Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1874-06-12


had been a pair of lovers in the moon in
stead of right under his silver bowed
spectacles. "The boys following in his
fathers track" chuckled the worthy man,
and in her heart Celia believed that her
father was right. Then, over her knit
ting, she would try to make picture for
herself of Juanita, as she looked dancing
that outlandish but no doubt bewitching
dance, the bolero, and the Spanish girls
black eyes would flash and her little feet
twinkle curiously all through the staid
New England conversation, till, finally,
when Mark Wilson, or young DIR. Heath,
or Lewis Sunderland, from over the hill,
had said good night and gone away, Celia
would betake herself to her chamber, there
to piece out the broken images again in
dreams, and fancy she heard Rory's rich
voice singing serenades under the thick.
blossomed creepers, and saw the CLEAN of
gold in Juanita's black cloud of tresses,
till she started suddenly broad awake,
with the sun in her eyes, and Peters whis-
tie in her ears, as he went oot to fodder
the cattle in the early morning. Then
she would half smile as she rose and
made her simple but dainty toilet, and
standing before the glass shook loose over
her fair face the thick, waving locks that
needed no foreign ornamentfo give them
the gleam of gold; then she would go
lightly down stairs, for she e.must set the
whole household machinery in motion,
she must see that others ate and drank,
she must eat and drink herself; and amid
her multiplicity of occupations she had
no time to pine or pale, and so the new
day would wear pleasantly enough to
close, like those that had gone before
and should follow after it.
So four years slipped away, and then
Rory came home suddenly without a
word of warning; he wanted to give them
a surprise, he said. And huge surprise
it was; only after little he had dropped
so completely into his old place that it
seemed as if he had never been away. So
said Uncle Jacob.
"You amt bit changed, not bit,"
went on the old man. you're brown
enough-yes, but then you always was
coffee-color, you know, Rory, heyP"
Eyes, | know" answered Rory, return
ing the old mans laugh. "But 1 am
changed for all that, Uncle Jacob. Ask
Celia"
"Well, we'll, perhaps you be, perhaps
you be-" said the old man. my eyes
amt what they were-nor my glasses
neither. l shall have to buy new pair,
1 guess" But the change in his nephew
was one which no new pair of glasses
nor even of eyes, unless they had been
Celia's-would have enabled Uncle Jacob
to see.
"S'pose we sha'n't keep you long," con-
tinued he, presently. "You'Il be in
hurry to get back again ?"
mo, Uncle Jacob" answered Rory;
"I've come home for good. Imean to try
and turn to account here what I've man.
aged to pick up out there"
"Ahal didn't say so? Going to do
just as his father did " chuckled the old
farmer, oblivious, apparently, of the fact
that neither his fathers agricultural nor
matrimonial ventures had thriven in
transplanting. "But you'll have to go
back, though, TO fetch your bride. When's
it to be, eh, lad? when's the wedding COM
ing of
"The wedding?" repeated Rory, dream
ily1 then, with a start and smile, Oh,
some time next year, l expect"
"Then it really was to be-" thought
Celia, as she watched Rory's unconscious
face. How strange that she, she should
have been the one to send him half across
the world to find a wife in this unknown
cousin, who otherwise would doubtless
have remained unknown to him forever.
Well, she did it for the best, she told her
self, as often before, but this time she
could not thus console herself quite so
readily. And just then Rory's eyes turned
suddenly full upon her, and she blushed
guiltily, and got up and went into the
kitchen, remembering all at once that
Nancy Walsh was a raw girl, and was
probably spelling whatever she had in
hand.
Two or three days passed by much as
of old.
"Do you expect anybody tonight,
Cellar" asked Rory one evening.
"No, not that l know Of" answered
Celia, rather in surprise; "why?"
Nothing, only as DR.. Heath was here
last night, and Lewis Sunderland the
night before, and Mark Wilson the night
before that, was wondering ifYou had
one for every evening in the weekr'
"What nonsense, Rory" said Celia,
turning away in search of something in
her work-basket
as it nonsense9" said Rory. "Im
sure l hope so, for then we have pros
pect of quiet evening"
A very quiet evening they seemed to
have a prospect of, for it was long
time before either of them spoke word.
light-stand between, Celia knitting, and
Rory lazily watching her quick little
fingers fly in and out among the needles.
Both, perhaps, thought of just such an
evening Just four years before.
"There's your moth back again, Celia"
said Rory, suddenly.
Celia looked up with a start, first at
Rory and then at large moth which, in
tact, was circling uncertainty round the
candle-wick.
"Yes, but he's grown shy; he'll be off
again in minute" said the girl, uncon-
sciously following out the thought in her
mind.
"What odds will you bet on that'"
asked Rory.
"Betting is wrong" said Celia, de-
murely.
"Not between cousins" returned Rory,
with equal gravity. "This coral-headed
pin of mine-let me see-to that rose in
your hair, that Mr.. Moth stays and singes
HIMSELF"
Celia did not refuse, and silence con-
senteth. They kept quiet, and watched
and waited.
Not for very long. The winged sim
pleton advanced, retreated, advanced
nearer, executed few zigzag flights and
eccentric curves, then made blind dash
at the fame and fell scorched on the
table.
"Welll" said Rory, coming round to
Celia, and his eyes looking straight into
hers, while he detached the rose. That
required time and patience, for 1t was q
thorny bud, and by the time Rory had
finished one of his fingers was bleeding,
"You pay dear for your whistle" said
Celia.
"No dearer than expected" answered
Rory. "I knew it was a brier-rose," and
again he looked at her. He did not &c
back to his former seat then, but drew q
chair beside her, and leaned his elbow on
the table, where the moth was still feebly
fiuttering.
"Poor old fellowl" said Rory, looking
down at it with queer smile, come and
die in honey" And he picked it up and
placed it on the rose leaves. Moths like
roses, too" he said
"You're thinking of butterflies" said
Celia, knitting away most industriouslY