CHAPTER VIII.

CLOSE OF SCHOOL IN PINE DISTRICT.

Whether Dr. Clayton cared for me or not, he exerted his influence in my behalf, plainly telling John Thompson that he ought to be ashamed to annoy me as he did; and dropping a few hints to Mrs. Thompson, who now tried to restrain her son; so that after the party hostilities in that quarter nearly ceased. But the ball was in motion, and could not well be stopped; for what the Thompsons now lacked, the rest of the District made up. It was the general impression, I believe, that the scholars had learned nothing save a few pieces of poetry; and that I had done nothing but whip, scold, and cry. To all these accusations I plead guilty, and when Mr. Randall, one day, proposed to me to bring my labors to a close, I replied that "nothing could please me better," though there was a tremor in my voice as I thought how the people of Meadow Brook would laugh. Mr. Randall, probably, divined my thoughts, for he quickly rejoined, "The weather is gettin' so hot that the youngsters need a vacation. Mebby, in the fall, when it is cooler, we shall have you back."

And so it was settled that school should close the next week on Saturday, and that on Friday I should have an examination! This, to a teacher in Western New York, may seem strange; but those who have taught in that part of New England where I did, know that such a thing cannot well be avoided. No matter how small the school, or hew inefficient the teacher may be, an examination must be held, or you at once lose caste; the people unanimously declaring you to be ashamed of showing how little your pupils have learned. In my case, I was rather anxious than otherwise for an opportunity to show off; for I was sure my scholars would acquit themselves creditably. I well knew they could stand up and repeat "verses," the multiplication table, the names of the fourteen counties of Massachusetts, and tell who made them, and where the sun rose, louder and faster than any other seventeen children in town! I confidently expected all the parents and friends to be there, and as my own wardrobe was rather scanty, I coaxed my sister Anna, who, though several years my senior, was still not much taller than myself, to let me wear her new black silk!

It was my first appearance in a long dress, and it troubled me greatly; but by dint of holding it up, as ladies do nowadays, I succeeded in getting to the schoolhouse, where I found my pupils arrayed in their best; Ike Ross having in his shirt bosom the selfsame glass breastpin which I had sported at Dell Thompson's party. Not wishing the spectators to lose any of the exercises, I sat in grim silence, awaiting their arrival: but my waiting was all in vain; for, with the exception of Mrs. Randall and Dr. Clayton, the latter of whom came in the capacity of Inspector, not a single individual was present! Not a parent—not a friend, nor a foe—and still, if the examination had not been held, those who stayed away would have ridiculed me, and voted my school even a worse failure than they did. So much for consistency. Parents, I think, are not sufficiently aware of the great good their occasional presence in the schoolroom will do, both to teacher and scholar; the latter of whom will almost invariably study harder and strive to have better lessons, if there is a prospect of their father or mother's hearing them recite; while the former, feeling that an interest is taken in them, will also be incited to fresh efforts for the improvement of those committed to their charge.

But not thus thought the people of Pine Hill. Satisfied that an examination was going on, they stayed at home, expressing their surprise when they heard that nobody was there, wondering what it meant, and saying "folks ought to be ashamed for not going!" As if to make amends for their neglect, Dr. Clayton, in his closing remarks, said some very complimentary things concerning my school, which he bade the children repeat to their parents; and such is human nature, that, when I had received my Eight Dollars, and was gone, the District, in speaking of me, said, "I wasn't the worst teacher, after all."

About four o'clock, there came up a thunder shower, which caused both Mrs. Randall and the scholars to hasten home. Dr. Clayton, on the contrary, was in no hurry. "It was, perhaps, the last opportunity he would have of seeing me," he said, "and he meant to improve it."

It was not very far to Meadow Brook I thought, and so I at last ventured to say.

"I know that," he replied; "but people might talk were I to call on you, and I do not wish to do anything which will affect you unpleasantly."

"I don't care what folks say," arose to my lips, but its utterance was prevented by a flash of lightning and a thunder crash, which made me shriek aloud, while I covered my face with my hands.

I shall not describe the way which Dr. Clayton took to calm my fright, for all who have passed through a similar experience can imagine it; but the remembrance of that thunder-storm lingered in my memory long after I had forgotten the night when I sat with him in the soft light beneath the old oak tree. When the storm had ceased and the sun was again shining on the tree-tops at the west, he left me, placing on my hand at parting a little gold ring, on which was inscribed, simply "Rose."

"It was the gift of friendship," he said—"nothing more;" and he wished me to wear it "for the sake of the few pleasant hours we had spent together."

I suppose it was wrong in me to accept it. I thought so then, but I could not refuse it; and remembering the fate of the one sent by Herbert Langley to Anna, I resolved upon keeping it a secret, and only wearing it when I was alone. For a long time I sat in the deserted schoolroom, while the damp air, which came through the open window, fell upon my uncovered neck and arms, nor was I reminded of the lapse of time until it began to grow dark around me; then hastily throwing on my things, I started for Mr. Randall's, wetting my feet, for I had no rubbers with me. As the result of this, when I awoke next morning I was conscious of a pain in my head, a soreness in my throat, and an aching of my back, quite as unexpected as it was disagreeable. I had taken a violent cold, and Mrs. Randall, when she saw how pale I was and how faint I appeared, said I must not go to school. George, she said, would go and tell the scholars, and I must stay there until my father came for me at night as had been arranged the week before. To this plan I finally yielded, and all the day long I hovered over the fire, which, in the little sitting-room, was kindled for my comfort.

