Vermont farmer. [volume] (Newport, Orleans County, Vt.) 1870-1877, 1875-09-03
For the Vermont FARMER.
1T MIGHT HAVE BEEN.
BY SARAH BRIGHAM MANSFIELD.

1t was busy day ut Hillside Farm. a coy
busy day indeed. Bridget, the only servant,
had gone to her sisters wedding. and Aunt
Hetty Brown, in the dairy, was deep in the
mysteries of turning the rich, yellow cream
into golden Jumps of butter, while Daisy.
with white arms barred to the dimpled elbows
and abundant tresses tucked away in u net.
was in the kitchen kneading bread, and the
long rows of fiaky pies and pans of crisp rolls
showed Daisy Vaughn, fair and sweet and
delicate as she looked, was an adept in the
culinary art And there was the custard
pudding Uncle John loved. and none so well
as those prepared by her fair hands. Dear
Uncle John, who had been father to her in
her orphanage; and the brown eyes filed
with tears as she thought of all his loving
kindness and tender, watchful care.
The long. warm July day WAS drawing to
a close. Aunt Hetty was laying the cloth
for ten; Daisy was gathering flowers to
adorn the table, her petite figure robed in
simple blue muslin, the coquettish, white
apron with its dainty ruflles. the pale gold
curls reaching to the slender waist, the full.
white brow, the soft brown eyes and pearls
of teeth-she was rs rarely sweet and fair
as the spray of mignonette and white roses
she held in her taper fingers.
daisy" called Aunt Hetty. twill you hull
these strawberries for tea? You know Ned
Sinclair was to bring home an old college
chum, and just heard the train whistling
In"
Eyes, auntie :" and catching up the bas-
ket of luscious fruit, she sped away TO her
favorite nook in the garden, a rustic, vine
EMPOWERED seat, where she loved TO sit and
dream, like many another little maiden, her
beautiful rose-hucd dreams Of the future.
The last red ripe strawberry had fallen
from her busy fingers, and she was about to
return to the honse, when voice fell upon
her ear that sent the rich blood. surging IL
cheek and brow
'Well, Hugh, old fellow, here we arc nj
Hillside Farm, the home Of my forefathors
Here my plebian ancestors titled the soil
My grandfather planted these stately
elms; here my father was born and spen
most of his childhood; now Aunt Hetty re-
sides here, and here, in spite of my fashion
able mammals protest, / have spent Il mOntf
very pleasantly, hunting, fishing and firt
ing"
"But who with prayP" and the voice was
low and rich with milk-maids, or wood
nymphs; you surely do not find Fashionable
young ladies in this secluded placer"
"Well, no, not really fashionable yOunI
ladies, but Daisy Vaughn's face is study
s.,ko A ell
feel e'lnui. in hOr presence, l assure you
And then she's II real lady, no denying that
., If she only had Paulina Puffer's hft!
thousand, wouldn't marry her though,
she is a little country girl"
"Would you?" and the slight figure in tn,
little arbor grew proudly erect, the smaI
hands cenched tight, the brown eyes flashed
80 you would marry me If were rich,
and she choked down great sob.
''But who is the young lady of whom yo
speak, queried Dunbar"
20, thought you knew; why, an orphan
niece of Uncle Johns, thrown upon his char
ity when little more than a babe. Quite
romance attached to her history, too. Daisy
mother, as I've been told. was n beauty
An artist, one Ernest Vaughn, who prove
TO be the son of New York banker of tbs
name, saw her, Tell in love with her. an
they were married. His father never fol
gave the misalllance, and left his vast wealt
to charitable institutions, while his son an
lovely young wife died in want and obscurit.
That's what call downright shabby to trea
fellow that way. Don't see how the oil
chap can sleep in his grave. Just think wha
might have been,'" and Ned Sinclai
stroked histawny beard, thinking what Low,
ly BRIDE Daisy Vaughn would be. endowe,
with a goodly portion of the old banker
wealth.
"Bnt what of your treatment of the lit
orphanP not only think il 'downrigl
shabby but cOntemptibly mean, shown
yourself instead offs gentleman to be mel