Year: 1861

iie nuu seen III Dut lew tunes, Stlil he was
an acute analyzer of character, and the voice,
the words, the movements, had corroborated
the face.


Charity Moss was the only daughter of the
clergyman of the North Presbyterian Church.
at Rockland. The young man had met her ut
her iather's house when he returned the call of
the pastor; and he had been stimulated and
impressed on that first interview.


Charity Moss was utterly unlike any woman
he had ever met-so decately organized, so
slight of form, so fair of face, that one might
almost fear she was fragile. if it had not been
for the small bright carnation that boomed in
her check, and set there, their own signal of
peaceful health.


She was older than she appeared, for she had
just seen her twenty-third birthday when Thurs
ton met her. She puzzled him exceedingly at
first, the quiet little lady! lie knew all the
marks of high breeding and social cultivation
but somehow, the whole manner of Charity
Moss seemed the unfolding Of some inward
graclousness of soul, and all her movements
kept time to some harmony of spirit. Her
father did not present himself until his guest
had been seated some minutes, yet the girl was
by no means futtered or embarrassed by the
presence of the gentleman. There was
strange mingling of repose and simplicity about
her. The eyes of deep grey, which was al
II,
look up at him with a quiet earnestness and
sincerity, which fairly puzzled him. She was
thoroughly calm, self-poised yet he could not
detect the slightest tinge of vanity about the
girl.


There was little shadow of grayity-such
as frequently accompanies much thoughlfulness,
on the sweet face; and yet, on occasion, it
would bloom out into sweet, running smiles,
that made the mouth not small but most femi-
nine seem almost like an infants


The talk of the young people went right and
left, glancng first, as was proper and introduce
Lory, on the weather, on the town. and the
,arish; and when the minister entered, with
statement which excused his tardness, that he
was just finishing his Wednesday evening lee
ture, his guest and his daughter were discus
sing the carrying away of tho old turnpike
bridge and the saw mill, an event which had
somewhat stirred the sluggish pulse of Rock
land social life.


Parson Moss was stately urbane gentleman
of the old school-social and sympathetic, the
natural fire and vigor of his character little
mellowed by the fifty years which had gone
over it.


"Charty," said the clergyman, turning sud.
denly to his daughter, in some slight pause of
his brisk conversation with his guest, 'wont you
bring us some cake and marmalade?"





flashed out of the sweet gravity of her face ;
I'm not responsible for the cake this time, as
had all the fine things to iron this morning,
and the baking fell on Dorothy"
There was not one amongst Thurston Dow's
fashionable high-bred acquaintance, who would
have made this avowal, and she did it with just
the same simplicity that she would have said,
81 was occupied with my music or my French" {"
| The cake however, did credit to Dorothy, and
the parson laughingly assured his daughter that
her training had not been bestowed in vain.


~ will know more Of that girl" said the
| young man to himself, as he left the parsonage.
And when Thurston Dow said thing he meant
it. He did know more of Charity Moss.


For the next two months he found frequent
excuses to call at the parsonage-now to carry
| the young lady volume of poems, and now
some early fruits from his grounds, or rare flow
| ers from his conservatory.


Twice he took her to ride, and they had half
dozen short walks together; yet l think the
clergyman's daughter puzzled the rich man of
Rockland just much the last time he saw her
as she did the first.


She met him always with the same sweet
smile, flashing out from the pale gravity of her
face, with the the same mingled simplicity and
dignity Of manner.


| Still, every time he met her it seemed that
his whole nature was stirred and expanded by
some sweet. subtle influence.
| Charity Moss had never been in city but
twice in her life. Newport and Saratoga were
words as void and unsuggestive to her as Egyp-
tian hieroglyphics, but she had read much and
studied wide and deep for girl of her years,
and the soil of her mind was rich, and bore good
fruit.


But one flower blossomed in her heart which
shed sweet and subtle influence through her
1 IL - Ill
mis- cultivation and acuteness, had the "blind
eyes" which did not see this; but this was what
Paul the Apostle meant when he wrote to the
Corinthians "The greatest of these is Charity"
| Thurston Dow knew that the clergyman
daughter was fond of his society, but beyond
the simple rights and courtesies of friend, he
was assured of nothing. The bright carnations
sat in her cheek when hs came-they had not
dimmed or deepened when he left.


But that day walking TO and fro in the fading
light of his library there came over the soul OF
Thurston Dow faint and vague suggestion oi
what true, absorbing, selfsacrificing affection
was and he thought of Charity in her SIM
plicity, her girishness and purity, and he said
to himself:


"She is Just the woman that want She
will wake up the best and noblest part of me


nto life and action. / love her childlike sim
plicity, her womanly dignity. Altogether, she
is sweet, dainty, noble hearted little creature
whose very presence makes the air fresher and
stronger about me. | am sick unto death o.
the shame and affections of life-of women
Charity Moss has none of these. She is the
only woman whom l could take into my heart
and lock the door upon her. This very night
will ask her to be my wife"
CHAPTER II.
The astral lamp was just lighted in the small
parsonage parlorj and the whole room lay in
kind of haze of moonlight, while through tn
open windows came bursts of sweet, subt
tragrances from the yellow lips of the honey
suckles as they whispered to the night winds.
Thurston Dow sat there about five minutes
; plunged in Dreams when his hostess entere,
the room, with her light step, and her face wit
its sweet smile, which touched on gravity, shi
ming betwixt its folds of hair-shadows Of brow
with lighter gold.


S "Excuse me for OBTAINING you, Mr.. Dow,


said the voice. that was like tune set to til
4 face, "but Dorothy is not quite well this even
\ ing, and have been helping her work the but
ter"


t "You are one of the Fledas and Faiths" sal
= the young man looking curiously and fondly o
J the girl, as she sat down in her blue musli
!. dress, beside him, real little household diyir


ity, with natural love and skill for house
, work.


!, Scarcely" with her eyes on the carpet, an
u evidently answering the question more to hel
l. gelf than him, "When mamma left us | ha