At night, when my father came for me, I was almost too weak to stand alone; but the excitement of riding imparted to me an artificial strength, which wholly deserted me the moment I reached home, and for many days I kept my bed, attended by Dr. Clayton, who accidentally heard of my illness, and who came daily to see me. Grandma, who was something of a nurse, proposed several times that he be dismissed, saying, he only made me worse, for I was always more feverish and restless after one of his visits! But the doctor, to whom she one day made the suggestion, said he should not leave me until I was well, and when she asked him how he accounted for my rapid pulse and flushed cheeks, whenever he was present, he very gravely replied, that "possibly my heart might be affected—the symptoms seemed much like it," adding, as he saw the look of concern on grandma's face, "but I think I can cure that, don't you, Rose?" turning to me, and taking my hand to see how fast my pulse did beat!

After this, grandma made no further objections to his visits. "If Rose had the heart disease, and he could cure it, he ought to do so!"

But, alas! for the heart disease, which feeds upon the smile of one who, when sure that he holds it in his grasp, casts it from him, as children do a long coveted toy, of which they have grown weary.

CHAPTER IX.

PRO AND CON.

On a pleasant May morning, in the spring succeeding the events narrated in the last chapter, the door of Dr. Clayton's office was locked against all intruders. The shutters were closed; while within, with his feet upon a table and his hands clasped over his head, the doctor himself was revolving the all-important question—whether it were better to offer himself at once to Dell Thompson "and have it done with," or to wait a few years for a little girl, who had recently crossed his pathway, leaving on his memory footprints he could not easily efface. For the benefit of any young man who may be similarly situated, we give a portion of his reasoning, as follows:

"Now, I am as positive as a man need be that I can have either of them for the asking; therefore, in a case which involves the happiness of one's whole life, it behooves me to consider the matter well. To be sure, if I follow the bent of my inclination, I am decided at once; but then, marriages of convenience sometimes prove just as pleasant as those of pure love; and so I'll go over with the pros and cons of both, deciding upon the one which has the most of the former!

"First, then, there's Rose, a most beautiful name. Only think how refreshing it would be after riding ten or twelve miles, visiting farmer Stubbs or widow Grubbs, to know there was a Rose watching for your return. Yes, her name is in her favor."

Here the hands came down from the head, and wrote One pro against the name of Rose, after which they resume their former position, and the doctor goes on with his soliloquy:

"She is frank, artless, unassuming, means what she says—in short, she is perfectly natural, and I always feel refreshed after a talk with her." (Makes pro No. 2.) "Then she is so wholly unselfish in her affection for me—loves me so devotedly—sees no fault in me whatever—thinks me handsome, I dare say, and all that."

Here glancing at himself in a little mirror opposite, and smoothing his shining mustache, the doctor waxes eloquent on said Rose's supposed admiration for him, writing down, in the heat of his excitement two pros, making in all four! Verily, Rosa Lee, your prospect of becoming Mrs. Dr. Clayton is brightening fast. But to proceed:

"She is smart, intelligent, talented, writes poetry—and, with proper training, would perhaps make a distinguished writer. Were I sure on this point, I should not hesitate; but you can't tell what these precocious children will make; frequently they come to a standstill."

And here, to make the matter sure, he writes against her name one pro for what she possibly may be, and one con for what she probably will not be!

"Then I love her better than anything else in the known world. I do, that's a fact; but she's young—only fourteen—and before she's old enough to marry she may change forty times, and that would kill me dead."

Puts down one pro for his own love, and one con for Rose's possible inconstancy.

"But she is poor—or, her father, they say, is worth only about $5,000! He already has nine children, and there's time enough for three or four more:—thirteen into five thousand makes—Long Division, a rule I never fancied; too poor altogether!"

And against Rose's name there is con No. 3, long and black, with the shadow of her four unborn brothers, who, by the way, never came in for a share of the $5,000.

"Then her family connections, I do not suppose, are such as would add anything to my influence. Good, respectable people, no doubt, but not known in the world like the Hungerfords, Dell Thompson's maternal relatives. To be sure, I once heard Rose speak of an uncle who resides in Boston, but I dare say he's some grocer or mechanic, living on a back street; while Dell's uncle, from the same city, must be a man of wealth and importance, judging by the figure his wife cuts when she visits the captain."

Here Dell received a pro for the Hungerford blood flowing in her veins, while Rose had a con for the want of said Hungerford blood.

"Dell, too, has $10,000 of her own, or rather will have, when her grandmother dies; and there are not many young men who can jump into that fortune every day. Yes, $10,000 is a decided temptation."

And lest Rose, who already numbered six, should come out in the majority, three long marks were put down against the $10,000 to be inherited at the death of a grandmother, whose name Dell bore.

"Then Dell has an air, which shows at once what she is, and no man need be ashamed of her in any place." (Mark No. 5.) "Then, again, she's handsome—decidedly so—such beautiful eyes! such small feet! and curls!"

Here a vague remembrance of certain long shoes, with wads of cotton, versus French slippers and silken hose, arose before the man of the world, resulting in a pro for the slippers, and a con for the cotton!

"But Dell is deceitful—high-tempered—artificial—selfish, superficial—and all that! The other picture suits me best, or would, were it not for the Hungerford blood, and the $10,000. Let me see how it foots up:—Six pros for Dell, and the same number for Rose."

Here was a dilemma; but anon he remembered how awkwardly the last mentioned young lady looked, when she fell at his feet—and this decides the matter. He is sensitive to ridicule, very, and he could not endure the sneering remarks which an avowed attachment to her might call forth from the world of fashion; so he crosses one of the pros which he had written against her name, when he thought how much she admired him—and then it stands, Dell 6; Rose 5!

