 Chapter 14 of Tempest and Sunshine by Mary Jane Holmes. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Robin. Chapter 14. Fanny and Julius Uncle arrives from India. It was now the first day of May, and as it was also Fanny's seventeenth birthday, her school companions determined to celebrate it by a May party, of which Fanny was unanimously chosen queen. The fate took place in a handsome grove on a hillside, which overlooked the city of Frankfurt. All of Mr. Miller's pupils were present, together with most of their parents and many of their friends. Mrs. Miller had taken great pains that Fanny should be arrayed becombingly for the occasion, and many in flattering were the compliments paid to the youthful queen, who indeed looked bewitchingly beautiful. Her dress was a white muslin, festooned with wildflowers, some of which were fastened here and there by a pearl, or brilliant. The gaiety of the little party was at its height, and when Fanny, gracefully kneeling, received upon her head the crown, and was proclaimed Queen of the May, a strange voice called out in loud musical tones, Viva la reine! The whole company instantly caught up the words, and long lived the queen was echoed and re-echoed on all sides. When the tumult had somewhat subsided, the eyes of those present were turned toward the spot whence the words Viva la reine had proceeded. Leaning against one of the tall shades were two gentlemen, who had joined them unobserved. The elder of the strangers was a middle-aged man, in whose piercing black eyes and dark complexion we recognized the Mr. Middleton whom we left with Dr. Lacey in New Orleans. His companion was many years younger, and there is something in his appearance which instantly interested and attracted the notice of strangers. There was a nobleness in the intellectual cast of his high white forehead, round which his rich brown hair lay in thick masses, as if unwilling to part with the curl which must have been natural to it in childhood. No sooner did Kate's eyes fall on the young man than she darted forward with a cry of recognition and exclaimed, Why, Frank Cameron, how came you here? But before he answers Kate's question, we will introduce him to our readers. Frank Cameron was a cousin of Kate Wilmot. His father, who was a lawyer by profession, had amassed a large fortune on the interest of which he was now living in elegant style in the city of New York. Frank, who was the eldest child, had chosen the profession of his father, contrary to the wishes of his proud lady mother, who looked upon all professions as too plebeian to suit her ideas of gentility. This aristocratic lady had forgotten the time when, with blue cotton umbrella and thick India rubbers, she had plotted through the mud and water of the streets of Albany, giving music lessons for her own and widowed mother's maintenance. One of her pupils was Kate Wilmot's mother, Lucy Cameron. While giving lessons to her, she first met Lucy's brother, Arthur Cameron, who afterward became her husband. He was attracted by her extreme beauty, and his admiration was increased on learning her praiseworthy efforts to maintain herself and her mother. They were married, and with increasing years came increasing wealth, until at length Mr. Cameron was a millionaire and retired from business. As riches increased, so did Mrs. Cameron's proud spirit, until she came to look upon herself as somewhat above the common order of her fellow-beings. She endeavored to instill her ideas of exclusiveness into the minds of her children. With her daughter Gertrude, she succeeded admirably, and by the time that young lady had reached her eighteenth year, she fancied herself a kind of queen to whom all must pay homage. But Frank, the poor mother, found perfectly incorrigible. He was too much like his father to think himself better than his neighbor on account of his wealth. Poor Mrs. Cameron had long given him up, only asking as a favor that he would not disgrace his family by marrying the washerwoman's daughter. Frank promised he would not, unless perchance he should fall in love with her. And then, said he, with a wicked twinkle of his handsome eyes, then, my dear Mrs. Cameron, I cannot be answerable for consequences. He had always greatly admired his cousin Kate, and often horrified his mother by declaring that if Kate were not his cousin he would surely marry her. Thank the Lord, then, that she is so nearer relative. For now you will not stoop to marry a music teacher, said Mrs. Cameron. The roguish expression danced in Frank's eye as he said, Most noble mother Adelaide, will you tell me whether it wrenched father's back much when he stooped to a music teacher? The highly indignant lady was silent, for Frank had a way of reminding her of the past which she did not quite relish. So she let him