Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1889-09-20
BADDETFE.

She put a shawl over her brown
curls and slipped out unObserved
into the shadowy night.
] One would have thought her
mere child Judging from her slight
figure and general appearance;
but tonight Babbette was eighteen
They knew it in the great houses
but what cared they for the birth
day melting into blank night with
out even a word or token of affec-
ton?
The tears dropped of the long
lashes and a bitterness settled
over the white face-so very white
now in the deepening twilight.
If her young heart was breaking
from neglect and want of sympa'
thy, what difference did it make;
what difference, indeed : She was
oaly au orphaned niece, Doneyless
and friendless, finding shelter un.
der the aristOcrstic rooftree OF Un.
cle Wilton, simply because 1t could
not very we'll be otherwise. Peo-
pie would have censured, you
see.
Cousins Kate and Clara we're in
the drswing.rOom entertaining
friends, and the soft light came
through the drawn curtains of FL
my lace with a dreamy radiance
suiting we'll the slow, sleepy musIc
of the guitar some one was playing
inside.
The girl paused to look in at the
cOzy enjoyment hungrily. How
she loved music but then she
could not sing. No; the musical
vein of the Wiltons had failed to
throb into her life for some reason.
She couldn't sing, she couldn't
dance, neither could she appear
we'll in society; so Aunt Maria
said "there was no use bOtbering
with the little, ignorant beggsr."
The big tears, eiItating on the
dark lashes, FLASHED down on the
crimson shawl, and Bsbbette turn
ed away with a choking sensation
in her throat.
Out across there, though, where
the lights twinkle through the
trees, lived a dear old friend, the
gray.haired rector. How many
happy hours she had passed in that
pretty cottage; the little study
with its modest ingram carpet and
softly-shaded lamps with its mar
row, green shutters opening out on
a long, old-fashIoned piazza by day |
and closed on the little happy !
world at night, was a paradise 10
the lonely girl.
DOnbtless the low rocker in its |
snug corner waited her cOmiug TO.
night as often before; and they
wouldn't miss her IN there where
the soft, sweet music mellowed the
air and hoated out on her desOlate
night.
No, there was no room for her
anyway, had she chosen to have
remained in doors. Her place must
be among those Ia the dreary By
ways of life
Rut the rector, Nnd old man,
was cOmpaniOnable and a friend.
She would step in and have an.
other of those long, serious talks
she delighted 10. Poor man He,
too, was alone now, with none but
the hOusekeeper to look after him.
His wife slept over there 10 the
church.ysrd, and bis son well !
Babbette didn't mind Of ever see
ing him.
He was away to college some
where, but the rector had told her
that he would be at home shortly.
After his coming, OF course, Bah.
bette argued, she wouldn't feel as
free to occupy the willow rocker at
the rectory, for Well, she was
now eighteen and really q child no
more, for all Aunt Maria kept her
10 ankle dresses and long, childish
curls.
Turning from the music and
merriment within her unCle's draw
ing-rOom, she drew the crimson
shawl closely under her dainty chin
and went away in the darkness,
Crossing the lawn and shutting the
wicket gate behind her she ran
swiftly along under the greenlnR
cedars toward the rectory.
Tapping at the study door sh'
was admitted by the gray-hsired
clergyman, as usual, who drew the
familiar rocker forward and, push
Jog his books aside, turned arOunC
for the talk he knew was expected
to be forthcoming.
"And tonight | am eighteen,
said Babbette, letting the shaw
Z drop from her shoulders With q
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