Year: 1867

that she had joined in her thoughts to Ma
than. I.amsie had been to call upon her two
or three tin es, but she had not returned the
calls. She had not time, SHE said; and she
feared, no doubt, that Nathan would tilink
she was seeking to see him, and this SHE
would not do. however much she desired it.
Matilda knew by this time that Nathan had
chance of going to town, and she almost
knew that he would go; still, she thought
he would come and talk with her about it
before be quite decided.


From the window of the chamber where
she spun she could see him at work in the
hay y-field that adioined her mothers grounds
every day and often the wheel stopped,
and she stood with the wool in her hand
quite still, as she saw Lamsic come into the
field with pitcher of water in her hand, or
with rake across her shoulder. Some
times, when Nathan stopped to drink, they
would remain apparently chatting together
good while; and sometimes they would
sit down in the shade, nearer each other
than she liked to see them sit.


She could fancy the girls ringing laugh as
she tossed the hay over Nathan while he
stopped before her swinging the scythe; and
once she saw him chase and catch her, and
put his face very close-close enough to have
kissed her. All this made her very uneasy,
and was enough to keep her from singing,
as il did.


"What is the matter, my child? Do cheer


up!" Mrs Hastings said, time after time.
But she knew well enough what was the


matter, only she had not the heart to ac-


knowledge it openly, and almost thought by


ignoring it she could make it as though it


were not. Perhaps we have all of us done


something of the sort at some time.


Matters, meantime, were going from bad


to worse, if the truth had been known.


When Lamsie raked the hay for Nathan, and


picked out the flowers and tossed them in


his bosom, she tempted him to retaliate in


the like playful fashion; and so it often hap


pened that their hands met, and sometimes


it happened that the playful quarrel ran al


most into earnest, and then it was to be


made up, and we all know what comes OF


such things. What came Of ii with them


was, in the first place, that the work was


neglected; and, in the next place, that the


lost time must be made up, and SO Lamsit


would stay, hindering and helping, but long


after dark, as it fell out once or twice; ant


upon these occasions, as they walked hom'


through the shadows, it happened that Ma
than's arm was round her waist.


Two or three times, at the beginning of he
visit, Lamsie had run in" as she called it


to see Matilda, but the visits grew shorte
with each repetition. She had always pro
, missed Nat" that she would assist him ii


the garden or the hay field, or ut whateve
he chanced to be about, and Matilda neve
insisted that she should break her promise
=. So the end of the week came, and for severs
= days Lamsie had not "run in" at all.


And now it was known to Matilda, throug
general rumor, that Nathan Armstrong wa


going to leave the farm for good and all
going to town to live with his uncle Tol
: and become fine gentleman, and forget h
country friends and neighbors, so poop
: said. Every word of this sort, and man
such were spoken, went like knife throug
. the heart of Matilda; but she pondered
: silence, and breathed never word of r.
proach or of complaint. Nathan was blin'
= ed, bewidered, for time, but he was sti
!, true-hearted; she never dreamed that l
could really prefer another to her, beeaus


she knew she could not prefer another
. him and then, had he not told her in
y thousand ways that he loved her? 81
q blamed herself more, in reality, for harbo
II ing doubt than she blamed him for givir
u her cause. She was unreasonable; 81
II hoped and exacted too much. But und


all and over all there was a boding Of Ill
y that kept her from smiling and from singl
. as she used


u Mrs Armstrong was out of all patienc
5 as she said to her neighbor Mrs. Hastings,
y think that Nat was come of age now, al
t. had his fifty acres, and his own team, al
: his choice of the COWS, and his father to a
VI sist him in the building of house, and ju
~ as nice little sweetheart as ever was, in
the bargain, and he must go and throw 1t
u. away And for what? He would sec i
~ what before he was many years older; b
u young heads couldn't be put on to old shor
10 dcrs, she supposed, and Nat would have
> burn his fingers before he could be made
40 know that fire was hot She had doz
hc coverlets and sheets, and table-linen, and
Ao things to match, laid away in the press, til


had been called Tillys things for year pa


and now to think!


~ " Well, they might lie there seven years al
y rot before Toms Eunice, the lazy, good-ft
~ nothing thing, should have them! She h
~ talked and talked to Nat, but what go
w. came of it ?-thc more she said against L
"' nice, why the more he was for her; and
-, was not child any more so that she cor
~ shut him up in the closet; she only wish


he was, and she'd keep him there for o
III while she guessed.


W W In this way the disappointed mother {
i'u some bitter comfort but not much,
iiu there is never much comfort TO be got out
II, beng wroth with one we love.