alone, secretly praying that he would not make a fool of himself in his choice of wife. He made her be easy on that point, for it wasn't likely he would ever marry, for he probably would never find a wife who would suit him. Which was Frank Cameron. Business for his father had taken him to Louisville, and he determined to visit his cousin Kate ere he returned home. He took passage in the blue wing, on board of which was Mr. Middleton, who soon made his acquaintance. As they were bound for the same place, they kept together, and on reaching Frankfort went immediately to Mrs. Crane's, where they were entertained by Mrs. Carrington, who wondered much who the distinguished looking strangers could be, concluding that the older one must of course be married, she turned her attention to Frank, who was much amused at her heirs and coquettish manners. He had inquired for Mrs. Miller, and at length Mrs. Carrington asked if she were an acquaintance of his. Yes, ma'am, answered Frank with great gravity, she is my wife's cousin. In an instant Mrs. Carrington's coquettry vanished, and rising upon her dignity she soon gave the gentlemen directions where to find the may-party. As they were proceeding thither, Mr. Middleton said, Why, Cameron, I understood you to say on the boat that you were not married. Neither am I, answered Frank, I merely wish to get a dissolving view of that lady's maneuvers. Besides, I was actually afraid of being annihilated by her eyes and smiles. I'll manage to let her know that you are marketable, and then she'll turn her artillery toward you. But was it quite right, said Mr. Middleton, to give her the wrong impression? No, I suppose not, answered Frank. But if I ever marry, Kate will be my wife's cousin. By this time they had reached the entrance of the grove and caught side of the fair queen. The fates protect me, said Frank, suddenly stopping and planting himself against a tree. It would be suicide to advance another step. And she is your niece, you say. Pray intercede for me, or in less than a month I shall be making faces through the iron grating of some madhouse. Mr. Middleton did not reply. His eyes were riveted on Fanny, whose face and figure recalled to his remembrance his only sister, who was the playmate of his childish years. Many long years had rolled away since that bright summer morning, when with a sad heart he bated due to that sister, who, a young happy bride, was leaving her native land for a home on a foreign shore. Weeks passed, and there came intelligence that the ill-fated vessel in which she embarked was a total wreck. Among the lost were his sister and her husband, who now slept quietly beneath the billowy surf on the Atlantic. Fanny so strongly resembled her aunt, that it was not strange, Mr. Middleton, for an instant, fancied he again looked on the features of his long lost sister. But the illusion soon vanished, and when Kate bounded forward and sleutered her cousin, his eye was wandering over the group of young girls in quest of his other niece. He however looked in vain, Julia was not there. When urged to attend the party, she had tossed her head in scorn, saying that she, unfortunately, had no taste for child's play. She preferred remaining at home, where she could spend her time more profitably. Oh, Julia, Julia, it is a pity you did not assign your true reason for absenting yourself from the party. Of this reason we will speak hereafter. We are not quite through with the May party. We left Kate interrogating her cousin as to how he chanced to be there, and the remainder of the company looked in wonder upon the strangers, who seemed so suddenly to have dropped in their midst. After Frank had answered his cousin's question, he introduced his companion and said, he has two nieces here, I believe. He has recognized one of them in your charming queen. Will you please point out the other and introduce him? I am sorry to say Julia is not present, answered Kate. But come with me, Mr. Middleton, continued she, and I will present you to Fanny. Then turning to Frank, she added, I remember you to be a woman-hater, Master Frank, so you can remain where you are. I had laughed to see myself doing it, answered Frank, as he followed his gay cousin to the spot where Fanny was standing. All eyes were upon them, while Kate introduced the tall, distinguished-looking gentleman to Fanny as her uncle. My uncle, said Fanny in some surprise, my uncle, a slight shade of disappointment was visible on Mr. Middleton's face, as he took the offered hand of his niece. But he said, yes, your uncle. Did you never hear your father speak of his brother, Bill? Oh, yes, yes, said Fanny joyfully. I do know you now. You are my uncle William from the Indies. Father will be delighted to see you, for he has long feared you were dead. At the same time, the affectionate