The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1877-11-14
A SHORT WooINc.

Que bright, june day, more than
hundred years ago, Parson Millechamp,
with his pretty daughter on pilllon be- |
hind him, rode down pleasant Shrop-
SHIRE road on their way to Powyscourt. |
Tne latter had been Tor some time deep
ly engrossed in her own thoughts, while |
her father seemed gravely cogitating as
he guided his handsome bay horse over
a highway which certainly owed little
or nothing to survey ors or commits
sioners. 1t was almost oVergrown with
grass, scanned with deep car-ruts, and
D pentiiully sprinkled with stones.
But 1t was not the less pretty or pic.
turesque for that. The high hedges,
with the spre aiding trees growing from
out them, were in the fullness OF their
midsummer beauty, and shaded the
wayfarers from the sun. The pale briar-
rose waved its delicate branches over
them, and the honeysuckle made the air
luscious with it's sweetness. There was
a chirping of birds, bleating of lambs,
and a puzzing Of bees. Now and again
the voice OF haymakers were heard IN the
distance, and Whit from the bayfield,
almost overpowered the scent of the
honeysuokle. 1t was perfect June
day, ana yet--Henrietta sighed.
Her father heard it, and (penltent for
his long silence) turned to look at her.
"My DEAR" he sale, 1--WE seem but poor
company this morning"
"Well, father, l was wondering
whether this going as companion to
Lady Powys Is for the best Mother
thought ought to see little more life
our place beng 30 quiet; but Pm sure l
did yery we'll at home. She'll miss me
sorely. Pm afraid-especially in the
dairy and over the clears tarching."
"Sne must stir Deborah up," said the
parson, sand make your sister Polly
Useful. Polly's quite old enough to help
now."
"Yes-but you know Deborah is not
oyerburthened with wits, and mother
doesn't like teaching. She'd always
rather do a thing herself. Father, be
sure to send for me if she seems to want
me back"
80 be sure child; but you know
you're only going for few months"
"rhere's Bobby, too. L don't know
how he'll get on with his lessons with
out pe." ,
shaHt suffer. But, child, while you
have be en- wondering how we ever can
get on without you, have been wonder
ing whether you Will be able TO take
care of yourself. You can't help know
ing. | suppose, that you have a very
nretty lace of your own. You'll find
plenty OF people where you are going
ready enough to praise it even more than
| n daseryes, You must take compll-
ments Just at wnat they are worth, my
dear. K member, Handsome is as hand
| some does.'"
"Fathef," said Henrietta with slight
nont. "you need not fear bit about my
| head being turned with compliments!
| you know IT'S not my way"
"Don't be too sure-'FUrewarned Is
forearmed.' One Of these days, how
ever, shall hope to see you the happy
| wlle OF II good man."
Pm sure you would be very sorry tC
be rid OF me, father, if that time came
But Pm not one OF those girls who are
anxious about being married. In fact,
beneye, if folks would only think IL
THEY'RE generally better off single. You
know how refused Squire Hassall. tt
he sure l couldn't abide the man!'
| "Yuur mother and l got on pretty wei
together, l think" said the parson
smiling.
ayes, sir; but you are among the ex
Eoentlons.n answered Henrietta gravely
.And you must own, daddy, that yol
and mother are often sorely puzzled t.
make all ends meet. But was espe
cjally thinking" she continued after
uause, ''of poor Cousin Anne, whose hus
band can't say 'BoH TO a goose. Pa b
ashamed to 70 about with such stupit
i mani 1t wouldn't be in my nature t.
put up with it,"
"My DEAR" said her father, laughing
"you must learn to bear and fol bear !
YOU marry. But Pm sure don't WIS
to persuade you to marry"
"Henrietta Milleonamp is very gooG
name, father, and Pve no wish whateve
to change it. Grandmotners Pm tn
most sensible girl she knows"
"Pm very glad to hear it, child; ant
Pm sure neither your mother nor wan
to part with our spoiled little lass; nov
she's grown up to be 30 sensible ant
helpful"
"By this time they had emerged fror
The old road, and were trottlng along
newer and more open one Inc heal
Tor it was now Y O'Clock, was intense
and ere very long the parson pulled u
under clump OF trees Whlch STOOD IN
bend of the road.
Now 1t happened that In the field be
fore them, only separated from this roaC
by sunk fence, there was crieke
match going on, Parson Millecham
Aliguted from his horse, and stood 10
some minutes by his daughters sid
while they watched the players. Bot
were evidently connoisseurs, and Ell
tered at once into the game while the
chatted gaily together. TWO young met
. VINO had Just had their innings, were ly
ing on the grass not far from them; an
while the travellers watched the match
these young men watched Them.
The young men gave an approving no
, to each other, but gazed with even NOR
, complacency on the lair maiden on th
pillion. Ettie was her 1ather's 0w
, child-like him in the graceful figure
, abundant dark hair, aud gray eyer
, which soltened and Frightened as sh
spoke. Her rounded cheeks were fiushe
! with the heat, but very becomingly. Sh
wore blue pelisse, and wide nat wit
= ribbons of the same color. Altogethe
f she made very pretty picture.
a 'fLet us go and speak to them, Tom,
8 said the taller OF the tive; and togetht
+, they sauntered up.
3 "You take an interest in our gam
SIR" said Oliver, while Tom bowed
) the young lady.
II do, young sir" replied the parso
B "lor / am cricketer myself. But
i say the truth, it was the heat, not ii
= game, which caused US to stop fl
u awhile"
0 "Have you been riding far, sir