The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1884-02-13

she mused.
ado not talk about it," he entreated.
1T has the intangibility of nightmare.
1t is only metaphysicians who derive an
unwholesome pleasure from bordering
the old woman's question, Is it I, or is it
not p l want you to think of yourself
az you are, and if l am to be allowed
henceforth to have part in your life."
"You have part in my life already"
she said, gently. The question is not
that, but -
"But if 1 am to become more or less
monopolizing interest ?"
eyes" she said. "That is il; an inter-
est. Are we sufficiently interested in one
another The language of courtship is
changed. 1t is now the question of a
mathematical problem, and once'-
"Once it was question of emotion, of
M dness, of passion, of living and dying
Well ?"
al like it better as it u.s." she said has
tily.
Eyes, know you do" he answered,
quietly. awe belong to our age"
He almost smiled as he reviewed this
conversation. He enjoyed thoroughly her
she was the superior of any woman he
had ever met. He admired her intensely.
She knew 30 we'll what she wanted practi-
cally, and theoretically she was so doubt
full about it, She was charming.
1t was late in the afternoon. The train
drew near a way station, whose common
place name was placarded upon what
was apparently an unostentstious barn.
Brooks closed his novel, took down his
bag and umbrella and left the train. A
friend of his was ill in this out.of-the.way
place, and had written for him to come
that he might transact some necessary
business. He was not very i'll, but would
probably be shut up some time longer.
1t was the unfortunate sequel of shoot
ing excursion. Lawrence ound wagon
waiting for him, and driver, taciturn
New Highlander, who, after informing him
that his friend was better, felt no longer
the pressure of social duties, and scarcely
spoke as they climbed the long hill from
the village. There was touch of Octo-
Der in the air, although it was yet Septem-
Der. 1t was the time of year when sim
gle house or tree looks peculiarly lonely,
in landscape. Whether or not it be
that the chill of an autumn shutdown
takes away all sense of companionship in
these thinly settled regions, certainly
there is an isolation, almost pathos, in
the sight of such house rising before
one on the summit of hill, which is not
there earlier in the day or year. The
baroness and GOODNESS of such prospect
suggests early New England, the absence
of the softer allurements of life, some
thing uncompromising, unadorned; and
yet the sky was the color of pink pearl
and as Lawrence looked behind him west.
ward, toward the village, the rigid tower
of the orthodox Congregational church,
looked like the minaret of Turkish
mosque, against that pale pink back
ground, which bore, right across it,
streak of deeper red, like the smear of a
blood-stained finger.
"The mark of intolerance" thought
Brooks. "The burning of the Salem
witches"
They came in sight of the farm house
where his friend was staying, and, framed
in its doorway, was picture which drew
Lawrence's gaze and held it fast, until
the stopping of the wagon, close in front
of the low fence, diverted him, in spite of
himself.
A young girl was seated there before a
spinning-wheel, pulling and twisting the
fax with an absorbed little frown on her
white forehead. Her golden hair was
parted in the middle and brushed smooth
ly back behind her ears. Her features
were regular and her eyes dark blue, her
complexion pure and clear as marble.
She wore white-a simply made, loosely
flowing gown-with kerchief crossed,
passing under her arms, and tied Just
above her waist.
"Well done," was Lawrence's irrever-
emit conclusion. Sand how we'll she looks
the part"
He walked to the door alone, and she
rose gravely to let him pass. He had ex-
pected to meet glance little sudacious,
or one self.possessed and observant,
either showing complete recognition of
the situation. To his surprise he met
neither.
she is Within" she said, in answer to
his courteous question, and looked at him
quietly, with what might have been inter-
est, if it had not been so qualified, so held
In check by quiet, almost stately reserve.
AS Lawrence entered and greeted his
friend she left her spinning.wheel and
passed quietly across the hall into another
room.
"A sick mans fancy" said the invalid.
a clever looking man with iron gray hair,
pointing to the wheel, after they had ex.
changed few sentences. "Does she not
look as if she were made for picture of
Puritan maiden busy with homespun p"
every much" said Brooks, dryly.
His friend smiled at his tone.
"She is what her training, not her eye
for artistic effect, has made her," he said.
" To be sure she does not really spin. The
wheel was her grandmother's, and l
begged her to learn to use it. had a
fancy to see her seated before it."
"The picture is an eminently success
full one. She recognized its appropri-
ateness, herself, hope"
"But she did not" said his friend.
" She is as absolutely unconscious OF effect
as a fower.'
She is woman"
eyes, but unlike any woman you have
ever seen, Lawrence, in her simplicity and
her quaintness."
81 have seen them simple. have seen
them quaint"
"But you have not seen Priscilla Brews-
ter"
"Priscilla Brewster Has she been
handed down in the family? Is she a
tradition ?"