girl again took her uncle's hand and raised it to her lips. The tears started to Mr. Middleton's eyes, but hastily dashing them away. He said, I suppose the fair Queen Fanny knows that bad Bill's always returned. Fanny replied by again kissing the sun-burned hand of her uncle. King Ferdinand, thought Frank, I'd endure the rack for the sake of being in the old fellow's boots. Frank had been standing near Fanny, fixing upon her a gaze so intensely earnest that when she at last raised her eyes to his, she blushed deeply, for there was no mistaking the look of deep admiration with which he regarded her. Kate immediately introduced him. Fanny received him very politely, but said playfully, I was in hopes, Mr. Cameron, that you would prove to be my cousin. Mr. Middleton immediately answered, No, dear Fanny, he is not your cousin, but seems very desirous of becoming my nephew. Fanny did not apply this to herself, but answered very demerly. I don't know what he'll do, uncle. You'll have to talk the matter over with Sister Julia, who unfortunately is not here. You are a modest little puss, said Mr. Middleton, but do you give up everything so quietly to Julia? Fanny answered somewhat sadly, I have nothing to give. Here Mr. Miller joined them, and said it was time to make preparations for returning home. Accordingly, in a short time the company were dispersing. When our party reached Mrs. Crane's, Fanny went directly to Julia, whom she found most becomingly dressed, and apparently anxiously raiding her return. Excellent young lady had heard from Mrs. Carrington of the stranger's visit, and she was impatient to know who they were, and had dispatched her negro girl to reconnoit her and report. The girl soon came back, her eyes projecting like coffee saucers, and the little braided tags of her hair seemingly standing upright. Oh, Miss Julia, said she, that our tall black man. No, I actually pardoned Miss, that our tall, yaller man, John shook hands long of Miss Fanny, who kissed him, and called him Uncle William. She said how he'd done been with the engines. Her Uncle William, repeated Julia in amazement, and who is the other man, his son? Yes, I reckon so, said the negro. They don't call him Mr. Camel, or Camelette or something. I tell you, he's handsome. And I reckon he's took of Miss Fanny. Jiminy, okay, ain't she pretty? She look a heap handsome unto you. No, I don't mean so, I ask pardon again. And the negro bobbed out of the door just in time to dodge a ball of soap, which Julia hurled at her head, his no use fretting so, said Mrs. Carrington, who is present. The young man is married, for he spoke of his wife. Julia did not answer, and Mrs. Carrington soon after left the room. When she was gone, Julia muttered to herself, Uncle William from the Indies, rich as creases, of course. What a fool I was not to go to the party. Most likely Fanny has won his good graces by this time. However, I dressed myself, and surprised him with my beauty if nothing else. Accordingly, the next hour was spent in decorating her person, and when Fanny came for her, she was ready to make an assault on the good opinion of her rich uncle. Not a thing was out of place, from the shining braids of her dark hair, to the tiny slipper on her delicate foot. Fanny's first exclamation on entering the room was, How beautiful you look, Julia! It is exceedingly fortunate that you are dressed so becomingly for, will you believe it? Uncle William is downstairs. Is it possible, said Julia, affecting much surprise. Yes, answered Fanny, you know father thinks him dead. But come, he's anxious to see you. Julia arose to go with her sister and said, Isn't there a young man with him? How did you know that? asked Fanny in some astonishment. I saw them from the window, was Julia's ready reply. Fanny did not think of doubting her sister, and she answered, It is a Mr. Cameron. He is cousin to Mrs. Miller. By this time they had reached the parlor, which was open. Here Julia thought proper to be seized with a fit of modest indifference, and hesitated a moment before entering the room. Her uncle, however, immediately came forward and relieved her from all embarrassment, saying, And this, I suppose, is Julia. My brother is a happy man to be the father of such charming girls. Julia received him graciously, but rather hodlily she offered him her. But rather hodlily offered him her cold white hand. I will not kiss him, thought she. Fanny did that. I am childish. I will be more dignified. Could she have known the contrast which her uncle was drawing between her own and Fanny's reception of him? She would not have felt much flattered. But before her uncle had time to say anything further, Fanny introduced her to Frank, whose keen eye had read her character at a glance, and read it to right, too. His ideas and words were