The Penn's Grove record., 1885-08-01

regrets of youth are hard to conquer
that a chance word, such as the child
had now spoken, would bring with it
an overwhelming rush of self-pity, a
passionate longing for the joy that had
so nearly been hers, when fate mysteti-
| ously stretched forth a hand and snatch
ed it from her grasp. She forces back
her tears with a great effort, dreading
lest Freda should see them.
mot tonight, darling, " she says, in
answer to the child's request. 81 re-
| ally have no time to talk or tell
stories with that paper for the Busy
bOdV only half done. | must fish up
the villain from the bottom of the well,
where 1 left him, and get Lady Isabel
out of the attic, which has just caught
fire, in time to send off the manuscript
this week. or what is to become of the
new winter cloak and boots that you
begin to want so badlyp"
"And of Dolly's bonnet2" adds Freda
gravely, as she deposits that much bat
tered representation of humanity in the
muslin covered soap-box that serves 1t
for a cradle, and pushes back her stool
from the cheerful hearth. "You know
you said that, if the Busy body accep-
| kGu lEOlhO dllu AnlANDg u DIiOhA1 AtNNC
"a new one, and perhaps a red cloak as
well. L won't speak again, mother till
you have finished But mind you make
them marry, and live happy ever AFTER
continues Miss Golden-Hair, who is a
omewhat severe critic of her mothers
literary performances. "All stories
ought to end like that, so that n may
feel satisfied and comfortable about
them when they are finished, you
knowl"
The mellow sunshine of an autumn
afternoon is streaming through the
dusky pine, trees of the Den avenue,
bathing their tall straight trunks in
liquid gold, anil falling here and there
in slanting yellow rays on the silent
pathway so softly carpeted with brown
decaying leaves. There is a suspicion
of frost in the clear air, Just enough to
make the scarlet jenkins OF the robin
redbreast look particularly ~seasonable
and appropriate, a. they hop about
cheerily, hutterIng in their native bold
ness almost around the feet of a rash
intruder bent most resolutely on paying
the three bears a morning-call.
"Will they be at homer" That ls the
question Freda has been asking herself
necessarily ever since she left the cot
tage, running with all her might along
the high-road till she reaches the tall
dark gates, the untenanted ivy-elad
lodge she knows so well. Once within
the shade of the avenue, all fear of pur.
suit is over, and she walks slowly, re-
volving her plans at leisure.
Her flight from home has been par
tlculaIly we'll timid. 1t Is n of her
busiest days, when she is absent teach
ing from nine in the morning till seven
at night. Bridget also had been salts
factorily disposed OF. She had shut
herself mp in her kitchen with her IRON
ing directly after dinner, telling Freda
that she would not have finished all she
had to do till tea time, and that she
must please to amuse herself as best
she could in the garden that afternoon.
Freda was nothing loath. Here was
a glorious opportunity for the adyen-
ture she had long been planning, a not
to-be-neglected chance of satisfying her
burning curiosity respecting the in
mates of the Den.
81 shall be back before Bridget misses
me, and then l can tell mother all about
il" was her M absorbing thought as
she buttoned herself into her little we'll
worn jacket and crushed her brown fur
| cap down determinedly on her Maynard
yellow curls. That she should see real
bears she, in her simple childish faith,
never doubted. Nothing but ocular
demonstration would ever have cor
WINGED her of the disappointing fact
that they were only men, after all.
Her heart gives quite a bound of joy
when a slight gap in the plne-trees, as
she hears the house, shows her that the
great windows on the lower floor of the
mysterious dwelling stand open, and.
further, that the wide sashes are only a
step from the ground.
II can get in there quite easily !" says
Freda to herself, as she climbs the low
moss-grown paling that divides the
avenue from the lawn, waiting eau
tiously for a few moments when she
has done so, lest some apparition too
terrifying for mortal eyes emerge from
the enchanted building and confront
her. So far however there appears to
be nothing to fear. An absolute silence
reigns around, a silence broken only by
the INVITING of the birds.
Before her lies the old gray house,
bathed in the autumn sunshine, one
half its frontage iuxuriantly clothed in
the green and scarlet garb of ivy and
Virginia creeper. Large stone vases
filed with tawny-leayed geraniums are
placed at regular distances on the broad
terrace that stretches beneath the VIM
dows, and there also a few pigeons
cos and strut. Were it not for them
and the column of blue smoke that rises
from one or two of the twisted chin
neys, the place might well stand for a
very model of the tabled palace where
the Sleeping Beauty lay enchanted, sur-
rounded by her court.
Treasured by the stiffness that reign
around, Freda steals softly across the
lawn, creeping cautiously over grass
and gravel, until she a peep comfor-
tablY in at one of the open windows.
The room into which she looks is empty
the walls and floor are of dark shining
oak, and there is no carpet, a few fur
rugs and tiger-skins lying about instead
In the centre stands a large table drap-
ed with snowy damask, on which an
untouched meal is carefully spread.
Plates are laid for three, and beside
tdCH pldUc, III llCu VI tumDiCAo 10 q hudo
sive silver cup. At the further end of
the room an oak sidebJard groans IN
der a goodly display OF eatables-a
mighty round of beef, an uncut ham,
game-pies, cekes, fruit, and cheese.
Freda, contrasting this array with her
own modest dinner of mutton-chop and
rice-pudding decides at once that such
a repast can be consumed only by bearsl
A small cheerful fire erackles on the
WIDE hearth, where are drawn up three
luxurious ~arm-chairs, as though. in
waiting for the occupants.
Round the walls are arrayed sporting
prints, whips, foxes brushes, and all
the usual paraphernalia of a hunting
mans sanctum. The untouched meal
is but a very ordinary luncheon pre-
prepared for hungry men returning
wearied from a long days hunting or
shooting; but to the little wondering
child; examining everything with fear
full curiosity, and viewing each unfa-
miliar object the mist and glamor OF