Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1884-02-27
The Professors Choice,

"Olive, Olive! where are you:"
Octavia WestOn's clear, sweet voice
rang like a trumpet through the DESC
late old garret, where the red glow OF
sunset yet fingered amid dark cross
beams and festoons Of cobwebs; and
out from Il particular nook where the
light shone longest, and the huge chests
and piles of lumber had been dragged
partially away from the window-lelge,
came brown-skinned, jet-eycd young
girl, her black hair twisted into knot
at the back of her head, and her eye
brows knitted, as if in preoccupatlon
of some nature.
"Well?" she said, shortly.
"What a little, old mole you are, to-
be-sure," said OctaVia, "to burroW
here, when all the world is out in the
woods, picking up chestnuts and gath
ering autumn leaves! Writing poetry,
are you, or correcting the exercises OF
those horrid little girls in the sixth
class? Olive, Olive, 1 wonder you
don't drown yourself. ] am sure
should, if were in your place"
"What is it you want, Octayia|
said Olive, brusquely.
81 want you to sketch the letter G or
this piece of paper. Something origi'
nal and fantastic, you know; and il
lustrate it for me in gold-leaf ans
colors. that's darling. l must have
it this evening at eight o'clock"
81 don't see how | can finish it, 'saiC
Olive, roughing mp her black locks
with mechanical hand-it WAS alWRy
to this name of hers that she resortct
when she was in a quandary-ant
staring intently at the ceiling, as i
seeking for inspiration there.
"Oh, yes, you can And I'll len
you my locket to wear at the picnic
Do try--there's love- urged OctaviG
Olive caught up the pencil and hur
riedly sketched the initial-'a Goth
letter, twinei in and out OF ruinet
jvy-grown easement.
"Will this do?" said she.
ooh" cried OctaYia, "it is exquisite
After the ultra-marine and gold-lea
are in, it will be pc1Ject"
weave it, then said Olive, "an
YOU shall have it al the children's te;
But l don't want your locket. ]ewelr
is well enough, but not when it is boz
rowed."
MIow funny you are, Olive Dent
said Miss Weston.
But she withdrew in ralant goo
humor.
"Oliye never likes to be talked
when she has one of her inspired fl
: on" thought she. "But the letter
exquisite, and the professor is sure
be pleased with it"
Octavia Weston and Olive Dent we
. both pupils of Mrs. Hunt Sedley, WI
\ kept a fashionable institute for your
j ladies.
Octavia was the daughter of an il
pecunious naval officer, who had n
paid any Of her bills very lately, b'
whose beauty and good hmor MAJ
her universal fayoritc.
Moreover, Professor Anderton, wi
1t had instructed the girls of the scho
IS in literature and bellcs-lettres, befo
j., the great fortune had been bequeath
to him by a distant relative, and vi
still came daily from Andelton Prio
' to give his lessons, simply, he said,
I cause he liked it, had fallen in 10
r with her brilliant complexion and dct
u liouid eyes; and this, in the estimat
n of the IIunt-Sedley Institute, was d
= tinction indeed!
W Olive, on the contrary,was an orph'
y with no friends and relatives in part
ular, except one elderly aunt, W
n. wanted very much indeed to get ria
her, and she earned her tuition in
higher classes by giving instruct on
the little ones, mending their cloth
h and patiently performing all ST.
y Offices as these.
Z Olive was no beauty; but there "
something very winning in her fran
ID open manner h0r eayaeatncss 0bt
4 4yeyything she undertook And