Thus was the die cast. Alas! for the young girl, who, that same spring morning, stole away to her accustomed haunt, the old grape-vine, whose swelling buds were not an unfit symbol of the bright hopes now springing in her glad heart. As she sits there alone, with the running brook at her feet, she thinks of him who has grown so strongly into her love; and though, in words, he has never said so, by ten thousand little acts he has told her that her affection was returned, and for his sake she wishes she was older. He has wished so too, in her presence, many a time; but as that cannot be, she resolves to spend the season of her childhood in making herself what she knows he would wish her to be, were she to share his lot in life; and then, when the lapse of years shall have, ripened her into womanhood, she thinks how she can, without shame, put her hand in his, and go forth into the world satisfied, though it brought her naught but care, if he were only with her.

Alas, for thee, Rosa! A few miles to the southward, and the same sun which now shines softly down on you, looks in through a richly curtained window, and its golden rays fall on the queenly form of your rival; who, with a look of exultation on her finely cast features, listens to the words she has long waited to hear, and which have now been spoken; while he, of whom you dream, bends gently over her, his own—his betrothed! And still, in the very moment of his triumph, there comes up before him a pale, childish face, which, with its dreamy eyes of blue, looks reproachfully upon him. But pride and ambition weave together a veil which hides the image from his view, bidding him forget that any other save the peerless Dell, e'er stirred the fountain of his love.

* * * * * *

Would it be well for us always to know what is passing in the minds of our friends, whether present or absent? I think not; and still, could Rosa Lee have known what had transpired, methinks she would not have darted away so quickly as she did, when told that Dr. Clayton was coming through the gate one afternoon, about six weeks after his engagement with Dell. Why she ran, she could not tell, except it were, as her brother Charlie said, that "gals always run off and spit on their hair, when they saw their beaux coming."

Homely as this expression is, there was in this case some truth in it; for, though Rose did not spit upon her hair, she went to her room and brushed it, winding one or two of the rougher curls about her finger, then taking from its hiding-place the ring, his gift, she placed it upon her finger, and with heightened color went down to greet the doctor, who had come to make his farewell visit—for, four weeks from that night, Dell Thompson would be his wife. Long had he debated the propriety of seeing Rose again, conscience bidding him leave her alone, while inclination clamored loudly for one more quiet talk with her, one more walk by moonlight, one more look into her childish face, and then he would leave her forever; never again suffering a thought of her to come between him and the bride of his choice.

And for this purpose he had come; but when he saw how joyfully Rose met him, and how the bloom deepened on her usually pale cheek, his heart misgave him, and for the first time, he began to realize the wrong he had done her. But it was now too late to remedy it, he thought; and as if bent upon making matters still worse, he asked her to accompany him in a walk down the green lane, to the haunts he knew she loved the best, and where they had more than once been before. Oh, that walk!—how long it lingered in the memory of Rose, for never before had the doctor's manner been so marked, or his words so kind as when, together they sat upon the moss-grown bank, beneath the spreading vine, while he talked to her of the past, of the happiness he had experienced in her society, and which he said would be one of the few green spots, to which, in the years to come, he should look back with pleasure. Then drawing her so closely to him that her head almost rested upon his shoulder, he asked of her the privilege of "once kissing her before they parted"——he did not say forever, but the rustling leaves and the murmuring brook whispered it in her ear as she granted his request, shuddering the while, and wondering at the strangeness of his manner. Possibly he had it in his mind to tell her, but if so, he found himself unequal to the task, and he left her without a word of the coming event, of which she had not the slightest suspicion.

CHAPTER X.

MRS. DR. CLAYTON.

Although Meadow Brook and Pine District were distant from each other only four or five miles, there was between the two neighborhoods but little communication; and this, added to the fact that Aunt Sally Wright was confined to her bed, was undoubtedly the reason why the news of the approaching nuptials did not reach us until the week before the time appointed for them to take place. It was a warm sultry day in July, that Aunt Sally, who was now convalescent, sent us word that she would visit us that afternoon, if it was perfectly convenient; the little girl who brought the message, adding that "Miss Wright said Miss Lee needn't put herself out an atom, as she wan't a bit particular what she ett."

Of course it was convenient, and about one o'clock she came, talkative and full of news as ever. I was suffering from a severe headache, which, during the morning, had kept me confined to the bed; but knowing how much Aunt Sally would have to tell, and feeling curious to hear it all, I went down to the sitting-room, where her first exclamation was, "Now do tell what makes you look so down in the mouth?"

I was about to tell her of my headache, when she prevented me by continuing—"But law! it's no wonder, seein' you've lost the doctor slick and clean."

A dim foreshadowing of the truth came over me, but with a strong effort, I controlled my feelings, and in a very indifferent manner, asked her what she meant.

"Now I'll give up," said she, "if you hain't heerd on't. Why, it's in everybody's mouth. They are to be married next Thursday night, at nine o'clock; and the dress is white satin, with a veil that comes most to the floor."

"Who is to be married?" asked Anna, eagerly, her interest all awakened by the mention of white satin and lace veils.

"Why, Dr. Clayton and Dell Thompson;" returned Aunt Sally. "They was published last Sunday; Andy Slosson see it himself and told me. They are goin' first out to York State, to see them great Falls, and then they are goin' to live in Boston, boardin' at some of them big taverns; and Dell has got six bran new gowns a-purpose to wear to breakfast."