after the following fashion. Pshaw! What a bundle of pride and stuck-upishness! She's handsome, though. But it isn't to be named the same day with Fanny. How do you do, Mrs. Middleton? What an affected little curtsy. Hope to see you well, ma'am. I'd laugh to see her trip and fall flat. Such were Frank's thoughts while undergoing the ceremony of an introduction to Julia, who never for a moment doubted she was making an impression upon the handsome young stranger, his supposed wife to the contrary notwithstanding. The introduction being over, Julia seated herself on the sofa, while Fanny took a seat on a low abdomen near her uncle, but partially behind him. She had chosen this place because she fancied it would screen her somewhat from Frank's eyes, which she felt, rather saw, were fixed upon her constantly. During the conversation which followed, Julia, as if by mere accident, mentioned New Orleans. She was anxious to know whether her uncle saw or heard of Dr. Lacey. Her curiosity was soon gratified, for at the mention of New Orleans, as if suddenly recollecting himself said, turning to Fanny, I saw two of your acquaintances in New Orleans, and one of them gave me a most glowing description of you. I wonder if it were a gentleman, thought Frank. Julia's thoughts were similar, and she bit her lip, while Fanny's cheek glowed with unwanted brilliancy, as she quietly asked, Pray, who was it, uncle? It was Miss Woodburn who praised you so highly, answered Mr. Middleton. Julia immediately asked, and who was the other acquaintance? Dr. Lacey. Answered her uncle, I spent three weeks at his house. Without knowing it, Fanny drew nearer to her uncle, and laid her hand on his. He seemed dear to her from the fact that he had spent so much time with one whose image was ever before her, and whom she vainly fancied she was trying to forget. Frank noticed Fanny's manner, and interpreted it according to his fears. There's mischief here, thought he. I hope this doctor lives in a good locality for yellow fever. Is Dr. Lacey about to be married? Asked Julia. Married, repeated Mr. Middleton. I should say matrimony was very far from his thoughts at present. I fancied he had met with some disappointment, and I sometimes feared lest the fair, deceitful one were one of my nieces. Can anyone set me right on the subject? Mr. Middleton had no idea how painfully his words affected her who sat by his side, and looked up so imploringly in his face as if begging him to stop. There was an embarrassing silence, which Julia presently broke by saying, While Dr. Lacey was here, he and Fanny got up a flirtation. But nothing serious will result from it, I reckon. It's fan his own fault, then, I imagine, said Mr. Middleton, laying his hand on the head which had drooped lower and lower, until at last it rested heavily on his knee. Fanny made no reply. But when she lifted up her head there was something so sad in the expression of her face that Mr. Middleton immediately surmised that there was, or had been, something between Dr. Lacey and Fanny more serious than a mere flirtation. So he very kindly changed the conversation, which now turned upon indifferent subjects, until the supper bell rang out at summons, when they all repaired to the dining room. At the supper table Mr. Middleton and Frank were introduced to Mrs. Carrington, Mr. Stanton, and Raymond. Mrs. Carrington acknowledged her introduction to Mr. Cameron merely by a haughty, disdainful bow. She had learned from Kate that he was not married, and feeling indignant at the deception he attempted to practice upon her, she resolved to treat him with contempt. Accordingly, although she did opposite him, she named him neither look nor word, but divided her time between laughing and coquettting with Raymond, and trying the powers of her charms upon Mr. Middleton, who, she had been told, was a bachelor in possessive unbounding wealth. With the old Indian, however, she made but little headway. And Frank was right when he thought, you'll get tired of that play, madam. The game is too old to be caught with chaff. With Raymond she succeeded better. He was delighted with her unusually flattering notice, and air supper was over he had, in Frank's estimation, made a perfect fool of himself. Frank's attention, however, was soon diverted toward Mr. Middleton, who said, speaking to Stanton, were it not for your name and glasses I would address you and Dr. Lacey? Are you related to him? Stanton replied, Yes, sir, he is my cousin. I think I must resemble him, as I have been told so frequently. Mr. Middleton then spoke of Dr. Lacey in the highest terms of commendation, and concluded his remarks by saying, I have recently purchased a resident near Lake Pontchartrain, and I am beading up recruits to spend the summer there with me. I am sure of Dr. Lacey, Ms. Woodburn