The Manchester journal. [volume] (Manchester, Vt.) 1861-current, 1881-07-14

many oi the grown.nps oi the neighbor
hood declared her, - she pouueed upoi
the hinge loaf af bread which she bad taxi
en- from the oven and put into big sion,
crock only half an hour ago, just bcfon
she turned her strAightup.and.down hacl
on the kitchen, TO stalk TO the garret afte
that idle hussy, Molly the maid all
work-who bad been twice as long as sh,
ought TO have been making the beds there
said the huge loaf ! should have said
half the huge loaf, for only that portion o
the newly baked bread remained
Dorothy Wal.do-o-o again screamed
Miss Cross in an ascending scale. with an
ominous tremulo on the last note.
Yes, aunt, replied sweet, young voice
aud pretty young girl came in from the
garden, with basket OF cherry red cur
rants in her hand.
A tiny thing she was, with round, dim.
pied, rosy face, innocent. child.like blue
gray eyes and fair hair, some short tresses
OF which bad escaped from the braid into
which they had been bound, aud were
making delightful use OF their freedom by
curling in the most charming manner
about the low, frank brow and little pink.
tipped ears
About sweet sixteen. stranger would
have pronounced her; but Dolly, as her
youthful companions, much to the disgust
OF her aunt Lorinda, called her, was Older
than that by a year and half
An orphan at the age Of twelve, she had
been left TO the caro- Of the only relative
she knew, her mothers elder sister-a wo-
man hard in speech and manners, and any.
thing but soft in heart. This maiden lady
soured irrevocably on her twenty-fourth
birthday, which should have also been her
wedding day; but at the very moment she
was fastening the orange blossoms in her
hair, had come the news that her betroth.
ed had eloped with the girl friend she had
chosen for her bridesmaid. Lorinda tore
the bridal wreath into fragments, and
scattered it to the winds; never mention ed
the false pair from that hour, banished
forever all the tenderness she had ever
possessed truth to tell, she had never pos
sessed much, and became the hardest
worker OF her sex that ever worked upon
farm In mans boots, coat, and hat,
early and late, hot and cold, wet or dry,
with set mouth, lowering brow, and silent
lips, she toiled side by side with her stur
dy old father, until the day he was struck
down by the pitiless sun, and died few
hours after-died Just in time to be saved
the pang OF hearing that his youngest and
favorite daughter was lying at the point of
death, widowed and friendless in a far
away city. Lorinda buried her father-if
she wept for him, none saw her-promoted
q man who had been long in his employ
ment to the position she used to occupy,
and started for her sisters bedside When
she returned to Fernvillc again, she
brought dear little fair.haired soft-eyed
Dorothy with her, aud some of her neigh
bors fancied that since that time she had
been shade less stern; but if she had been
it was so slight shade that twas almost
impossible to perceive it. True, she did
less out Of door work, and devoted part of
the time thus saved to teaching her niece
to sew and cook and churn, and other like
accomplishments; but never were the les
sons accompanied by an approving smile
or kindly word, much less loving kiss.
Even to the gentle, winning child, Lorinda
Cross remained cold. stern woman. But
Dorothy, God bless herl was so sunny in
disposition that the stern ways and dark
face OF her aunt could not cloud her young
life, and though shut out from that inhex
ible woman's heart, she found the door OF
all other hearts wide open to her The
dogs, the cats, tho hens, the chickens, the
horses, the cows, the calves the very geese
regarded her with alteration. The farm
laborers blessed her pretty face whenever
she came among them; and as for Molly
poor hard worked Molly!-she would have
kissed the ground the little feet trod upon.
What wonder, then, that Dan Howell,
the young surveyor. who lived half mile
away, in the old stone cottage, and whom
she had known from the very first day OF
her arrival in Fernville when he, then
tall, bright faced boy Of fifteen, passing
her aunt's gate, and seeing the sad looking
little girl, in her black dress, standing by
it, silently offered her the prettiest rabbit
she had ever seen-a,rabbit he had been
coaxing Abner Brown for a'month past to
sell him, and which now he parted with
without another thought, at sight OF those
lovely fearful eyes and that sweet wistful
facel-what wonder, I say, that he
'lhought Of her by day and dreamed Of
her by night?"
Butte go back. Dorothy came smiling
into the kitchen, her lips and cheeks as
red as the currants she carried; but the
smile faded away when she met her aunt's
rate gaze,
Did you cut this loaf, and then leave it
here in this hot room TO dry to a chip?
demanded Miss Cross; and then she added
without waiting for an ans
wer: But Of course you did. No one else
would have dared to do it. And how
Jared you. knowing that never allow
bread to he cut in my house until it is at
eas, a day old?
am very sorry, aunt, began Dolly; bnt
he looked SO hungry
He. screamed her aunt, regarding her
with look Of horror. You gave it away,
theui And 20 ,'hei" A tramp. I've no