Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1883-05-30

"lt's such a pity you didn't stay here
where you were well off, Jerome v said
she, in the pitying, patronizing manner
which your genuine man most abhors,
Dear pa, you know, always disap-
proved of your going South. And you
might have got the situation of agent
to the White Castle place, at eight
hundred year, and cottage found, if
you'd only been here on the spot. Pa
used to know the old agent, and could
have recommended you!"
jerome smiled.
"White Castle?" said he. That's
the big house on the hill, where we
children used to peep at the roses and
white grapes through the glass sides of
the great greenhouse A grand place,
as | remember it,
"And the position of agent is most
responsible and highly considered
broke in Bessie.
Jerome Clay went away, feeling
rather depressed.
1t is not the lot of every man to be
thrice rejected in one evening
"They think ! am failure in life,"
said he, half smiling, half signing.
"Well, perhaps they are not wrong,
Peoples ideas differ
Aurilla Haven, the old farmers
daughter, had been wild hoyden of a
school girl when Jerome Clay went
South. She was silent, pale woman
of threc-and-thirty now, who did the
"tailoress" work of the neighhorhood,
and had hard work to get along.
But her dark-brown eyes lighted up
when Mr., Clay spoke of his far-off
home, and her cheek glowed scarlet
when Mr.. Sewell chuckled out
$50 the three old maids wouldn't
have nothing to say to you? IIa, ha'
ha!'
"Do you blame them?" said Jerome.
"Well, no. confessed the old man.
Gals naturally want to better them
selves nowadays. Ifyou'd come back
with your pockets full Of gold, they'd
sing different song you'd see.'
Aurilla looked pityingly at Jerome
Clay. She, too had found life a fail
ure, and in her quiet way did all that
she could to comfort the tall quiet
man who had hired the spare chamber
in her fathers house for Il few weeks
since his cousins had altogether omit
ted to invite him to be their guest at
the old place.
She was not pretty-never had been
but she had a sweet, oval face, with
dark-fringed eyes, and mild, wistful
which Jerome Clay liked.
And one day she spoke out what
was in her heart.
"Mr. Clay" she said, 81 can't help
of those poor, little, mother
less children of yours. If you will
bring them here, III take care of them
| always liked children, and it shall
cost you nothing. Father will let me
have the big north bedroom for a
and their board won't signify.
They can go to the public school, and
LII make their clothes, if you'll buy
the material"
"Aurilla, you are genuine woman
said Mr. Clay, earnestly. "None Of my
cousins have spoken to me like this"
"Perhaps-perhaps they didn't think
Of it, faltered Aurilla.
POSSIBLY" drily remarked Mr.,
Clay. "But, Aurilla," gently detain-
ing her hand, "is it of my children
only that you think? Have you no
tender, plying feeling-the sweet SEN
;ation that is akin to love, you know
for me? Aurilla, will you become my
wife?'
And Aurilla did not refuse!
"Now that you have promised to
marry me-" said Jerome Clay, 81 will
ell you all my plans, Aurilla. I have
bought house here"
"IIere, Jerome?"
Eyes, here. Will you come with me
% look at it?'
81 will go wherever you wish,
Jerome" said the bride-elect in a sort |
IF innocent bewilderment.
Mr.. Clay put her into little carriage
1t the door, and drove her up the
nountain-side, through the huge,
stone gateway of White Castle, to the
velvet lawns in front of the colonnad-
I'd portico, where statues of Ceres and |
Proserpine stood in dazzling marble on
'ither side, and an antique sun-dial |
marked the golden footsteps of the
iod of day.
"lt's beautiful place." said Aurilla
ooking admiringly around. "But why |
ire we stopping here, Jerome?"
because, Aurilla," he answered.
,tatlty .l,t L.,