The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1875-09-03

that splendid half-section of land in the
bottom, if rll marry her, and I can't
think of giving it up. Pill be compelled
to, though, by next December, if don't
marry somebody"
So the affair was settled. And the
untutored mountain child became Mrs.
Willard, and was installed in the bride
groom's shanty as Florence's aunt.
Now, reader, you have an idea about
Mrs. Willard, so, if you are ready, we
will continue our imaginary journey to
her residence, looking out all the while
for the dogs. Within the cabin is a
strange medley of refinement and awk-
wardness, showing that difference Of
opinion about housekeeping prevails.
A baby is squalling vigorously in the
little back-kitchen, and child, of thir-
teen months is following suit in the
front room. A dignified young lady,
tall, graceful, pretty and fascinating,
plays the agreeable with US, while Mrs.
Willard is endeavoring to soothe the
noisy children. We turn involuntarily
to long shelf of books, where the
young lady was engaged in reading
when we first entered. Some richly
bound poetical works, family Bible,
Dicks works and Scott's Commentaries,
look suggestively out of place in this
rustic cabin-not half so we'll built OF
convenient as Farmer Gray's first pio-
neer shanty.
Florence Willard, Herbert's ideal OF
maidenly loveliness, is before us-the
same dark eyes, raven curls and marble
brow the same pleasing expression, in
spite of tinge of sadness visible in the
curling lip and tinted cheek, showing
that hers is life of everyday disap-
pointment, that made her charming as
a child, and render her fascinating as q
woman.
"Are you satisfied with life in the will
derness ?" we ask.
The proud lip curls, and an indignant
tglance of pity and contempt at her aunt
shows better than words can express il
how ardently she longs to be released
from her monotonous mode of existence
II try to be eontented, but cannot say
that 1 succeed. My studies will be com.
pleted under my uncle in another year
and then l shall seek society"
Mrs. Willard is short, clumsy LITTLE
creature, mere child, whose trials anC
duties as mother and house. keepe,
have blanched her cheek and worn tn,
flesh from her short, broad frame. He
dress is soiled, and though evidently
made by the hand of her niece, is shah
shabbily arranged upon her very
slovenly figure. Her children, one no
a year older than the other, are noisy
and dirty. The mother has too muet
butter and cheese to take care of to af
ford time to keep them clean, even i
she knew how, and Florence long since
ceased to care for them, for she is dis
couraged.
Here comes Mr.. Willard home to sup
per. A half-dozen men are with him
all riding Indian ponies. They have
driven up the enormous band of cattle
and cOTTdLed them for the night.
drove of calves, fifty or more in number
are bawling piteously in the pasturi
that joins the corral. Notwithstanding
the backwoods life her uncle leads, anC
the uncouth surroundings of his wild
wood home, Florence respects many o
his attachments. In spite of his hickory
shirt, buckskin pants and cowhidt
boots, he appears dignified and courte
GUS, and as we get into conversation
with him, we are surprised at his gen
eral knowledge. He takes several Ter
ritorial, and numerous collection o
States papers, which are strung upon
line in the chimney corner, making
formidable looking pile. We ask WHY
he doesn't live in society. He answer
that his immense herds prevent hin
from living in settlement. Common
sense. suggests that he's man of goot
sense in most things, and knows hi
wife would be a constant source o
modification to him, among civilizeC
people. Say it, reader. Say what yol
think. He deserves his banishment
Of what use to him is his extra half-sec
tion of land Has he not paid dearl!
for his bargain? "Better is dry NOR
sci and quietness herewith" or well
drop that quotation, and give you an
other yet more to the point. "There i
that maketh him rich, yet hath moth
ing; there is that maketh him poor, ye
hath great riches"
Mrs. Willard says it's "milkin' time,
and as Florence is tying on her bonne
to assist in that important vocation, W
will bid them adieu, with the intention
of visiting them again in a subsequen
chapter.
ITO be continued.l