Litchfield enquirer., 1876-02-24

lid gentleman Surely that was no inva- lids face, nor gentlsman's face, either, that peered out of the window as the car riage passed us. No,i was little, round, rosy face, with eyes as blue as the sky, and such sweet, innocent, half-opened, wondering mouth I saw it all in 8 turn of the wheel .a1h s9sl4EL9.AI eaE II
 ..I thought you spoke of a gentleman 2 say I to my two little men. But at that moment the steamer scraped against tie sides of the little wooden pier, and a splashing and dashing of waves ensued; 8 plank was flung across between the boat and the shore, and the passengers came off and the passengers went on, in the midst of which general commotion my two little men disappeared in their char acters of touters for their new hotel.
 "I think we may go now, said a pretty clear, rippling voice, in soft, slow Italian; and little childish figure jumped out oi the carriage. An old man followed-a very old man-feeble and tottering. His coat hung in folds round his poor shrunk- en form; his head was bent, his faco aa gray as the ashes of fire that is burnt out. He looked absolutely stepping head foremost into the grave. The girl helped him carefully out of the carriage, and then, slipping her arm in his, led him down to the little plank. 1, following in their steps, could not help watching the pair. There was something so touching, so tender. in the way in which he chung to her, and she supported him.
 At the plank all was hustle and confu- sion still; people were coming and going, and boxes were being carried across. The old man placed his trembling foot on this end of the plank just when burly Ger man at the other gave 1t an unconscious shove. The board slipped suddenly. the girls hand was jerked out of the old mans, and in another second he would have been precipitated into the water. but for an intervening arm which was fortu- nately able to steady hin, and drag him back to shore. That intervening arm was mine, and shall never forget the look of gratitude on the old mans face, nor the pretty words that came ripping from the young girls lips like a little bubbling stream in spring time. We all went sate- ly on board together, moment later, that little incident having made us friends on the spot.
 The girl became very busy immediately, darting about hither and thither in search of of.cush1ons and stools, and looking out for comfortable seat for the old man, who was her father. probably, though he might with equal probability have been her grandfather, as far as age went. She found one at last in a cozy corner. shaded from the sun, and sheltered from the wind. She sat down beside him herself, and peered out under the awning with her great, misty, blue eyes. There was no room for me, and the little girl looked rather sorry in consequence. It could not be helped, however. The boat was full. l strolled away to the other end. If only Miss Brooke had been present My fellow passengers were of the ordinary type-commonplace English and noisy Germans in supeBabundance By and by 1 threw away my cigar-end, and strolled back toward the two Italians. The old man was asleep with his chin on his chest. The girl was awake, very wide awake, with @ book across her lap.
 ''Do you read English l asked, with some surprise. going up to her, ,and seeing that the book in question was a Tsuch- nitz copy of Miss Thackeray's ''VIllage on the Cliff" It is not often that an Italian girl even of the highest classes, such as l somehow judged this one to be, becomes proficient in a language which priests, and still more convent authorities, regard as somehow tainted with heresy.
 ''I can read it little, signore," she an- swered, modestly. '"He likes me to learn it, you gee" Gndicating with peculiar, lingering, sing song accent the sleeping man by her side). "He is so clever him. self, and he thinks I Lave little talent for languages. So all last winter, in Venice, studied English. It is asbeau. tiful language, and this is 8 beautiful book. The signore Inglese has read it, of course ?"
 I shook my. head. The "signore h. glese" had read it, of course. and admired it greatly; but then-she looked so pretty when she talked.
 ''Tell me about it, ;" said I.
 'It is about girl who marries man she does not care for much at first, but who in the end she learns to love quite passionately. And yet, at one time, she thought she loved some one else, you know. But one can always learn to love what is good, and noble, and true, can one not ? That Is as sure as the hills. I" And she lifted up her clear, blue eyes, and looked at those solemn. darkening nights with long, lingering, wistful gaze.
 ''Do you come from the hills?" asked, watching her. 4ea ca .so.s
 I was puzzled as to her nationality. AL together Italian she could not be. She spoke the language prettily enough, but somewhat hesitatingiy; and, besides, her thoughts seemed to outrun her words, and the Italian ladies had met hitherto had mostly erred in the opposite direction. German she might possibly have been, but then the old man evidently had not understood single word of all that tor rent of apologies poured upon him by the offending Teuton at the plank. No. he was unmistakably an Italian. His speech, his manner, his narrow, thin, igh-featur. ed face, the sudden way in which his dim, dark eyes would light up nov and then, like stars flashing out through mist, all betrayed him. But he might have mar ried a foreigner-an Austrian, perhaps, since he came from Venice. And it would be from her mother that the girl had in- herited those lucid blue eyes, and that sweet, slow, hesitating speech of hers.
 And so, when said, Do you come from the hills?" intended to make dis covery. But all the answer got was a quick, startled, searching glance, and a low. half-unwilling murmur.
 "We have come-from Venice-last."
 "But you are fond of the hills?'' urge.
 ''Fond of them! Ah!'' she said, with a little gasp. ':You see, down here in tine plains, it IS all very beautiful; so warm, and sunshiny; and the country is so rich, the things grow ofthemselves without any trouble, and the people live we'll because there is plenty of corn, and oil, and wine. But up there. among the mountains, it is always bleak and cold ,and the winter lasts nine months of the year, and the birds die in the snow and the people starve some times. And yet, somehow, it seems to me better to be up there, among the poor, hard-working people, who are so brave and hardy, than down here among folks who do nothing but enjoy life, just be- cause they cannot help enjoying life. One seems to breathe purer air up there: one feels at least so much nearer heaven"
 I looked at her astonished. These were most daring democratic sentiments to be delivered by such pretty little aristocrat! What would Miss Brooke have said?
 ''You have a strong feeling for the people, I remark; ego have l. But do not agree with you about the noun Az: H.