Bradford opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1874-1881, 1874-07-25
"You took her on her face, Sister

: lambs. She's always been good
prompt pay, and was getting fonf
Of the little thing, most as if she't
been one of my own girls. These
: quiet still folks have wonderful
way of edging themselves into the
feelings, anu even now, l won't be
lieve a word of harm Of the poor
child, rs Pm a christian. But i,
did give me start to hear there
had been difficulty year ago up al
Edgecombe."
The girls had gone their several
ways, Janet to feed her poaltry
Huldah to attend totithe kitchen.
Edwin, perceiving his mother was
getting into the neighborhood Of
what children call "bloody bones,"
let his knife fall, and, STOPPING
down, touched her foot.
\ Mrs. Huntly coughed and hemmed
and colored. "Oh, Sister Camp"
said she, suddenly changing the
subject, "haven't you brought along
some good religious reading for Ed,
win that will wake him up to his
impenitent condition 7"
''To be sure" Sister Camp was
always primed with religious read
ing, carried in company with her
catarrh snuff and various specifics
for the cold that perpetually hung
about her. "Some-where or other,
in my ridicule or my pocket, I've
got a powerful tract, called the Car
nal Heart, that will exactly meet his
case"
"No thank you," grunted Edwin {;
'pll make tracks myself )" and with
that he seized his hat and bolted
out of the door.
The sun shone with soft caress.
ing touch, sprinkling kisses on
grass and dandelions, while round
downy clouds sailed through the
wonderful blue sky. Edwin did not
feel bit like business that morning
which was strange, as business was
generally the breath of his nostrils.
He thought in vague way that he
would like to wander through the
woods with Rachel, and hear tho
birds sing. So across the mill.field
he strobe beside a hedge that he
himself had planted. At the end
were a few young plum-trees, all
covered with white flowers, as if
waiting for the bridegroom. A
bench stood in that spot, but it was
partly hidden from view. Edwin
paused in his walk :; he thought he
heard something like q low sob on
the other side of the hedge. 1t was
Rachel, under large brown garden
hat, as miserable and detected as
broken winged bird. She was cry.
ing, but it did not redden her nose,
or blotch her cheeks. Tears only
added to the exquisite softness of
her face. She was like pale flower
dipped in dew.
Edwin gave gasp-big, strong
fellow that he was. Il am so sorry
you are unhappy" he stammered,
appearing before her, and not know
ing what he was saying.
81 am very unfortunate" sobbed
Rachel, with the look of a lost child
utterly unable to cope with its
troubles, which went directly to
Edwin's heart. III shall never,
never prosper; why, can not tell.
AS soon as 1 find home where peo-
pie are kind, something is sure to
happen which brings distrust and
upon my head. have
been lonely and sad great deal of
my life, and lonely and sad I must
ever be ~
"Don't say that )" and there was
a tremor in his manly voice. "But
tell me, did this thing ever happen
before, Rachel 7"
"Yes," she answered, in a faint,
heart sick way. "You ought to
know the whole story. Two years
ago my father died. Before that
we had wandered about great
deal, and l was very weary. My
little brother, you know l told you,
lied too; and after he went l grew
'piritless and dull, and could eat
and could only sit listless-
y all day with my hands folded ;
md / think l should have mOurned
myself quietly to death. But there
we're friends who helped and en-
me. Father was a sort of
Irtist, and he had taught me to
lraw in water-colors. They got me
his work, by which 1 have support
ID myself ever since, and it inter
,sted me and woke me up to life t