The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-04-18

A New England Love Story,
BY LOUISE CHANDLER MoULT0N.
JCopyrighted 1885, by the Author-An Rights
Reserved
4 hate it all, oh, how / hate itrn A

New England rocking chair. Considering how
the world wags in general, and that one OF our
greatest statisticians has told Us that one In
every seven of the inhabitants Of Great Britain
dies a pauper it would not seem to a well-regu-
lated mind that Nan had much to complain of.
1t was late in October. The fall cleaning was
over-stoves were set up in the many rooms of
Farmer Alters house, cleanliness reigned, and
the warmth within defed the menaces of the
'shard winter" which every one was predicting.
The look of homely wellbeing, without one
ray of beauty to brighten it, made foolish Mans
very heart sick. The close heat of the all tight
stove went to her head and she sighed as she
wondered vaguely what life meant. Others
beside herself wondered what Nan Aliens life
meant She was eonundrum which, SO far, no
one had taken the trouble to guess, though we
have all seen other such conundrum's in plenty.
She was the daughter of parents without one
ray of imagination She had grown up in a
home where the Evangelical Family Library"
did duty for literature, and Foxs "Book of
Martyrs" was the nearest approach to romance.
And yet Nan was beauty lover and dreamer.
doubt if under the most favoring circum-
stances she could have written book or painted
q picture. Hers was the sympathetic, not the
creative, imagination; still the love of beauty
had been born in her. Starved into silence by
her circumstances, it ached on in her heart.
AS child she had been content with the sun
sets that burned the western hills the roses
that rioted in the old garden in June, the sturdy
autumn flowers that lifted their naughty, hand
some heads to face the November blasts She
H. H. 49, Arox
xomp that is, she had climbed trees, and
roamed far afeld after berries. tanned squirrels,
and coasted down hill when the winter had
glazed the hillsides with snow and ice. Occupied
with these pleasures she had failed to realize
the barrenness of her home life-the utter want
of grace and beauty in all its appointments.
But one day the bud becomes flower, and one
day Nan ceased to be a child Teen her life
confronted her just as it was-barren, and mar
row, and monotonous, and with 20 apparent hope
of better days. And in the summer just past
she had made friend, who had opened to her
glimpse of another world A girl not much
older than Nan herself had been sent to Ryefeld'
to board Miss Amory was not very strong and
while her mother had led forth two older daugh-
tiers to the glories of conquest at Saratoga and
afterwards at Newport. the family doctor had
decreed for Blanche quiet summer and had
persuaded brother physician at Ryefeld to
take her into his family.
In some of Miss Amory,s walks she had met
Nan Allen, and suddenly they had become
friends Blanche Amory, with her patrician
grace. her fair face, and her perfect toilets, had
dawned on Nan as revelation of what life
s.~l,% IL - \
taken shape. She surrendered herself heart
and soul, to the new conner. Miss Anory, in
turn, was delighted with Nan. in something the
same way in which she might have enjoyed an
unaccustomed school of art, a fresh musical sem
sation, new country to travel in
She had never before seen anything like this
girl, so frank, so honest, SO humble yetso proud
so apprsciative yet so ignorant, so well-bred yet
so accustomed to society. Miss Amory from
Boston, used to all things and tired of most,
read this new page of human nature with ever
fresh delight
From this young high priestess of the proper,
quick witted Nan caught speedily the jargon Of
art and of society. She had loved vaguely,
hitherto, for something other than she had
known New her desires defined themselves
for she learned what she ought to wish for.
Her very soul hungered within her for pictures,
and carvings, and Turkish rugs, and old China,
and the other things which all seemed common
and necessary as daily bread to the girl from
Boston.
Nan used to wonder how Miss Amory would
endure life at Ryefeld when the short, cold days
should come and wildwood, moss,carpeted
l.. -
bilities Would this patrican creature be able
to endure the things Mans own soul loathed2
Happily the fair Blanche was spared the ordeal
While still September days were keeping the
world warm Miss Amory's Oldest brother came
to take her away from Ryefeld.
Of course Nan Allen saw her friends brother
and, in Quincy Amory, she, second time, dis
covered that her uniformed ideal had taken
shape. This, then, was what man should be
80 polished, so graceful, and with such clothes
It might be inglorious, she owned to herself,
to consider the clothes; but after all they were
revelation, and they, as much as his information
and his walk, emphasized the difference between
Boston and Ryefeld- He was very gracious to
Nan-for his sisters sake, no doubt-but he
could not help knowing that she was pretty
girl, far prettier GIRL if the truth must be told
than even Blanche Amory.
Miss Amory was blonde, tall, slight, with
clear blue eyes, wellcut features and reposeful
manners-a kind OF human Easter lily. Nan
was spicy rose, thorny, perhaps, but fragrant
and provoking. with her dark curling hair, her
dark, bright eyes, her petite figure, her red lips,
and her cheeks like the sunny side Of a peach.
Quincy Amory quite shared his sisters regret
when they babe bonny Nan goodbye at the Rye
field station.
That parting was month ago, and meantime
October frosts had chilled the air, and the vivid
autumn leaves had blown down with the gale,
and Mrs. Allen and her maid of all work had
done the fall cleaning and here, in the midst Of
all the comfortable, commonplace. unbeautiful