Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1881-03-20

perhaps, a Pinafore one, executed a
pirOuette-in honor of my newly
acquired freedom. Mamma was
awfulfy angry, but they are awfully
happy, and they've named the baby
after me. My chains (they were
never very heavy l must confess)
broken beyond repair, / flirted more
than ever, all the time growing as
weary as could be of hearing the same
compliments and making the same
replies, and doing this thing in the
morning and that thing in the after
noon, and the other in the evening,
and at last l fed from the old familiar
throng precipitately one rainy day,
leaving my maid to pack my ward
robe and follow. And 1 determined
that this summer would try pastures
entirely new. Auntie had often told
me of the pleasant, old-fashioned
farm house which she discovered
years ago, and / coaXed mamma
promising to take Charley, our young
est, who is the 'worrit' of her life,
with me-tO spend three of my four
out-of-the city months here. And,
LOttie, have never been as happy
before. and | am firmly convinced
that here [ have found the kind of
life that would suit me best. / was
born to love cows and chickens, to
make butter, to build pyramids of
cabbages:"
"You!" laughed her friend. 81
think | see you in the dairy, in a neat
cambria dress, with sleeves rolled up
to the elbows, stamping the pats of
butter with your monogram, for that's
as near as you'd ever come to churn-
ing; and in the hennery, scattering
corn to the chickens from dainty
white apron, a curiously-shaped rustic
hat meanwhile shading your rose and
cream complexion fom the sun. You
born to love COWS and chickens !-you,
who have reigned city belle for four
long years!'
And for three been most ready to
abdicate. By the by with assumed
carelessness--'' have you seen the
young farmer, the only child of our
host and hostess o.
Certainly not and Miss Mayell
glances at her watch, q only arrived
WV ilOtIO ttSO. ctllu lIttN z OCNil liO OIlC
but you and your aunt. But I can see
him in my minds eye,-tall, ungainly,
and speaks through his nose, eats with
his knife, says 'Howr and stares at
you as though you were a being
from another sphere. -
"Your minds eye needs an eye.
glass, Miss Mayell. Its vision is
weak. Tall, broad-shouldered. and
calmly, if 1 may use the word as I
mean it. l saw him tossing hay to-
day, and he looked ike an, Apollo
who had exchanged his Tyre for a
pitchfork and profited by the change.
And his table manners are as eX-
quisite as your own, Miss Mayell, and
he has deep, full voice, and does
not say How p and has scarcely
looked, let alone stared at me. I
have an idea that, he regards girls of
ilk with quite scorn. and thinks OF US
all, as hot house flowers not to be
compared with the daisies growing
wild in the meadows
How long have you been here,
Isabel"
''Six weeks
''Quite long enough, think. You'd
better go away. You're regarding this
young farmer, who never looks at you
I don't believe that. however-too
sentimentally. You might come to
believe he has fallen in love with me.
He is so different from the soft-voiced.
perfumed darlings by whom [ have
been surrounded all my life that, to
use your own words, with a different
application, | stare at him as though
he were a being from an other sphere.
The young farmer reads, Lottie, and
reads books which, though printed in
our native language would be Greek
to you and me; and he numbers the
poets among his friends. [ peeped
into his room one day, and saw them
all, in blue and gold, on his bookshelf.
He is an honest, manly fellow, with
no false pride about him. / was idiot
enough to fancy that he might be the
least bit confused when | first saw
him at work in his red shirt, and coarse,
very broad-rimmed straw hat, but he
saluted me as calmly as though he had
been arrayed in the finest garments.
And his name is Northumberland as
pretty as Claude, but it means the
gift of God The gift Of God, indeed,
his old mother says he has been to her,
and so will he be to the woman he
marries. And that woman must be a
bee, not butterfly. "Lottie,' with
sudden fierceness, ''if ever you tell,
I'll kill you
MY dear, when | do, you may. Isa
bel, begin to suspect that you are
really in love with Nathaniel-another
of your odd passions Stand that be-
meath your butterfly wings Turks the
spirit of the bee. And [ may live to
see you helping the pitchfork Apollo
toss the hay, building obelisks and
pyramids of cabbages, copy celebrated
sculptures in beets, and heap turnips in
imitation of classic old ruins
& fear me not, Miss Mayell. For
though [ would be proud to share in
each and every one Of those occu-
pations, as soon would [ expect that
compact mass Of greens to suddenly
tremble to it's base and then topple
over, separating one huge body into a
hundred Or more heads, as dream
that Nathaniel Leigh would ever care
for me-
The pyramid trembled to its base,