The National tribune., 1882-05-20

sympathy as he talked Of resisting unto
blood striving against sin; bat, in spite OF
his virtues, I was not At my ease with him
/ yet And still he staid
Perhaps he thinks he has alighted in the
/ gardensof Eden, and breads to leave it" said
Cousin Sophia, looking very wise.
am tired of that Joke cousin. Ifho is
Adam and ! am Eve, the mores the pity
An odd coincidence though. isn't ii, my
dear? Said MIS- Mott to your fathcr-I'ye
named my oldest boy Adam; name your
daughter Eve; and when they are Of age
/ they shall marry
Friend Motifs mother didn't say hat,
Cousin Sophia? p
Indeed she did. Eve; and what is more,
your father replied, placidIy, Very well,
Friend Priscilla, nothing could please me
better'"
"Now tell me-" cried I, hotIy, "Who is
Priscilla MOTIF"
Priscilla Mott was a prim little Qua
keToss; and your father ought to have mar
ried her, for ne promised to-"
My father"
Yes, your father; but he taught school
among the worlds people at Milton, and
there he saw Helen Raymond, and she taught
him what love isl"
Cousin Sophia sighed at this iuncture.
She had met with disappointment" in
her youth.
Cousin Sophia, I cannot credit the story!
My father always speaks of love as fig
ment of the BRAIN"
ut is often so with elderly men, dear;
but they know better all the time. Priscilla
Motif forget her maiden name-was
nearly broken-hearted. Not that she died
on the spot-women seldom do, Eve; she's
alive now, and her husband too, for she
hadn't the strength of mind to remain single.
She married shiftless, do-nothing sort of
man, and your father feels as if he couldn't
do too much for the family; he has helped
educate Adam"
ooh Sophia, thee cuts me to the heart. To
think that my father, the soul of honor
should have broken his word"
Child, what do you know of these mat
ters? You should not have urged me to tell
the story. I don't know what your father
would say. Don't breathe it to him for the
world"
I made no reply. I was thinking of Abra-
ham and Isaac. When Abraham was COM
manded to offer up his little son, did he
finch? father thought it duty to sacri-
flee me, would he hesitate?
NV auas yrara onnpaJ
which way the straws were blowing. Adam
was half the time musing in a corner, with
those handsome, opaque eyes fixed on me.
But when at last the declaration came, was
not exactly prepared for it. For the quiet
Adam to speak in such an impassioned man
ner was a marvel. 1t moved me; but
whether my heart was touched l could not
tell. He said he would try to wait with
patience for my answer. 1t seemed to me
he would have to wait till doomsday
I sat in my room half that afternoon
thridding my fingers through my hair, Won
dering how girls did make up their minds.
BY comparison, probably. For instance, did
like Adam better than Solomon Potter?
o, certainly; he knew great deal more |
Better than DR.. Hathaway? Why, Dr. |
Hathaway wasn't to be taken into the ac-
count: he was not suitor like Solomon |
and Job, and although an excellent man,
must be at least thirty-five years old If |
lived in that wide and dangerous place called |
"the world" should l be likely to meet |
people more agReable than old bachelors
and preaching fricnds?" But this ques-
ton did not bear upon the subject. My lot |
was cast among Quakers.
Miriam Grant came in that evening, and |
l longed to open my heart to her, but she |
was not n girl to respect ones confidence, |
though such pretty, winsOme creature that |
I loved to watch her. Adam seemed to find |
her entertaining. She was not overawed by |
him as I was. Why hadn't he taacied her
instead of me, and saved me all this trouble |
of making up my mind?
Presently DR.. Hathaway, who boarded at |
Friend Grants, came to walk home with |
Miriam. He talked to me, but / scarcely |
listened. 1 WINS thinking how l longed to |
ask father if he really wished me to cancel |
his debt to the mother by marrying the son.
Not that l should ever say as much to father;
] could not break through the reserve which |
had always existed between US
81 see thou art in perplexity," said DR.. |
falling into the plain language
rs he sometimes did with me when very
much in earnest. as there anything can
do for thee, Eve?"
Nothing. O no, Friend Edward, and I
mustn't tell thee what it is" stammered l.
g. am not perplexed at all; and if I am,
thee mustn't notice it."
He looked at me, and then glanced across
the room at Adam, who seemed to be far
lively watching us. In my simplicity /
never imagined that the story was very easy
to read.
My dear child" said the Doctor, in his
kind way, I would not intrude on thy con-
fdence for the world, but"
What he might have said do not know;
to be remembered afterward;
to give me little aid, l do not
doubt; but just then Cousin Sophia came
languidly along and desired the Doctor to
pronounce on new symptom" [ was
vexed l wished TO talk longer with Friend
Edward. Not that / would have told him
anything but / might have asked few
leading questions, ] thought, without be-
traying Adam. While Miriam was putting