Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1878-05-18


always takes the most dishearteniug view of
things. PhRbe finds a wren's nest in one of
the raspberry bushes, but she neither pulls it
to pieces nor lets Old Mex into the secret
still she thinks it pity they cannot keep no
the old garden AZ it used to be kept before her
father got involved in the spcculations which
had ruined him.
Sir Peter Ashe had once been rich man.
but that he had not been wise one his child
rem know to their cost. AshbrOok being en-
tailed, could not be made away with, but, when
ne died two years ago. il was the kindness
OF the helr-at-law that left roof over his
daughters heads. The present owner of Ash
DFoOk has other aud much larger properties
elsewhere, and many people think it is only
common justice on his part to allow the girls
10 remain at AShbGoUk-s.t least till they mar
ry or otherwise provide for themselves. But,
small paSture-farm adjoining wherein the
mill is built, il rankleS in Phoebe Ashes heart
to be dependent upon any mans charity. II
she could only manage to pay rent for Ash
brook, She would be happy This is the end
and aim of her existence, though she keeps it
a secret from the Others till such time as she
may be able to accomplish her desire.
And so she picks raSpberreS aSSiduOuSly into
her cabbage-leaf-whlter aSpberrieS and red
OEeS-with preOccupied face, while the dew
falls softly on flower and weed alike, and a
thrush sings In the pOplar-tree at the end Of the
garden wax.
CHAPTER III.
early one mOrninc-earth and air wrapped
in SUI shine aud StillneSs-S;rauge shade VS. on
the lawns, where the long grass is still heavy
with dew-the air full of the fresh fragrance of
neW-mOwn hay, OF budding leaves, of lime and
chestnut blossoms.
Phpbe Ashe stands in the window of the
breakfast room at AShhrOOk, the lite untidy
room where Martha of a morning does fancy
work and reads novels PhRb prefers making
a bOudoir of the big beach-tree on the lawn:
but Martha will never appear in public or
where the public might come upon her unsus
pectedly, unless she is carefully got up, from
her pale curls to the lowest frili of her muslin
skirt. Phoebe is breakfaSting on plate of
pOrridge and a cup of milk. Both Martha and
Laurie must have tea for breakfast and NOR
sci OftOaSted bacon or fresh egg. or they can
not eat breakfast at all. But Phoebe is blessed
with healthy appetite, and, in pursuance of
her great ambition, is willing to curtal the
household expenses by docking her own allow
dnce both OF food and dress. To this end she
wears Laurie's cast-of dresses, and is thank
But this morning it is pleasure even to eat
pOrrldge, so surrounded is she by summer
sights and sounds. The sharpening of old
Nick Scythe in the meadow, the lowing of Mr.
WarrenS cows in the paStuce-they have lei
the few acres about the house to Mr.. Warren
OF Hawthorne farm, for paSturage-the song of
lark, high up in the blue-all these things
make the girls heart glad. Even the extremely
sunburnt straw hat she takes from its peg i'm
the hall presently, and ties down over her ears
with faded red ribbon. does not Sadden her
as il might another girl. 1t need not sadden
Phpbe AShe if She knew but all. Her sun
burnt gypsy face suits the Sunburnt gypsy hat
At each side of the hall are empty. echoing
rooms, dusty with the dust of years. During
Sir Peters lifetime the furniture had been
sold piecemeal, eyerythi & of value about the
place going to pay bills that could remain no
longer unpaid. One rOOm-the great drawing
rOOm-Still boasts a few chairs, a Shaky table
quaint old cablnet-retained because nobody
would bid for it-and some old pictures Of
dead and gone Ashes, which Sir Peter could
not of right remove. This room, with its floor
of oak p!arquetry covered with dust, its doors
and wainscoting sadly in want of coat of
varnish, its meagre furniture, its faded cur
tainS, and few dIScOlored books, is Martha
Ashes pride. Here she receives The few viSi-
tors who think it worth while to call at Ash
b COX nowadays. and here when she is dressed
OF all afternoon, she sits aud waits for others
who never come. Phoebe seldom troubles it
the air OF mou!dy .granduer about it is not
gratifying to her. the white marble chimney
piece, supported by caryaiideS, is out of keep
ing with The knitted rug, and even in summer
weather looks as il it needed a fire in the
ya"nlng CRATE. Phthe AShe has pride too,
more pride perhaps than her sister, but it is of
a different kind.
