The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1880-03-03
LEARNING A LESSON.
CHAPTER /.

CHAPTER l..
.Oh, what have done! What have
doner' exclaimed Nellie, under her breath
as sad and dismayed she hurried upthe gar
den path. "He will never be kind to me
any more. How could have said such q
thingp
And her hands trembled so that she could
scarcely lift the latch of the old-fashioned
door, and she turned away to quiet herself a
little before going in.
The garden was lovely and luxuriant, and
heavy dews, weighing down the. heads of all
the beautiful blossoms, made it still more
lovely in the calm clear light of the moon
which shone so brightly overhead. But with
sigh Nellie crept out Of the glory of silver
light, and paced to and fro beneath row of
rugged elms, whose far-spreading branches
east a fretwork of shadow over the fowery
borders and neatly graveled paths below.
Nellie glanced up at the rambling old farm
house, which had been her home for so many
years How she loved i'll Every nook and
corner that it contained was dear to her.
81 have it, and all in it, left to me-" she
said, in soft, sad tone; sand dear father
and mother, too. \ happy, happy home it
has always beer, and | am thankful for It'll
But, oh, Edward, how could you be so unkind
OIL how could your
She listened, fancying she could hear his
departing footsteps yet. And perhaps she
might have done so.
With lofty looks and disdainful curve of
his rather thin lips, he was on his way home
along the winding lanes. He was man of
five and 80, while Nellie was scarcely 20.
She was simple and innocent child; but
he had learned many lesson in the school
Of life ere this. Yetanother was in store for
him, and probably another and anOther--for
while we live we must learn and We will
learn-so foolish are vein the mos costly
and laborious way. for the most part. AK
perience keeps dear school, says the pro-
verb, "but fools will go TO no other"
And are We not all fools until hard and
memorable experience has knocked and
kneaded wisdom into u.s. And one lesson
which Edward Melville prided himself on
having learned was the value of money. He
was bachelor. and so he made up his mind
he would remain until he could find a woman
with money who would be bis wife. He
himself was country doctor, and, with a
very small and not increasing practice, it
would never do to marry and have nothing
but that to depend upon, he told himself.
He had generally escorted Nellie to her
own door. after their evening walks but this
evening he had left her just outside the gate.
He was her aunt's stepson. She had known
him all her young life, and had always called
him Cousin Edward, all unsuspieious of the
feeling which was steadily gathering strength
within her heart, till this evening. And
Edward, for his part, had always treated her
as a mere child.
"A glorious night" he murmured. as he
leisurely pursued his way; and as he looked
around at hamlet and trees and wayside
brook, and picturesque farm houses dot
ted here and there, all sleeping in the
moonlight, the disdainful curve left his lips,
and pride and hauteur smoothed themselves
away from his brow.
Poor little Nelliel" he said again, with
something like eomplacent smile. 81 sup
pose then, that she cares little more for
me than / deserve. 1t is great bore, for,
of course, it is out Of the question that i
shOuld-that | could"
He paused, and began humming tune,
and switching the dew-laden hedges with
his walking-cane.
"No," he presently recommended, zone
must have enough to be comfortable And
Nellie has got nothing, and have got next
to nothing. One may put up with the want
of little sentiment, i should imagine, if
one has tolerable settlement IN life, At all
events | mean to try it."