and her cousin, Ms. Mortimer, my nieces, I shall take back with me anyway, and shall be happy to prevail on you, Mr. Stanton, to accompany me also. Stanton thanked him for his kind invitation, but at the same time declined it, saying that business would call him to New York in the autumn. The deep blush which accompanied these words caused Raymond to burst into a laugh. Mr. Middleton looked inquiringly at him and said, Pardon me for laughing, I was thinking of the important business which calls Bob's New York. Nothing bad, I hope, said Mr. Middleton. Nothing worse than going for a wife, answered Raymond. He is not suited with Kentucky girls, but must needs plod back to New York. If appearances do not deceive, you, at least, seem likely to be suited by a Kentuckian, replied Mr. Middleton, at the same time turning his black eyes on Mrs. Carrington with something of a quizzical expression. Raymond colored. He did not know how the speech would be received by the fair lady. She soon satisfied him, however, for tossing her head proudly, she said. As far as my experience goes, New Yorkers are more easily suited than Kentuckians. At least, I find them to be exceedingly disagreeable. I'm afraid some of them are so easily suited that they catch a tartar sometimes, said Frank, whose feelings were roused at hearing this rude speech. Mrs. Carrington gave him a look which she meant should say, I wonder who you think you are. I'd thank you to mind your own business. But Frank thought he was minding his business, for he was looking at Fanny, who had not taken her eyes from her plate since her uncle had proposed taking herself and Julia to New Orleans. Her first feeling was one of joy. She would go, for she would then see Dr. Lacy. But the next thought was, no, I will not. He has spurned me, and why should I put myself in his way? Julia's feelings were different. She could scarcely conceal her delight. Her artful mind took in the future at a glance. She felt sure that Fanny would not go, but she would, and could thus make Dr. Lacy believe that she, of all others, was just suited for him. Here we may as well give Julia's real reason for absenting herself from the May party. She had begun to fear that all her fine scheming might come to not, for in all probability Dr. Lacy would not return to Kentucky in a long time. What could she do? She would write him a letter in her own name. In it she would modestly express her opinion of Fanny's conduct, sympathize with him in his disappointment, and end by inviting him to Frankfurt, saying she hoped he would not absent himself from his friends on Fanny's account, for there were many who would welcome him back to Kentucky with pleasure. It was for the sake of manufacturing this letter that Julia had remained at home. But now there was no need of sending it, for she was going to New Orleans herself. She would win him. He would yet be hers. On returning to the parlor after supper, she seated herself close to her uncle, upon whom she lavished so many caresses that he wondered much what had come over her, and began to think that he was mistaken in supposing her to be cold-hearted and indifferent to him. As he looked at her beautiful animated face, and the sparkling brilliancy of her eyes, he felt a moment's vanity in thinking how proud he would be to introduce her as his niece among the festivals of New Orleans. During the evening Mr. Ashton called. He had heard of the arrival of a Mr. Middleton from the Indies, and he had his own particular reason for wishing to see him. Even after entering the room, he addressed Mr. Middleton, saying, Were you in Calcutta twelve years ago? Yes, sir. I was there twenty years ago, answered Mr. Middleton. Do you remember transacting business with the captain of the English vessel Delphine? Mr. Middleton thought a moment, and then answered, Yes, I remember that vessel, and its captain well. And do you remember a poor cabin boy who was sick and worn out with a ship fever? continued Mr. Ashton. Oh, yes, yes, I remember him well, said Mr. Middleton. I had him removed to my own house and nursed him until he was nearly well, and then he would not run away from me. I have never heard from him since, but there was an American vessel anchored near the shore, and I always supposed he went on board and sailed for home. I would give much to know what became of him. He stands here before you, said Mr. Ashton, rising and grasping Mr. Middleton's hand. He is here to thank you for your kindness. And is both able and willing to repay you for the care you took of him when he was alone and friendless in a distant land. Can it be, said Mr. Middleton, with much emotion, that you are really Henry Ashton? I should never have recognized you. I presume not, answered Ashton. Twelve years have transformed the pale, emaciated