Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1893-07-14
A TALE OF NARRAGANsETT.

WlaJ can De more DeauJlIul IMAM laJe
September in Narragansett? Then the
summer sits in silence on her golden throne,
awaiting the approach of autumn. An
early frost in the low lands sets the naples
afame, and launches the thistle-down on
the balmy air. The golden-rods are in
their glory, made more gorgeous by the
tangle of crmsoning blackberry vines in
which they grow, and the fringed gentian
opens its azure eyes to gaze at the sun.
1t was on day of this season, about the
middle of the last century, that young
girl was walking down Tower hill. Her
plain gray dress and the white folded ker-
chief marked her as belonging to one of the
Quaker families of the neighborhood. In
her busy hands she had shining knitting
needles, and soft blue home-dyed wool, and
the stocking was growing as she walked
gazing about her. At her feet lay the sea,
and across the stretches of shining water
the windows of Newport cleaned in the
afternoon light There lay Conanicut, with
its beaver tail spread out, dividing the bay q;
and close at hand the slow-nowing Petta-
quamscut with its reedy low lands, where
the tide ebbed and flowed; and beyond, the
fertile fields of Boston Neck. 1t was all
bathed in such sunshine and teeming with
ouNn lOdNNlul my thN SUI SoNN q ioii7 II
of delight and content as she looked.
Then suddenly her eyes contracted, and a
quick impatient exclamation escaped her.
Her soft brown eyes had dangerous red
CLEAN in them, and the little head was held
very erect as she came to a sudden halt.
She stood motionless gazing apparently at
the water, where white-sailed schooner
was making up the west passage. She
looked and looked; then as suddenly the
brown eyes filled with tears. But the little
head was still held high, and lightly and
quickly she started on full run down the
hill. Nothing clears the mind so well as a
good scamper, especially if it is on a rough
country road with plenty of stones to jump
over. She reached the root of the hill
breathless and painting, but with no trace
of either anger or tears. The ruddy color
mounted to her forehead; her moist hair
chung in tighter ringlets about her brow,
and the brown eyes were soft and sweet
again.
After this outbreak she went on sedatelv
enough, turning to the right, and presently
over barred fence and into an orchard.
Then she busted herself soberly gathering
a few late peaches, which she carefully laid
in little piles under the largest tree. AS
she was STOPPING at this task there was a
sudden rustling of the leaves; and almost
before she could move, a tall, graceful
young fellow was bending over her, and
had seized and kissed her hand.
dearest" he said, kissing it again.
"John, | have told thee thee mustn't
call me such Names" she said shyly, and
with a merry twinkle in her eyes as she
drew away her hand; sit savors of ex-
cess
"Then you must let me see you oftener,
dear"
"But thee knows l can't, John"
They sat down beside the peaches, and
she let him hold her hand, while her maid
emily reserve no less than her Quaker train
ing kept him at a respectful distance.
"And now tell me, Patty, how they are
at home"
"There is no change-only did thee
know Roger Arnold has come home?"
"Roger Arnold be -" cried John,
starting up. Chow do you know"
"Thee can see his schooner coming up
past the Bonnet"
"Well?" said John almost sullenly, while
his handsome face grew dark.
"Thee knows what his coming home
means. Last night father told me he was
coming, and he expected an answer this
time; and thee knows what answer father
wishes me to give" She looked at him
appealingly, and her voice fell into a sigh
ing whisper.
"Patty, you must let me go to your ia
ther Am not man too, and why can't
take care of you?'
"Nay, John, nay. Thee knows what he
would say"
she would say my father was a French
man, and that he cheated him about the
land, and that l was an idle, good-for-
nothing fellow"
she would saylalllthat," said Patty, sad
ly, land he would say too that should
never see thee again, and he would make
me marry Roger Arnold before he sails
again"
''Make you 1 thought you were a girl
of spiritr said John, angrily.
"And so | am answered Patty, with
kindling wrath: then more gently: "Thee
don't know, father. l would say wouldn't,
but l would. No, John, thee must not
be angry, and thee must not speak to fla.
Their"
A long pause followed. John looked at
her intently, his eyes softening as he look
ed. Suddenly he took from his game bag
a sprig of blue gentian. He kissed it al
l1Oob gave II W llcIs Ole
touched it to her face, too, and fastened
it in her kerchief Their eyes met, and
then their lips met in the oblivion of theiI
first kiss.
"And what will thee do, then?'' John
said, presently.
81 think l will tell Roger"
"Tell Roger? tell Roger whatP Tell
Roger that thee loves me?' asked John,
tenderly.
"Thee remembers-no, that was before
thee came, we used to play together, and
Roger was always a good boy. l always
liked Roger till he took this notion. |
think he will be good. would not speak
to him, thee knows, the last time he was
home-but now-I will see him, and he
will manage it for u.s."
1t was growing late; the shadow of the
hill fell upon the orchard, and across the
salt meadows, to the blue and golden sea.
They rose and slowly climbed the hill, not
by the road, but through the fields where
the gathered cornstalks were standing. Up
and up they climbed, till they reached the
sunlight once more. They were nearing
the house now, and stood together looking
out Overthe sea. Unrebuked, John stopped
for farewell kiss, when suddenly an un-
earthly shrek came from behind a corn
stack.
"Hi-hi, Patience Brown, and what will
thy father saY?n shouted the cracked voice