss
Clara Marchant, the rich stockhold-
er's daughter and sole heiress to the
beautiful house and grounds called
Barton Towers, which had lately been
purchased by Mr.. Marchant. Strange,
but true; she was dull. The routine
to which she had been accustomed
for the last five years of ball and par
ty, dinner and drive, had been dis
turbed by the move from London to
the county, which had been render
ed necessary by Aher fathers falling
heath.
<s.Come, Nh. HINT she said gaily,
"yoq tell ps ippthe pulpit not to be
diseontdnted with our lives, but to
make the best of them; now, do tell
me what I ought to do. l have lived
a quarter of century, and yet 1 have
not found out for myself. l have
only one duty-lool1ing after my
father; but most part of the day he
prefers his valet to me, so l have
great deal of time in which to make
myself unhappy"
Miss Marchant spoke lightly, but
there was an air of truth about her
words, and Mr.. Hunt, the good cler-
gyman, felt sorry for her.
81 can't teach-children worry me;
l don't like dirty houses, 1 never gave
away a tract in my life," continued
Miss Marchant; $50 don't ask me to
do any of those things"
''Let me help you to put up those
flowers" said Mr.. Hunt; and for a
few minutes the two were busy lay
ing the beautiful roses in soft beds of
cotton wool.
'.Pity they should wither in Lady
Merriman's hot roomsr' said Clara
Marchant. "But, after all, it is bet
ter than to leave them nodding their
heads off in my garden, with no one
to smell them or admire them
81 quite agree with you," said Mr..
Hunt, laughing. "And now may 1
have one for my. pains?'
And he chose a lovely nearly
blown ''Gloire de Dijou."
'Oh, yes, but not that; it is too
widely opened for your button hole.
Here is little beauty-take this"
said Miss Marchant.
Il hold to my first choice" said
Mr.. Hunt; ''it is not for my button
hole, but for one of my sick people"
"Oh, sickr' said Clara Marchant,
considering. "By the way, I sup
pose in the country they expect GER
tain amount of soup and kitchen
physic from. the great house, don't
they? Well, you must tell me, and /
will speak to the house-keeper. lam
new to the work." she added, smil-
ing.
"You are very kind,'' said Mr..
Hunt; Il will come to you when such
things are needed. Were you going
out? l was going to ask your per-
to cross the strawberries to
the lower woods; it will save me half
a mile
81 will come with your said Miss
Marchant.
And the two set out on their walk.
Mr.. Hunt stopped at last at a tiny