Ashtabula weekly telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1880-1886, 1880-07-16

suddenly bursting forth. '1 can't get
used 10 doing without her, Harry l
can't get over it,
81 see, >" he said. 1--WE are fellow
mourners, Nora.n
The little head stirred one or two Of
my tears had fallen on the sweet baby
face, and wakened him He sat up, and
rubbed his eyes, amazed.
"What a funny place; what long
oObwebsl" he said. "Oh, remember
now, the COW. Is she all right againP
Why, papa, where did you come fromP
al came from the city, Bardie. When |
] reached there this morning, found |
the man l wanted t9 see was i'll, and |
wouldn't come 10 town for three days, |
and so posted back 10 you"
"That was right, " said Bardie. "To
me and Nora.
" Yes, to you and Nora" said Harry,
with kind smile at me. "But, Bardie,
the first person / met was Miss Scuda-
more, who told me a very sad tale. /
am afraid my little boy was very saucy
and disrespectful."
"Oh, papa, it was too funny TO see
her run with her red stockings. l told
her not TO come. / told her the COW
might kill her. But Miss Scudamore,
why, she Scuided more than ever" and
he went into fit of mirth at his first at
tempt at pun.
responded to the sally with a weak
minded laugh, but his father looked
awful.
"No more of this, SIR" he said, in
voice of strong displeasure. "If you can
not behave properly 10 the ladies in this
house, l will send you away with your
nurse, and not let you come here again.
will not expose them TO the pertness of
a naughty little boy"
Bardie covered under the severe
glance, and clung to me. 1 looked
piteous.
"Do not encourage him, Ellinor,"
said Harry, in a softer tone. " 1t is a
, great misfortune to a motherless child
to grow up among strangers and serv-
ants, who spoil him, and then dislike
him because he is spoiled" But he
stroked the little penitent. head, and
then suggested that hay-rick was not
the coolest place on a summer noon,
and that dinner must be nearly ready.
Z" Yes, papa; but first 1 want to ask
e you something. viii you take us, me
, and Nora, to drive this afternoon? The
horses aren't haying to-day, and we
, want TO go so much. Please do"
b Harry laughed, and stole glance at
my face, which dare say revealed an
! noyance as well as amusement.
"Not to-day, Bardie. am going to
take you over to the hotel to play cro-
/ quet with the little Temples"
"Will you come too, NoraP" asked
; Bardie.
r "No, dear; called there last night, "
l 1 said; and drew long breath at the
t idea of a quiet afternoon. Bardie safe,
| and Harry away-away for the long
/, evening, my heart whispered. Sophy
Temple and croquet, tea at the hotel,
., and long evening walk, and who can
: tell what else! And, with Jealous pang
t for Susie, thought, If only l might
=, have Bardie, wouldn't care"
0 So, after Aunt Urania had settled
2 herself for an afternoon nap, l changed
: my dress and rested awhile, watching
5 from my window until saw Harry and
y Bardie walking across the fields; Cor.
ale followed, and l said to myself, I" ]
- thought so; he will be untrammeled .
it and carried my water-color box and
d sketching-stool out to beautiful spot al
Q the end of the rambling old garden
g where low stone wall divided the
@ struggling flower borders from the pas
l. ture beyond. There were shady tree;
h and soft overgrown clumps of bushes
e and underground, so that the retreat
n though not very far from the house
n was entirely secluded, and it com
+, manded lovely little glimpse of woot
a and river, with soft blue hills beyond
o and in the foreground the white spire o
10 the village church shooting up through
II the greenery.
d Such quiet afternoon to sketch anC
1 paint! No little tormenting fingers Il
h meddle and "joggle,' - no perpetual lit
l. tie tongue to ask unceasing questions
d only the silence, and the summer music
d sweeter than silence; the soft whisper
in the trees, the droning bees, th
d chirping bird; even the spring of tn,
Is grasshopper in the grass at my feet wa
1 distinct in the golden hush. Yes, tina
ie hazy light was beautiful, the opportu
Y. nifty perfect. Why could not max
ID use of itP why could not paint insteat
X of sinking back, after a few hstles
d efforts, with heavy heart and claspet
g hands, and let the full weight of m,
IL lonely life fall on my spiritP My father
Of always away, glad to be free from an,
N charge of me; Aunt Urania-well, sh
meant kindly, and was good to me
le but what borel Susie, my chose
m friend, my hearts, sister, who had le
is and loved me from childhood, gone int
~ the land Of shadows, and none to tax
l. her place in my life forever. Even he
le sweet little boy would be taken from m
r, no doubt before long, and given to som
ID other woman-some Sophy Temple
a And Harry But just at that stage c
o. my reverie, when 1 felt the choking i
ie my throat, and the hot tears in my eyes
I'd | heard the same well known step clos
" beside me, and Harry Bent, flushed an
ID breathless, threw himself on the groun
at my feet.
le "f thought 1 should find you in tn
9, lovely spot. May not come tooP" b
Id entreated.
lg "I thought you had gone with Bai
Of de-"
ID {" Yes, I left him there playing wit
the little Temples. I made a brief ca
re on the ladies, and then gave Bardie th
ny slip. ] wanted to get back, and onl
hope he will not discover my retrea
w Every body is lazy to-day except yol
nd Nora. You have your work laid out
lis very notable way, though after all
ss do not see that you have done much"
On "SOme days are unlucky," l answe
ed. 81 did not feel in the mood. 81
tn l will sketch now," and began to woI
,e- in earnest, partly to get rid of the searcl
at ing eyes which seemed to read m
Ilvy fvOuhiod thouorbto