Here Aunt Sally paused for breath, while Anna asked who was invited, and if it was to be a large wedding.

"I don't know how large," said Aunt Sally, "but it's pretty likely all the upper crust'll be there. I hain't been invited, 'cause they think I'm sick, I s'pose,—but goodness alive! look at Rosa!" she continued, pointing towards me, who, weary and faint, had laid my head upon the window-stool.

"She's got the sick headache," said Anna, while Lizzie, with a delicate tact, for which in my heart I blessed her, came up to me, saying, "I don't believe you are able to sit up; I'd go to bed."

Glad of any excuse to be alone, I left the room, going to my chamber, where I wept myself to sleep. When I awoke the sun had set, but I heard the voices of the family below, and once when I thought I caught the sound of Dr. Clayton's name, I involuntarily stopped my ears to shut out the sound. A moment after, the door of my room was softly opened, and Carrie came stealing in on tiptoe. Learning that I was awake, she advanced towards me, holding to view a note, which she said had been left there for me by Captain Thompson's hired man, and was an invitation to the wedding! It was still sufficiently light for me to see, and leaning upon my elbow, I read on a card, that Mrs. Thompson would be "at home" from eight to eleven on the evening of the 25th, while in the corner were the names of "Dr. Clayton and Dell Thompson."

There was no longer a shadow of hope!—it was all true, and he had insulted me with an invitation to witness his marriage with another! I did not know then, as I afterwards did, that the invitation was purposely sent by Dell to annoy me! For a moment I forgot my headache in my anger, but ere long it returned in all its force, and if the next day my headache continued with unabated severity, it was not without a sufficient cause, for sleepless nights are seldom conducive to one's health. Of course I did not attend the wedding, which was said to have been a brilliant affair; the bride and the table looking beautifully, while the bridegroom, it was rumored, was pale and nervous, making the responses in a scarcely audible tone of voice.

The next morning, between eight and nine o'clock, as I was on my way to school, I met the traveling carriage of Capt. Thompson, which was taking the newly married couple to the dépôt. John was driving, while on the back seat, with his arm partly around his bride, was the doctor. My first impulse was not to look at them, but this act pride forbade, and very civilly I returned the nod of Dell, and the polite bow of the doctor, whose face turned crimson when he saw me. A moment more, and a turn of the road hid them from my view; then seating myself upon a large flat stone, beneath a tree, where were the remains of a play-house built by my own hands only the autumn before, I cried out loud, thinking myself the most wretched of beings, and wondering if ever any one before had such trouble as I! As nearly as I am able to judge, I was taking my first lesson in love-sickness; a kind of disease which is seldom dangerous, but, like the toothache, very disagreeable while it lasts. At least I found it so, and for weeks I pined away with a kind of sentimental melancholy, which now appears to me wholly foolish and ridiculous; for were I indeed the wife of Dr. Clayton, instead of Rosa Lee, this book would undoubtedly never have been written; while in place of bending over the inkstand this stormy morning, as I am doing, I should probably have been engaged in washing, dressing, scolding, and cuffing three or four little Claytons, or in the still more laudable employment of darning the socks and mending the trousers (a thing, by the way, which I can't do) of said little Claytons' sire; who, by this time, would, perhaps, have ceased to call me "his Rose," bestowing upon me the less euphonious title of "she," or "my woman?"

But not thus did I reason then. I only knew that I had lost him and was very unhappy. Many a long walk I took alone in the shadowy woods, singing to myself snatches of love-songs, particularly the one containing the following:

"I have not loved lightly—
    I'll think of thee yet,
And I'll pray for thee nightly,
    Till life's sun is set."

Somehow, too, I got the impression that my heart was all broken to pieces; and this fact satisfactorily settled, I began to take a melancholy pleasure in brooding over my early death, and thinking how Dr. Clayton would feel, when he heard the sad news! Almost every week I was weighed, feeling each time a good deal chagrined to find that I was not losing flesh as fast as a person in a decline would naturally do. In this state of affairs, I one day came across a little sketch of Hannah More, in which her early disappointment was described, and forthwith I likened myself to her, and taking courage from her example, I finally concluded that if I could not have the doctor I could at least write for the newspapers, and some day I might perhaps be able to make a book. This, I thought, would amply atone for my loss—an opinion which I hold still, for if ever I do see myself in a book, and the reviews let me alone, which, in consideration of all I have suffered, I am sure they will do, I shall consider it a most fortunate circumstance that Dell's $10,000, in prospect, proved a stronger temptation than my father's $5,000 divided by thirteen!

CHAPTER XI.

BOSTON.

The bridal party had returned from the Falls, and after spending a week or more at Capt. Thompson's the doctor took down his sign, boxed up his books, pills, powders, and skeleton, which some called his 'natomy, while Dell packed up her six morning gowns with hosts of other finery, and then one day in August they started for Boston; where the doctor hoped for a wider field of labor, fully expecting to be aided by the powerful influence of Mr. Marshall, his wife's uncle, whose high station in the city he never once doubted. For this opinion he had, as the world goes, some well-founded reasons; for not only did Dell often quote "my Aunt Marshall of Boston," but the lady herself also managed to impress the people of Pine District with her superiority over them, and her great importance at home. Notwithstanding that she frequently spent several weeks at Capt. Thompson's she still could not endure the country—"the people were so vulgar—'twas so dull there, and no concerts, no operas, no theaters, no star actors, no parties, and more than all, no dear, delightful old Common, with its shaded walks and velvet grass."

