Year: 1871




| ting together through the warm hours of
an afternoon in early autumn, till the sun,
sinking low, seemed to wrap his heat a
round him and draw it away from us, as If
it were his bed blanket.


"IIow cool these September evenings
grow - said mother then, shivering and
drawing her little shawl about her shoul-
ders.


ayes indeed" assented I, her daughter
Frank, with answering shiver. "Let us
have little wood fire, shan't we mother,
dear? ii will be so nice when father and
viii come home"


"There is no kindlng in the house." said
mother, 'doubtfully; land Almira has gone
oil somewhere in her usual Independent
fashion of course"


"Oh, I'll have the fire ready in five min
ules, if may only make it, mother. If I
am new conner here, / hope l know the
way to the woodpile; and where the and
irons stand, too


And off | started to disinter the latter ar
ticles from their summer repose; and that
accomplished snatched down coat of
Wits, tied the two sleeves round my neck
to make it an extemporized cloak, and
twisting an old red scarf round my head,
sailed out to the woodple.


"Oh, what a figurev' cried mother, send
ing a laugh after me for | had turned the
coat wrong side out in my hurry, and no
doubt looked absurd enough every way.


"Fine enough for these blessed prairies,
I'm sure" answered back, as l ran.


For this new Indiana home of ours was
"remote, sequestered, melancholy, slow"
in respect to any society to be found there
there was no denying that. 1t was a great
change from our former beautiful home on
the Wissahicken where we had constant
access to and Intercourse with what and
whom we liked best in the neighboring
city of Philadelphia; and 1.-TWO gowns,
and everything handsome about u.s." as
added to myself, half signing as I mental
ly reviewed our changes while busily fill
ing my chip basket


1t was Just as well worth while to laugh
as to sigh too, for it was so good to know
that fathers loss of fortune and return to
the laborious habits of his youth had not
vitality touched our happiness. / felt so
proud of my parents, seeing how cheerful
ly they took up the burden of life again,
strong in their mutual love and integrity.
They felt it most for my sake, l feared.
viii liked the change-the Indiana farm
suited him exactly. But that their "ae
dochter" should turn out in the world to
earn her bread, they felt more koenly than
l did myself. liked my work as a deco
rative designer, how fortunate that / had
prepared myself for it, when studying in
the School of Design was only whim and
pastime, and had pride in showing my
self my parents true child in energy and
cheerfulness, now that there was some tri-
al for them both. But l meant not to be
separated so far from them any longer.
No, indeed! ! had staid in Philadelphia
to complete the engagements hastily en-
tered upon there, but now | was determin-
ed to find something to do nearer home.


'For it will be home again. and pleas
ant one, too,' meditated, when | had got
thus far in my retrospect, sitting down a.
mong the chips and taking thoughtful
survey of the little white house before me-
1t stood on gentle rise, that varied the
somewhat too level surface of the rolling
prairie land, so called, of northern Indi-
ana. A pretty grove shaded one side of it,
and two bright little lakelcts near at hand
-mucksh they call them, from the In
dian name of their abounding water-liles
frightened the landscape'like two clear
eyes in face, almost making amends for
the lack of flowing streams we had been
used to.


The frame house was small to be sure,
but it would be pretty enough, decided,
when mother had a fair chance with the
flowers, and vines, and shrubbory, her
heart delighted in. At present she protest
ed, with touch of bitterness, she would
mot put dibble in earth to set one slip of
them" any more, till the new paling fa-
ther had promised to erect should be there
to protect them wandering animals of va
aious kinds having so often made assault
upon her precious plants, that she averred
they were making her life burden to her.


l sat, Marius-like, among the outskirts
of the woodpile awhile longer than need
have done, rambling OF into these and va
rious other thoughts, till quick little rap
of mothers finger on the window pane re-
called me with start to my present duty,
which / straightway hurried to fulfil. By
the time the fire was lain and kindled, the
dancing light of the flames was contending
on the walls with the last gleam of sun
set, drawing my shadow upon them in
| likeness of Sairey Camps, rs brushed up
the floor, bedecked-as she in her watch
mans coat-with the attire before describ-
| ed.


A sound of deliberately advancing hoofs
was heard on the turf without, and mother
exclaimed with a despairing gesture :
"There comes that old stray mare to finish
the last of my dahlias 1t is hardly worth
while to drive the creature away again. she
comes back so soon"


"rll give her one good fright this time,
anyhow" cried out wrathfully excited
by my mothers wrongs and suting the
action to the word, | suddenly opened the
door and bounded out with a wild whOop,
brandishng my broom with Mmnad-like
energy. If the old mare had been there,
suppose she would quietly have dropped
down and died with the fright, "and there
an end, as Macbeth comfortably express
es it. But no, mol twas no old stray mare