Out of the dusty hall she passes now into the
fresh morning air, Crossing the lawn which
cuts III two trlangleS. she reaches a Stile into
the meadow Beyond this the path runs by
hawthorn hedge, with long meadow grass aud
yellow busted meadOw-sweet bordering it On
the other side. Dewywet are the grasses on
this shady side of the hedge, a nd deWy- wet are
PhGbes skirt and shoes presently-but this is
no novelty to her. She marches along bold
uIdEe, Tie bl8 Key Oh TIE mil In ner ndnu
swingingtO and fro. She must be at the mill
door at six O'Clock to let in the wOrkmen. This
was part OF Tom IOWnSend'S buSineSS-nOW it
Is hers.
Taw Mill is a large ugly building: no pie
tuTesque wheel dips round and round here
no huge sails turn merrily high in the air. 1t
Is building OF three stories, with small square
windows, having iron cranes in some of them
and low grated arch, through which the
water flows. All the machinery is within; the
elang and clank of it can be heard when the
mill Is at WOIk, but nothing Can be seen of il
from without. All round the mill lie dykes
and still black milldamS between rows of half
submerged willows; three tail poplarS stand
close tolt, just beside the race. 1t is not a
pretty place, and for great many years it has
been deserted place. But three or four men
come up as soon as Phoebe opens the door and
very soon there is sound of life about it, and
smoke comes out OF the tall chimney, and the
big cranes begin to swing mealy bags up and
down, and carts come To carry them away or
TO bring more corn to be ground, and Pneoe
that come and go. till her face is powdered
white with flour like the clowns at circus
and the noise of the machinery makes her
head ache. So the day passes At one o clock,
when the men are at dinner, Phoebe stroIIS
out to the quiet mlil-pOnd with its SaIlOWS and
willows fringing l., and in one corner tall rust
ling reeds seven or eight feet high, standing
up out of the water. She finds willow branch
low enough to sit upon, and here she demol-
iShes the slice of bread she had provided for
her luncheon. Whilst she eats she watches
surface of the pond the reflection of the vel
low-fowered flags, the great pedrly clouds w.
ing deep down i'm the water, the cOOt swim
ming about her nest in the reeds. 1t is all so
sunny and so quiet though the high-road is
on the other side of the hedge beyond the
pOplars.
At two O'Clock the mill work goes on again,
and Miss AShe Is back in the dingy little Oil e.
where the admlring ruSticS give in their own
or their employers orders, and the new man
ager takes them down in as buSineSS-like a
mo h4.
much, but she likes il better than some other
things. just before six o'clock, while she is
bending over the days accounts, with rather
an anxious frOwn on her forehead, d stranger
walks In with note in his hand.
beg your pardon" he says, lifting his hat
- came with message to the manager from
Mr.. Warren"
Il am the manager" Miss Ashe informs
him. raising her head.
oh! Again beg your pardon. 1t is about
some wheat he wants ground. was coming
round the grain tomorrow"
note from his hand. OF the two she is the more
self possessed. This tall, broad shouldered,
light haired and grey: eyed young man is moth
ing more to her than Tom Townsend or Aaron
Graham. She looks upon them as quite diff
ferent order of beings from herself She OBJ
liviOus Of the fact that her face is dangerous.
ly pretty, and that they may not be conscious
of such vast difference In their positions
She is also ObliviOus of the fact that her hat
is awry now, and that there is more than a
suspicion of powder on her cheeks and on her
dlmpled chin, and even on her long black eye
laSheS.
s,ThankS Sha cove ubap ohio hos rao tba