Of course Dr. Clayton, in thinking of her city home, fancied to himself a princely mansion on Beacon Street, overlooking the "dear, delightful old Common," and it is scarcely more than natural that his heart expanded with some little degree of pride, as he saw in contemplation the dinner parties, evening parties, soirées, etc., which he confidently expected to attend at said princely mansion. At first he had entertained a faint hope that he might possibly board with his new uncle; but this idea was instantly repelled by his wife, who did not seem so much inclined to talk of her "city Aunt" as formerly. So it was decided that they should for a time take rooms at the Tremont.

It was a dark, rainy night when they arrived, and as it was cold for the season, their rooms seemed cheerless and dreary, while, to crown all, the bride of six weeks was undeniably and decidedly out of temper; finding fault with everything, even to her handsome husband, who fidgeted and fussed, brought her the bottle of hair oil instead of cologne, stepped on her linen traveling dress with his muddy boot, spit in the grate instead of the spit-box, breathed in her face when he knew how she disliked tobacco, thought of Rosa Lee, and wondered if she were ever cross ("nervous" Dell called it), thought not, and almost wished—no, didn't wish anything, but as an offset thought of the $10,000, asked Dell how old her grandmother was, received for an answer, "I don't know, and I don't care;" after which he went down-stairs and regaled himself with a cigar until informed that supper was ready. Ate all alone, Dell refusing to go down—found her in tears on returning to his room, was told that she "was homesick, and wished she had never come." He began to wish so too, but said "she'd feel better by and by." Sat for an hour or more cross-legged listening to the rain, and wondering if there was a cure for nervousness; finally went to bed and dreamed of Rosa Lee and the moonlight night, when they sat under the old oak tree, and of the thunderstorm when he gave her the little gold ring.

The next morning Mrs. Doctor Clayton was all smiles, and when, with her handsome eyes, shining hair, and tasteful wrapper, she descended to the breakfast-room, she attracted much attention, and more than one asked who she was, as they turned for a second glance. Nothing of this escaped the doctor, and with a glow of pride he forgot the vexations of the night previous, and gave vent to a mental pshaw! as he thought of his dream; for well he knew that the little plain-faced Rosa could not compare with the splendid woman at his side. Breakfast being over, he ventured to suggest the possibility of their soon receiving a call from her aunt; but Dell hastily replied, that such a thing was hardly probable, as her Aunt had her own affairs to attend to, and would not trouble herself about them. The doctor's hands went into his pockets, and his eyes went over inquiringly to his wife, who continued speaking rapidly, as if it were a painful duty which she felt compelled to perform.

"I don't know where you got the idea that Uncle Marshall is such a great man—not from me, certainly. But got it you have, and it's time you knew the truth. He is a good, honest man, I dare say, and respectable, too; but he is not one of the ton, by any means. Why, he's nothing more nor less than a tailor, and earns his bread from day to day."

"But his wife"—interrupted the doctor—"how happens it that she supports so much style?"

"Oh, that's easily accounted for," returned Dell. "They have no children—she is fond of dress, and spends all she can get for that purpose. She was an apprentice girl and learned her trade in my uncle's shop, and it is said, sometimes helps him now when he is pressed hard."

"Why did you never tell me this before?" asked the doctor, his brow growing thoughtful.

"And why should I tell you?" answered Dell. "What did I suppose you cared whether he were a prince or a tailor. You married me, I hope, for myself, and not for my relations."

The doctor thought of the ten thousand dollars just in time to force down the answer which sprang to his lips, and which was far better to be unuttered; so, in its place, he asked, "Where do they live?"

"On a back street, some distance from here," said Dell; adding, that their house, though small, was pleasant and neatly furnished. "It is well enough in the country to have a city Aunt on which to plume one's self," she continued, laughingly; "but here, where she is known, I do not intend having much intercourse with her, for a physician and tailor will, of course, occupy entirely different positions. However, I must treat her, at first, with a show of politeness, and if you are so disposed, we'll go round there and call this morning."

The doctor made no objections, and ere long they were walking over the stony pavement towards R—— street, which, as Dell had said, was rather out of the way. The house, however, at which they stopped, was a pleasant little cottage, with a nicely-kept yard in front, while the parlor, into which they were shown, was quite tastefully furnished. Mrs. Marshall herself answered their ring, appearing greatly surprised when she saw them, but not more so than Doctor Clayton, who would never have recognized the dashing lady of Pine District in the plain-looking woman, who, in a cheap calico wrapper, unbrushed hair, and checked apron, now sat before him—his Aunt. And yet he could not help thinking her far more agreeable than he had ever seen her before. The truth was, that Mrs. Marshall was one of those weak-minded women who, being nothing at home, strove to make amends by "making believe" abroad; assuming everything in the latter and nothing in the former condition. Consequently, she, who in the country was proud and overbearing, affecting ignorance of the most trivial matters, was, at home, a comparatively quiet, domestic woman; doing her own work, and, aside from being a little jealous and envious of her more fortunate neighbors, generally minding her own business.

After the first flutter of meeting the doctor was over, she became herself again, and set about entertaining them to the best of her ability, inviting them to stay with her to dinner, and urging as an inducement, that she was going to have "peaches and cream for dessert." But Dell rather haughtily declined, whereupon her aunt asked "when she would come round and spend the day?" saying, "she must do so before long, or they might not be in that house."

"Not be in this house! Why not?" asked Dell; and Mrs. Marshall replied, "Why, you know, we have always rented it of Mr. Lee, and he talks of selling it."

