Litchfield enquirer., 1877-09-06

l the breakfast; then Maggie went away;
 then all auntie's friends went to their re- l spectlve homes. and auntie and I are left
 alone to enjoy each others company. The. best man, g young surgeon named Philip Graham, is staying at the rectory, and I i think he might stroll oyer to know how l we are after the fatignes of the day. What have seen of him I like very much. for
 he is tall and dark, and appears to be of ! serious turn of mind; but he is not really serious, for he has an immense fund of l humor, and generally amuses- me to such 1 a degree that I laugh to an immoderate extent, and am always in dread of being | reproved by auntie; but she seems to en- | ioY his conversation. and never cheeks my
 mirth as mother would. We saw & good | deal of him before the wedding, as he
 used to come over and spend the day here
 with Mir. Strafford. and naturally we used l to go about good deal together, so as not to interrupt the ioversariI wonder if | we shall ever see him now, his friend is gone, and how long he will remain at the ! rectory7 With all my seif-loye can- see
 that he does not care bit about me, and
 that there is no danger of his making love; so if he does not contemplate leaving Coolmory at once trust we shall have some pleasant walks and talks together Next morning auntie has recovered her usual spirits, and is already looking out for letters from Maggie. Before we have 1 finished breakfast Mir. Graham comes in just the same easy way as if MT. straford
 was following him. 48Lue .s zsgs.t.s.
 ''Good morning, Mrs. .Lisle; how are you after your fatigues of yesterday ?" he says; and then they began to discuss the wedding, and talk it all over. which to my hind is very often the best part, of enter tainments. l look out of the window and think
 how pleasant it must be under the shade of the alders down by the river bank, and 1 l fervently wish that Maggie was here,
 and that we might go out and spend our
 morning there, as we did every day last
 week. -#s a.s ...-@ L.& al4Taa .<a"
 Evidently Philip Graham thinks the same thing, for turning from auntie to me, he asks if it would not be pleasanter out of doors this lovely morning, and will stroll down to the river with him. look
 toward auntie and dutifully ask her if she
 will accompany us; but she declines, and says she will spend the time we are out in
 packing up Maggie's presents. feel I ought to offer to help her; but the sun is shining so dazzlingly. and there is such 8 fresh breeze down by the river, that my good resolution melts away, and in anoth
 CT minute my hat is on, and Philip Gra- ham and are sauntering through the dewy meadows, and am enjoying pleasant Coolmory even as much as l anticipated. | We wander on through good many
 fields, and finally settle down to rest in quite new spot. It is very lovely, and
 the scent of the clover intoxlcates me to such degree that I throw myself down in it, and take long sniff before look up to see what my companion is doing. He regards me in quite a superior way, and I can not help laughing. as it strikes me he looks very like Landseer's dog Dignity; while feel like Impotence, with nay rough hair and my hat very much at one side. -1@ ! .bG9iTA n83a,@ab uoa ri9
 After my frolic I smooth my hair, put my hat straight, open my parasol, and
 then ask MT. Graham for remark. He answers me slowly, as he says: 95s9"pli 2 | "I was thinking what child you are,
 and wondering whether you had any
 depth of feeling or force of. character 2 1 In moment am serious, for his words chill me somewhat; and then I tell him
 that I am having summers holiday, and am just child again for a month, during l which time want to leave all my worries | me. and inquires about my troubles; and
 before know what am saying tell him all about mother and the girls, and..when our walk is over feel as if I had known
 Philip Graham all my life. The rest of the day auntie and I devote to paying visits, and in the evening we answer Mag 1 gie's letters. '' h.'7 s'.-t "3 .,-t. 7's All our days pass pretty much in the same way. Every morning Philip Gra- ham and l take walk--sometimes down | to the river. and occasionally to the little town, two miles of, to fetch the letters that arrive by the afternoon s post. Aunt l Mary is always busy in the morning, and | never comes with us. She is such dear, l sweet woman, and always reminds me of father. have been with her great, deal for the last two days; it has been raining necessarily, and I have not been able to leave the house even for a turn in the garden. Wet days in the country are more unbearable than in London; for | | feel as if they deprive me of so many modicums of fresh air that legally belong to me. We have seen nothing of Mr. Graham. and miss him very much. a great deal more than thought possible; l perhaps it is because have neither Bar bara nor Helen to talk to about little
 
 end of the second rainy day there is little excitement in the house, because
 we receive an invitation for dance at the rectory next week. Auntie and I find plenty to say about what we shall wear and who will be there, and l go to bed in l pleasant frame of mind, but with an in- tense desire for the following day.to be l fine. so that l may go foS walk with Mir. Graham. It is just as fine as could pos sibly wish, and at the usual hour Philip Graham saunters in; and without waiting to be asked I put on my hat, and once more we are out in the, clear, fresh air. | Everything seems to have benefited by the 1 rain; the flowers and grass look so refresh-a ed that I exclaim. ..'The world seems as if it was just made. and am delighted. to be out again" "Did you find it dull the last two days?" Mir. Graham asks me; and I confess that did. and that wished he had come to see us. 13s1 seits fJ aae aGl5 d1iW .I0uttJ Ia "I did not think you would have hked it, Miss Heseltine; because understood you to say you did not wish to be bother cd during your visit to your aunt. ;" '1i'. .s2
 Hook up to see if he is laughing at me, but he is perfectly serious; so tell ihimt that he does not bother me, and ask him, If we have another wet day to call at aun- ties, SO as to break the monotony and in- terrupt our tete-a-tetes. This he prom. lses but adds that he is leaving Coolmory next week, and is going to India as doctf or on board one of the mail-boats. -,~, ;,
 Why did you not tell me before, MT. Graham ?" I ask; and feel as if he had wronged me by not telling me sooner. 21 v
 ::T have only just got the appointment 2 and only knew it myself an hour ago; and hastened over here to tell you, because, Miss Heseltine, look npona you as one of my dearest frienda." 71do+@ 74is
 o, how his words delight me At lastI have met man who is honest enough to tell 8 girl be looks upon her as a. frlend, and who does not mask his friendship be. hind a tiimsy veil of irritation. 9d oi yf'z6asa
 1sI am 30 glad you look upon me as a friend, MT. Graham. Now I can tell you that You haYa made my visit to a,1ntia