The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1881-04-21

teet), and at her waist hung huge bead
ed reticule full of keys, which made cool
little clinking. Her brown hair was not
very thick, but was full Of golden streaks
and waves and crinkles, and was twisted
up into a large loose bow on the crown of
her head where it looked like some huge
brown butterfly posing, and her eyes
when they at last opened from their daz
zled pucker, were real china blue under
their laSheS.
''l beg your PARDON" said the young
man choosing the most useful words made
and provided for opening a conversation
II had heard this house was Washington's
headquarters, and was sometimes shown
to strangers-and an artist. My name is
Hugo Clitford;' but he could scarcely
have explained the impulse by which he
had told his name.
81 shall be very glad to show you the
house, said Deborah, simply, If you will
please wait until put these eggs away"
Clifford smiled to himself over her di-
lectness and simplicity, and stood con
tentedly waiting, While Deborah stood up
on green wooden stool and bestowed
the eggs in the chimney cupboard. He
WAS Il handsome fellow, tall and straight
with regular features, which must have
been a satisfaction to his artistic tastes
his dark moustache was trimmed into a
fierce and truculent expression, but this
he had done himself, while Nature had
lut the kindly sparkle which belied it in
Lis dark eyes.
Il beg your pardon" said Deborah,
! who belonged enough to these days to
use his hard-worked phrase, "but you
do look so warm and tired. Won't you
rest and get cool before you look at the
museum The things are not worth
much,' she added. with a miSchievous
smile; 'perhaps you will be more chari-
table toward them when YOU have had a
glass Of milk"
Clifford sat down, not unWillingly, in
corner of the hard, slippery sofa, which
had at least the merit of being cool, while
Deborah opened a door which let in a
rush OF hot sunlight, and disappeared
With it.
"By Jove" thought he, cam revers-
inc the Rip Van Wrinkle proceeding:
have | walked up fifty years ago and
fallen in love with my own grandmother!
Where did the girl get that curious calm
| dignity of hers ?-one daren't put his
! IitlIlttS III LIS IJVN MUS DtlOIC utl. IIt
glanced round him, the iron fire place
was full of asparagus branches with red
berries like sparks, the venetians were
only half lowered across the back Win
dow. and between thepI a lovely land
scape glimmered in the hot afternoon
sun: a little breeze was chasing some
scraps of @ingham and a geranium leaf
over the shining blue painted floor The
| silk bird and Abraham caught his eyes
for a moment, then they fell on shaky,
| spindle legged table at his elbow, over
weighed with some old brown books
| pope's Hard, Milton, full Of long IS like
! t's. The Vicar OF Wakefield Shakespeare,
| with hdeous pictures of noted actors and
actresses. an odd volume of the Specta-
tor Charles Lamb, Coleridgc, and one or
two more. At the left of the door was a
| long low window with Il broad ledge, on
| which q work basket and some gimgham
| kept company with tabby eat. Clifford
/ crossed over and sat down in the splint
rocking chair beside it, in which book,
Lady MOntague's Lectures, lay open.
| Presently Deborah, coming in with Il
| tray, made room for it on the ledge
"Thcre is milk and sWitchel," she said,
''help yourself. And have Just baked,
SO have brought you some fresh bread.
Most people like it,
"'This is a Jewel Of girl, thought Cliff
| ford, as he thanked her, and ate and
drank, even tasting the switche-a vile
compound OF ginger, molasses, and vine
gar, much affected by haymakers, but
which, With the best will in the world, he
could not like. .
tl,il, 40 ,i,,l-
ing, glancing at Deborah as she leaned
against the window, idly swinging the
tassel Of the beaded reticule. Aloud he
said, II should tell you that have been
doing a little walking tour, but find this
Il pretty country, and | don't think
shall 90 amy further
'les, it is a pretty country assented
Deborah. 'lou will like the view from
the hall window up stairs" and Clifford
promptly decided that he would paint the
view, though, indeed, landscape was not
his line. y wild idea crossed his mind of
getting Deborah to take him as board
er. But this was too daring She had,
with all her genteness, little air of shy
pride which forbade intrusion. SO he
only talked of himself and of his pictures
to arouse her interest, till she voluntarily
suggested that he was welcome to paint
the view, the old house, or any Of its be
l0ngings-a permission he was not slow
| to claim. After that lovely, lingering
afternoon during which he saw and ad-
mred all that the old house had to show,
heard the story of the grandmother in the
black frame and the British officer Ga
| lovely story with little treason to spice
it,) and even heard some of Deborah's
own opinions as to men and things Cliff
ford made good his footing there. But
little of his holiday was gone, and every
minute that was left would he dedicate
to his shy goddess in her grandmother's
gown. Every day his easel was set up
i'll the cool upper hall, and every day
by Unsuitable curiosity and love of chatter
came and sat near him, one on the Win
| dow sill (Achsa, of course,) the other on
the crooked upper steps OF the staircase,
her work basket on the floor beside her
BY and by Achsa would wander off or
fall asleep on a rug, for these were hot
and sleepy days. Then Deborah, feeling
it necessary to entertain Clifford, talked
and all unconsciously showed what Shaks-
pcarc, Milton q Co. had done for a mind
naturally thoughtful and searching. 1t
was lovely nature she thus revealed to
him, and no wonder that from day to day
he loved her more. But the end (of all
things, Deborah half thought) Of his holi-
day drew near The very last of all these
lovely days had come. and Clifford was
climbing the hill, with the resolve in his
mind to speak out that day, and little
note in his pocket in case circumstances
did not favor his speaking by word of
mouth. He was whistling, perhaps to
keep his courage up, and pondering on
some words by that late Marquis of Mont
rose, about fearing his fate too much, for
indeed it had come to this, that if this
little country girl should reject him, his
life would become what he scarcely dared
and did not like to contemplate