Instantly the doctor thought of Rosa, and involuntarily repeated the name—"Lee—Lee"——

"Yes," said Mrs. Marshall. "He has a brother in Meadow Brook, whom you may know.'"

"Is he wealthy?" asked the doctor.

"Why, ye-es, I s'pose so," said Mrs. Marshall, hesitatingly, as if unwilling to admit what she could not deny. "He lives in a big house on Beacon street—keeps his carriage—and they say the curtains in the front parlor cost a thousand dollars, and there are only two windows either."

Here she cast a deprecating glance towards her own very prettily embroidered muslin curtains, which probably cost about a hundredth part of that sum. Soon after, the newly married pair arose to go, the doctor feeling, in spite of himself, a little uncomfortable, though at what he hardly knew; for he would not acknowledge to himself that he was at all disappointed, because Dell's uncle was a tailor instead of a millionaire, or because Rose's uncle lived on Beacon street, and sported curtains which cost a thousand dollars. This did not in the least affect Dell. She was his wife, and as such he would love and cherish her, ministering as far as possible to her wants, and overlooking the faults which he knew she possessed. Thus reasoned his better nature as he rode home, unconscious that the object of his thoughts was at that very moment misconstruing his silence into disappointment, and writing against him bitter things in her heart.

It was a peculiarity of Dell's to get angry when people least expected it, and then to sulk until such time as she saw fit to be gracious; so when they reached the Tremont, the doctor was astonished to find her past speaking; neither could he by any amount of coaxing elicit a word from her for more than an hour. At the end of that time, however, her pent-up wrath exploded; and, in angry tones, she accused him of feeling sorry that he had married her, because her uncle didn't prove to be a great man as he had supposed.

"I saw it all in your face when we were in the omnibus," said she; "it is of no use for you to deny it," adding, as she burst into tears, "but you cannot regret your marriage more than I do mine, and you needn't feel so smart either, for your father was a poor shoemaker in Maine, and when you went to college you rang the bell in part payment of your tuition."

This was a phase of married life for which the doctor was wholly unprepared, and during the first part of his wife's speech he stood confounded, but by the time sha had finished, his mind was pretty well made up to box her ears! This, however, he did not do, though he bade her "shut up her head," repenting the harsh words the moment they were uttered, and having manliness enough to tell her so. Winding his arm around her, he talked to her calmly and rationally until she came out of her pet, and agreed "to make up." This process we leave to the imagination of the reader, only suggesting that no one who saw the handsome, loving pair, which half an hour after went down to dinner, would have dreamed of the dark cloud which had so recently lowered on their matrimonial horizon.

* * * * * *

Here, wishing the doctor success in procuring patients, we leave them for a time, while we go back to Meadow Brook, where our house was one day thrown into a state of unusual excitement by the arrival of a letter from Aunt Charlotte, which contained an invitation for Anna and myself to spend the remainder of the autumn and the whole of the coming winter with her in the city. "Rosa," she wrote, "could go to school, while Anna would be introduced into society."

Of course we were greatly surprised, wondering what had come over our haughty aunt, who, as the reader will recollect, once spent a Thanksgiving with us. She must have changed, we thought, or else there was some mistake about the invitation. But this could not be, for there it was in black and white, written evidently in all sincerity, while added to it was a postscript from Uncle Joseph, who also joined in the request. That, if nothing more, proved that the invitation was genuine, for there was no mistaking my uncle's peculiar handwriting, and it only remained for us to decide whether we would accept or not. Anna and myself said "Yes," at once, and after a grave deliberation in grandma's room, the same conclusion was also reached by my parents, who, after giving us abundance of good advice (not a word of which I heard, as I was wondering if I should ever meet the doctor and Dell), enjoined it upon Anna, first, never to dance at the parties which she might sometimes attend; second, never to wear her dresses indecently low, as some of the city girls did; and third, not to flirt with Herbert Langley. For this last injunction they probably fancied there was little need, it being now five years since she had seen him, and as they knew nothing of the perfumed, gilt-edged notes which lay hidden in her work-box, they very naturally supposed she had forgotten him. I thought so, too, for hers was the last letter, which had been unanswered for many months, and Anna, I knew, was far too proud to care for one who had forgotten her.

Occasionally we had heard of him through others, and it was always the same story, viz., that he was going down to a drunkard's grave, as fast as daily drams and weekly sprees could carry him; but if these reports produced any effect upon Anna, it was imperceptible. She was now twenty years of age, and was a fair, delicate-looking girl, whom some called proud, others cold, and a few selfish; but this last I deny, for though she might appear so to strangers, there was not in our whole family, if I except brother Charlie, one who would sacrifice more of their own comfort for that of another than would my sister Anna; neither was there one whom I loved better, for though she was six years my senior, she always treated me as one nearer her own age, while I looked up to her as my oracle, thinking that whatever she did must necessarily be right.

When it was decided that we were to go, the next important, and to me, most delightful task, was the looking over and fixing up of our wardrobes, which kept us busy for some time. As Anna was to go into society, she of course had nearly all the new things, and much as I loved her, I must confess to a feeling of envy when I saw the black silk, blue merino, crimson and brown delaine, etc., which were purchased for her, while I was put off with her old dresses, "made over as good as new," but when I too, was presented with a blue merino by Charlie, who was now a clerk in one of the Meadow Brook stores, all my bad feelings left me, and with great alacrity I assisted in the preparations:

It was a lovely day late in October, that old Sorrel stood at the door ready to convey us to the dépôt. This was the first time I had really left home, and when I saw the tears in my mother's eyes, and the trembling of grandma's whole body; when Juliet held me so long to her bosom; when Lizzie and Carrie stole from me a hasty kiss, and then ran off to hide their grief; when Charlie and John, who were both clerks, came down to the dépôt to bid us good-by, affecting to be very manly, notwithstanding that their chins quivered; and when, last of all, my father's fervent "God bless you, my children," resounded in my ears, I began to have a faint idea of the bitterness there is in parting, be it but for a few months. As we expected, we found our uncle's carriage at the dépôt in Boston, and ere long we had reached his house in Beacon street.

