The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1876-07-06
80 BELLEVUE, La, THURSDAY, JULY s, 1876. :

:, la, THURSDAY, j
blue bonnet strings, and laid aside the
neat but simple shawl, to enter upon
her probation.
More than year had crept over the
daily current Of life at Beckfordville.
The trees were bare and leafess, the
snow lay white and deep in all the hol-
lows and dimples by the roadside, and
sharp December wind was sweeping
along the Thames as the sun glowed
with momentary redness, ere it sank
down out of sight.
~ssHow soon it grows dark!'' said
Mrs. Beckford, with little sigh.
:" That's right, Edith-draw the cur
tains; now we're comfortable!''
Comfortable, indeed, they were, with
the shaded lamp glowing softly on the
table, and the bright fire on the hearth,
while Mrs. Beckford's spectacle glasses
shone like twin orbs of fame, and her
knitting-needles glittered responsively.
Edith was sitting opposite to her,
fashioning narrow white ribbon into
bows for the old lady s new winter caps.
She looked wonderfully pretty in dress
of sober blue merino, with a blue ribbon
tangled somewhere in the braids of her
Furnished hair, while the delicate color
on her cheek was like the inside of
| pink shell.
What's that you were sayings while
ago about going back to London, my
dear? ?a said the old lady, suddenly turn
ing round to Edith. 81 just want you
to understand thatyou can't go. can't
spare you.'' - y,
She put one arm round Edith's neck,
and drew the round cheek down on her
lap. - -
| ssDo you really love me, Mrs. Beck
ford?'' asked the girl, earnestly:
4 Glove you, darlingP Icould no more
get onwithout you than could without
the sunshine. It seems as though you
belong to me. / don't know what
you've done to steal my old heart away,
j I'm sure" went on Mrs. Beckford,
musingly '.bat you remind me some
how of thelitt daughter I once lost.
You won't leave me, Edith, dear?''
There was something almost pathetic
in her pleading voice, as she. touched
her withered lips to the pure forehead
of the beautiful girl. q
"You,M stay and be Q daughter to me
> in my old age, Edith? What should ]
: do without the little feet that "trip Sc
: lightly about the house, and the hands
: that are forever busy in my behalf? Tel
me you will stay, Edith - sl.s
"Dearest Mrs. Beckford, - whispered
Edith, with the happy crimson dyeing
her cheek, sI'l never leave you; vii
D stay with you always. Oh, | am sc
t glad you have learned to love me-mort
glad than I can. tell you. But, Mrs
lBeckford-''
II tsWell, dearp" 49,. ssas.- *
"There's something I want to tel
: you--semething ] have kept back from
Y you," faltered Ee tn, with. her fingers
IS nervonsly twinil themselves arount
the old lady's slel Ter, wrinkled hand
"Mrs. Becderd, am
h But Mrs. Beckford had started to he
t, feet, with a low, half-suppressed cry.
"Hush! did I not hear his footsteps
d1 It was something more than the win,
+ among the evergreens-itw was my boy
:. foot upon the threshold. He has com
jback to mei''
:, She rushed to the door and threw
- wide open.
: Ernest! My boy!''
~ And the tall, stalwart figure caugh
4 her in its arms, as if she had been a lit
. tie child. ~
= mother, are you glad to see you
: wanderer back once morepn
l.. Nor is it any. .aspersion on his mani
dignity to state that a slight moistur
IS was sparkling on his, long eyelashes a
he bent to kiss his mothers cheek
=. Men are but mortal, even though the
1. be six feet high, and framed accordingly
r. AS she drew him in he caught mt
mentary glimpse Of figure in theapar
e. ment beyond f.
n aYou are not alone, mother?''
al ssNe Edith is with me.''
"And who may Edith be-
=. "Didnr you get my lettersp / wro'
all about her.
81 haven't seen q letter for thre
ns months,
e. Edith was standing where the flu
brilliance of the lamp shone upon h'
he blushing check and radiant hair, ;
| mother and son entered the room +
s. fgether. Ernest stopped short, gazir
a at her in bewilderment-
40 ssMabeli' 81. 4
w, "Ernest, what do you mean!'' e
claimed Mrs. Beckford, doubtf
mn whether OF not her son had taken lea,
of his senses. g This is Edith Moore
VS. ssShe is Mabel Moore, my own at
anced wifei" said Ernest, springil