The Penn's Grove record., 1886-01-16

thousands of birds that made the air
resound with their glad song, 1t must
have been pleasant for her to know that
all this was her own.
A long avenue Of chestnut trees led
to the house; it was az old grey stone
building; the lawn in the front was gay
with many.colored flowers and glisten-
ing fountains, in which the sun glanced
and sparkled. A long fight Of broad
white steps led to the hall door, and as
soon as it was opened you felt that you
were in one of 1.-THE stately homes of
England The large and stately din.
ing-rOom was furnished all IN oak, of
great value and antiquity, the lofty and
gorgeous drawing-rooms were perfect,
the whole house was replete with every
comfort and luxury. The rooms Wal
ter loved best, and taught me to love,
were those used by his young mother.
Nothing in them had been disturbed
since her death. The flowers she had
gathered were there, witheTed and dried
the book she had been reading when
her fatal illness seized her lay on the
table where she had lett it.
The tears blinded my eyes as we were
ushered into the drawing.rOom; every
thing spoke SO strongly of the absent
brother whom l had learned to love 50
dearly.
The door opened and the old aunt en-
tered. She was a quiet, kind gentle
woman, who looked as though she had
known suffering and care. She welcom-
ed us kindly, and said she had sent for
Miss Eyrle, who was somewhere in the
grounds.
a low, ripping laugh sounded just
underneath the window, and then there
came into the room the lOveliest girl l
had ever seen in my life.
| looked at my father; he might well
decline any description of such a face
and figure as | saw before me. None
but a poet OF painter could do justice
to such a subject. A wealth of golden
hair that fell in ringlets was the first
thing that struck me. Then came a
face that dazzled me by its beauty. The
eyes were of the darkest yiolets, full of
light, of love, and happiness, sometimes
dreamy and tender, then sparkling and
bright; the lashes were long and black,
the brows arched and clear; the sweet
smiling lips were full and beautifully
formed. Her voice was soft and musi-
cal, with a happy, joyous cadence; and
her every movement was grace and
poetry.
She welcomed my father with great
%cordiality. and to my mother she was
all respectful attention. When she
came to me, she kissed me a~ffectjonate-
ly, and said, 81 have been longing to
seeyou ever since Mr.. Dacre mentioned
you yesterday. l have no sisters, and
no friends here in England. Will you
be both to me?'
l said 'yes:" and 1 have ia thfully
kept my word ever SINCE.
After the proper length Of time had
elapsed, my parents rose to take leave.
"Mr. Dacre," said Miss Eyrle, 81 look
upon you, l do not know why, as kind
of guardian. l hope you will have the
kindness to join my dear aunt here in
taking care of me-"
My mother looked rather surprised at
this little impromptu address. My
father was charmed with it, and replied
in the same frank, open sp rit.
1.-THE first favor l have to beg of
you," she continued, gaily, rs. that
you will leave me your daughter for the
remainder of the day. want some one
who knows the place to show me every
nook and corner in it,"
81 will do SO willingly" replied my
father. 81 will send the carriage tor
you, Belle, at nine"
And a glorious day we had. AS soon
as we were alone Miss Eyrle came to
me. and putting her little white jeweled
hands upon my shoulder, looked straight
into my eyes, and said, 81 know l shall
like you, | might say love you. You
have the clear, honest, true look that
always wins my heart, though | rarely
see it. You would always tell the
truth, even when it would cost you
dear"
/ was almost too beWlldered to reply
but she waited for no words,
II am in a fair way for being spoiled
now" she went on. 81 am rich and
alone; my aunt sees no fault in me; yet
| know l have many. Win you be my
true friend and promise never to tlltter
me, but whenever you see anything
amiss to tell me of it, just as if l were
a sister of your own?"
1 promised, and have kept my word.
zone thing more," she added: 81 do
not like form or ceremony; call me
Florence, and let me say; then we shall
be easy and happy"
She seemed wonderfully relieved
when l complied.
81 had a very lonely life in Russia"
she said. 81 was at school until | was
seventeen; then my poor father sent for
me, and told me he did not wish me to
form any friendships there, as our home
would 0 o be in England"
"Were you pleased to hear that?" l
asked.
YES" was the reply; ''but | was
rather frightened too; for he told me
then how much money he had saved,
and what a grand estate he was going
to buy. Poor little mel Iquite trembl"
ed at the idea of being the representa-
tive Of so much wealth."
81 should have liked it," said l.
"W0uld your" SAID Florence; 81 did
not much. Then came all the hustle of
preparation, and the long, cold journey.
You heard of my dear fathers sad
death2n she added, and her bright blue
eyes hlled with tears. NOW, h con-
tinued, me Uoica, eighteen, mistress of
Oakdale, motherless, fatherless, almost
frienGless; would you change places
with me?n
"No," l replied, honestly and warm
ly; II think being loved is the most
precious thing in the, far above money"
"You are right she said; land now
tell me about the people who used to
live here. Why did they soil this beau
tlful placer"
Seated by her side, watching the u
shine upon her golden hair, | told her
the story of Walter Bohun, and she was
nearly ~breathless with excitement when
| had finished.
"What a noble mani" she exclaimed
"What a grand hero, Belief Tell me
more of him. Where is he noW2"
ABROAD with Sir Philip Newton" l
replied. "IIe will not return until next
year."
"And you love him, YOU say, Belle?n
"IIe has been like my W brother
ever since we were children | replied.