I remember the thrill of delight which I experienced, when first I entered my Aunt Charlotte's stylish house, and felt that it was to be my home, at least for a time. Everything was in perfect order, and for an instant I looked around me in silent wonder, almost forgetting to reply to the greeting of my aunt, who, in heavy brocade and long blue streamers depending from her head, met us kindly and hoped we were well. She had changed since last I saw her, but it was more the work of care than of time. She was much thinner, and the crow-tracks around her eyes were now decidedly deep-cut wrinkles, while her hair was here and there streaked with more than one silver thread.

My uncle was still the same good-humored, pleasant man, a little afraid of his wife, it may be, but evidently master of his own house. I glanced around for Herbert, but he was not there, and when, on Anna's account more than my own, I asked for him, I was told that he was down street, but would soon be home. Ringing a bell, my aunt bade the girl who appeared, "show the young ladies to their rooms," which proved to be a large airy chamber with a bedroom, dressing-room, and closet adjoining. After a hasty toilet we again returned to the parlor, where we found a tall, richly dressed young man, whom I should never have recognized as Herbert Langley. He was much altered from when I last saw him: there was a deep flush on his cheeks, which had reached even to his nose; while the eyes I had once thought so handsome were watery and unsteady in their movement. On the whole, however, he was still what some would call good-looking. He was sitting with his back to the door, but at the sound of our footsteps he turned around, and coming towards us, welcomed us most cordially to Boston, calling us "cousins," and claiming a cousin's privilege of kissing us—me once, and Anna three times, if not four.

She was a little piqued at his neglect in answering her last letter, and wishing to show proper resentment, she drew back rather haughtily, as if wondering how he dare "take such liberties." This he readily perceived, and instantly assuming an air quite as indifferent as her own, he turned towards me, hardly noticing her again, though it was easy to see that the reserve of both was merely affectation. That evening he was gone until nine o'clock, and when he entered the parlor, I noticed on the face of my aunt the same anxious expression which I remembered having seen there, when, from our sitting-room window, she watched his return. But he was perfectly sober, and with a sigh of relief she resumed her work; while he, coming round to my side, startled me by saying that "he had just met with a friend of mine—Dr. Clayton."

"Where did you see him?" asked Anna, while I bent lower over the book I was reading; for that name had still a power to move me strongly.

"Why," answered Herbert, "Tom Wilson, an old schoolmate of mine, boards at the Tremont, where he is now lying very sick. All the old physicians have given him up, and so he has employed this Dr. Clayton, who, it seems, has been at the same hotel for six weeks or more. I called on Tom this evening, and while I was there Dr. Clayton came in. In the course of our conversation he spoke of Meadow Brook, and then, as a matter of course, I said there were now in our family two young ladies from that place. When I mentioned Rosa's name, he turned almost as white as Tom himself, and if she were not so young, I should be inclined to think there was something between them. What do you say, coz?"

Here Anna came to my aid, saying, "Why, he's a married man, and his wife is with him at the Tremont."

"The dickens he is!" said Herbert, looking a little puzzled. Then turning to his mother, he added, "Mother, you ought to call on this Mrs. Clayton, for if she is an acquaintance of Anna and Rosa, they will very naturally wish to see her occasionally."

"She needn't call for me," said I, quickly.

"Nor for me, for I don't know her," rejoined Anna, while with a haughty toss of her head, Aunt Charlotte replied, that "her circle of acquaintances was quite large enough now, and she'd no idea of extending it by taking in people about whom she knew nothing."

I know it was very wrong in me, but I could not help straightening up a little in my chair as I wondered what the proud Dell Thompson would say if she knew that the despised Rosa Lee was living as an equal in a family which looked down upon her and her husband as nobodies. I was roused from my reverie by my aunt's asking Herbert in a low tone, "how Ada was to-night," and glancing towards him, I fancied that said Ada, whoever she might be, was to him not a very pleasant subject just then, for his brow darkened visibly, while he replied, "I never once thought to inquire, but I dare say she's no worse, or she would have sent for you post haste."

There was a moment's silence, and then my aunt again spoke, "Herbert, I wish you'd do better. You know how lonely she is, and how much she must necessarily feel your neglect."

"Fudge!" was his answer, as he folded his hands over his head, and leaning back in his chair, looked straight into the astral lamp.

That night, when Anna and I were alone in our room, the former sat for a time in deep thought, saying, when I at last told her the clock was striking eleven, "I wonder who Ada is!"

I wondered so, too, and my interest was not at all diminished when the next morning, at the breakfast-table, Aunt Charlotte said to her son, "Herbert, I shall be busy this morning making arrangements about a school for Rosa, and I wish you'd go in and see Ada, will you?"

"Yes, yes, I will," said he, rather impatiently, adding, "and if I don't find her any better, I mean to assume the responsibility of discharging that old superannuated greeny who attends her, and install Dr. Clayton in his place. I took quite a fancy to him, and I'm going to give him my patronage!"

