The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1880-07-24

havior. 1t is all right, see. But what
does possess the child to behave so badly
to herP He is perfect lamb with you"
she has it by inheritance, l sad,
with smile that ended in a sigh. . lie
never looks so like his mother as when
the irresistible naughtiness comes over
him, which Aunt Urania has the unfor-
tunate talent for evoking."
The same smile was reflected In his
face, the same sigh in his voice.
"True," he said; "you see, as do,
the wonderful likeness in every thing"
"Why do you never talk to him OF
Susie? ' 1 said, with desperate plunge
into the difficult subject, for l had never
before mentioned her name to him since
the baby was left motherless. ut IS
not right, Harry, to let him grow up In
ignorance of that sweetest of creatures.
He is, as you say, her living image; ne
ought to know and love her, yet ne
hardly knew what the word mother
meant until he came here to me-"
81 could not, could not" ne an
swered, much moved. 81 am glad you
do. knew you would do him good this
summer. l can not tell you the COM
fort it is to me to have him in the coun-
try, and with you. l knew you must
love the little fellow, for you loved his
mother well.'
"Loved her, yes" 1 said, my tears
suddenly bursting forth. 81 can't get
used to doing without her, Harry; |
can't get over it,
81 see," he said. s'We are fellow
mourners, Nora" r.s.,' &
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 funny place; what long
cobwebs!" he said. "Oh, remember
now, the COW. Is she all right again
Why, papa, where did you come fromP'
"I came from the city, Bardie. When
1 reached there this morning, / found
the man I wanted to see was i'll, and
wouldn't come to town for three days,
and so posted back to 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 L met was Miss Scuba
more, who told me very sad tale.
am afraid my little boy was very saucy
and disrespectful.'' al
"Oh, papa, it was too funny to see
her run with her red stockings. I told
her not to come. l told her the COW
might kill her. But Miss Scudamore,
why, she secluded more than ever" and
he went into fit of mirth at his first at
tempt at a pun.
responded to the sally with weak
minded laugh, but his father looked
No more of this, SIR" he said, in a
voice of strong displeasure. elf you can
not behave properly to the ladies in this
house, will send you away with your
nurse, and not let you come here again.
l will not expose them to the pertness of
naughty little boy"
Bardie covered under the severe
glance, and chung to me. looked
piteous. H .l
"Do not encourage him, Ellinor,"
said Harry, in softer tone. I" 1t is a
great misfortune to 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.
/" Yes, papa; but first / want to ask
you something. Will you take us, me
and Nora, to drive this afternoonP The
horses aren't haying to-day, and we
want to 60 so much. Please do"
Harry laughed, and stole glance at
my face, which l dare say revealed an
noyance as we'll as amusement.
"Not to-day, Bardie. am going to
take you over to the hotel to play GRO
quet with the little Temples"
"Will you come too, Nora?" asked
Bardie.
"No, dear; 1 called there last night, !"
| said; and l drew long breath at the
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 a long evening walk, and who can
tell what else! And, with a jealous pang
for Susie, | thought, elf only 1 might
have Bardie, 1 wouldn't care.''
So, after Aunt Urania had settled
herself for an afternoon nap, l changed
my dress and rested awhile, watching
from my window until saw Harry and
Bardie walking across the fields; Cor
ale followed, and 1 said to myself, 81
thought so; he will be untrammeled!"
and carried my water-color box and
sketching-stool out to beautiful spot at
the end of the rambling old garden,
where a low stone wall divided the
struggling flower borders from the pas
ture beyond. There were shady trees
and soft overgrown clumps of bushes
and underground, so that the retreat,
though not very far from the house,
was entirely secluded, and it COM
manded a lovely little glimpse of wood
and river, with soft blue hills beyond,
and in the foreground the white spire of
the village church shooting up through
the greenery.
Such quiet afternoon to sketch and
paint! No little tormenting fingers to
NEEDLE and "joggle, no perpetual lit
tie tongue to ask unceasing questions:
only the silence, and the summer music
s,weeter than silence; the soft whispers
in the trees, the droning bees. the
chirping bird; even the spring OF the