"Oh, I wish you would!" I exclaimed involuntarily; for in spite of the wrong he had done me, I cherished no feeling of animosity towards him.

Then again, I had heard that it was sometimes very difficult for a young physician to obtain much practise in a strange place with no one to help him, and I thought, perhaps, Herbert's "patronage" might be of some avail.

"I see," said Herbert laughingly, "there has been something, and though he is a married man, you still feel an interest in him, and want him to succeed; all right, and I'll do what I can to help him; for I verily believe he'll get Tom on his legs again in spite of what the temperance folks say about his blood's being all turned into whisky!"

At these words a shadow passed over Aunt Charlotte's face, but it was soon chased away by the next remark of Herbert, which was, "Ain't you glad, mother, I reformed before I got to be as bad as Tom? Why, girls (addressing Anna and me), I haven't drank a drop since—since—how long is it mother, since I left off"—drinking he could not say, so he finally added, "left off imbibing occasionally?"

There was a look of happiness on that mother's face, as she replied, "Almost a year."

Yes 'twas almost a year since her son had tasted ardent spirits, and had she not good reasons for thinking he would never fall again? Assured of this fact, how proud she would have been of her only boy; for, aside from this great error, he possessed many noble, generous qualities; and during my stay in Boston, I found that, in spite of his well-known habits, he was a pretty general favorite. Oh, how lovingly my aunt looked after him when he went out, and how earnestly she watched him when he came in, and all the while she was tempting him beyond what most men could bear; for regularly on her dinner-table appeared either porter, champagne, or madeira, one taste of which would set him all on fire. But, unfortunately, she belonged to that class of fashionable people who deem the wine-bottle a necessary appendage to the dinner table, and if, in the sequel, her son should fill a drunkard's grave, would there be any just cause why, in her anguish, she should murmur at Providence for having dealt with her thus harshly? Ought she not rather to blame herself for having thus daily tempted him to sin by placing before him what she well knew was sure to work his ruin?

But to our story. We were at dinner when Herbert came in from his morning ramble, and taking his accustomed seat at the table, he said to his mother, "I called on Ada as you desired, and found her sitting up in a rose-colored dressing-gown, which she thinks very becoming to her, I know, for she sat directly opposite the mirror, and I should not dare tell how many times I caught her casting admiring glances at herself."

Aunt Charlotte frowned, while Herbert, turning to me, continued—"Miss Montrose is so much better that I don't believe I can patronize your doctor in that quarter, but I'll do something for him—break my leg, maybe—or have the delirium tremens."

This species of jesting seemed to be a kind of mania with Herbert, for almost every day of his life he referred to his former habit of drinking, greatly to the annoyance of his mother, who, on the occasion just mentioned, turned slightly pale, while Anna looked down upon the carpet and sighed. Thinking this as favorable an opportunity for making inquiries concerning Ada Montrose as I should have, I asked Herbert who she was. His mother's lips moved as if she would answer the question, but ere she could speak, Herbert replied, "She's a Georgia lady, a great coquette, who is spending the winter here with a fortieth cousin. Some call her handsome, and I believe mother thinks her beautiful, but if Anna paid as much attention to her toilet and dressed as elegantly as Ada Montrose, she would, in my opinion, look far better."

'Twas the first compliment he had paid Anna since our arrival, and it brought a bright flush to her usually marble cheek; for Herbert Langley possessed a strange power over my sister, which she did not try to resist. I fancied that my aunt was not quite pleased with Herbert's comparing Miss Montrose to Anna, but ere she could frame any answer, he asked us if we would like to attend the theater that evening. Notwithstanding my father's hostility to circuses, I did not remember having heard him say much against theaters, and so I answered quickly, "Oh, yes, Anna, let's go. I want to see what they do."

And so, with my aunt's permission, it was settled that we should go, and at the usual hour I found myself in the National Theater, which was densely crowded, for a celebrated actress appeared that night for the last time in Boston. Perfectly bewildered, I followed Herbert and Anna to my uncle's box, which commanded a fine view of the stage, and then, when I became a little accustomed to the glare of lights and the hum of voices, which in some degree reminded me of that never-to-be-forgotten circus of Cousin Will memory, I ventured to look over the sea of faces, half starting from my seat as I recognized among the crowd Dr. Clayton and his wife, the latter appearing to be looking at us through what I thought resembled the dice boxes of a backgammon board tied together, but which I soon learned was an opera-glass. The doctor was paler and thinner than when I last saw him, and it was with more than one pang that I watched him as, from time to time, he cast a glance of pride at the splendid-looking woman at his side, who attracted considerable attention, and at whom, in the course of the evening, more than one glass was leveled.

Ere long my attention was diverted from them to a tall, dark, and rather peculiar-looking gentleman, who entered the box at our right. Sinking into a seat, he abandoned himself apparently, to his own thoughts, which could not have been very pleasant; for his forehead, which was high and white, seemed at times to be one mass of wrinkles, while his eyes, large, black, and deepset in his head, alternately flashed with anger and vexation. I am not much of a physiognomist, but there was in the face of the stranger something which at once attracted and riveted my attention. He was not handsome, like Dr. Clayton—nay, I am not sure but many would call him ugly, but I did not; and, somehow, I felt certain that no girl of fourteen had ever wept over his fickleness, for he looked the soul of honor and integrity. Gradually, too, as the play proceeded, the expression which I had at first observed passed away; his dark eyes lighted up; and when, at last, a bright smile broke over his face, I pronounced him far better looking than the doctor, who was fast losing ground in my good opinion.