youth into the tall, full-grown man. But I should have known you anywhere. Here Raymond called out. Why, Ashton, have you been to the Indies? Why did you never tell us? Because, replied Ashton, there was so much of homesickness and suffering attending that voyage to India that I never liked to speak of it. Then, turning to Mr. Middleton, he said, I have met your brother often, but never suspected him to be a relative of yours. Have you seen him yet? I have not, answered Mr. Middleton. I intend visiting him to-morrow, and shall be glad to take as many of you with me as are willing to go. I wish to be introduced to him as a Mr. Stafford from New Orleans. After some further conversation it was arranged that Mr. Miller, Ashton, Stanton, Raymond, and Cameron should all accompany Mr. Middleton on his projected visit to his brother. Soon after, Ashton departed for his boarding-place, and the remainder of the company separated for the night. End of Chapter 14 Recording by Robin in Norman, Oklahoma. Chapter 15 of Tempest and Sunshine This Librabock's recording is in the public domain. Recording by Robin. Chapter 15 Mr. Middleton's Brother Julia's first exclamation on waking the next morning was, I am glad I am not expected to go home with Uncle to-day, and see Father make a precious fool of himself, as he surely will. How can you say so, Julia? answered Fanny. I wish I was going, but I think I could smooth Father down a little if he got to use in too strong language. Nonsense, fan, said Julia. Why don't you confess that you wished to go because that handsome Cameron is going? Didn't I see how much he looked at you, and how you blushed too? But no matter, I would get him if I were you. Julia was getting very generous, now that she thought herself sure of Dr. Lacey. Further remark from her, however, was prevented by the ringing of the breakfast spell. What shall I tell your parents? said Mr. Middleton to his nieces, as he stood in the hall waiting for the driver to open the carriage door and let down the steps. Julia made no reply, but Fanny said, give them my love, and tell them I am getting better every day, and shall want to come home soon. And then she added, in a lower tone, you will not laugh at father much, will you, or make fun of him either if he acts oddly? God bless you, sweet girl, said Mr. Middleton, stooping to kiss the innocent face which looked up into his with so much earnestness. For your sake, if for no other, your father shall not be laughed at. As the carriage drove off, Julia turned to Fanny and said, Won't they have fun, though, with the old man? I can fancy it all. Elizabeth will probably be long enough to do up in papers, and it will be a miracle if he does not have on those horrid old bag and pants of his. Fanny was only too fearful it would all be as Julia predicted, but she made no answer and soon returned to her room. We will now follow the carriage, which, with its load of gentlemen, was proceeding rapidly toward the house of our friend Uncle Joshua. Mr. William Middleton, or Mr. Stafford, as we will call him for a time, seemed to grow excited as he approached nearer to a brother whose face he had not looked upon for more than twenty years. I say, boys, said he, speaking to his companions, you must help me. I say, boys, said he, speaking to his companions, you must help me. And when I begin to ask Joshua concerning his parents and brothers, you too must talk, or he will suspect I have some design in question in him. The gentlemen all promised to do their best, except Frank, who could promise nothing, because he knew nothing concerning the man they were going to visit. His curiosity, however, was aroused, and, forgetting the presence of Mr. William Middleton, asked, do they keep the old fellow caged, and must we pay anything for seeing him? These questions were greeted by a burst of laughter, and Raymond said, no, admit it's his free, but you'll be more amused to see him and hear him talk than you would in visiting Barnard's Museum. By this time the carriage had entered the woods, and the came inside of the house. Mr. Stafford leaned from the window and said, is it possible that my brother, with all his wealth, lives in such a heathen place as this? When you see him, said Raymond, you'll think the nest just suited the bird. They were now in the yard, which was so filled with farming utensils that the driver found it difficult to affect a passage up to the door. The gentlemen were about concluding to a light where they were, and Mr. Middleton was heard calling out, hold our driver, don't run again that our ox cart, turn a little to the right, can't you? Now be careful, and not run afoul of the plaguey lie-leach. I believe the niggers would move the hut, Josh, and all into the yard, if they could only make a raise. Mr. Stafford and Frank looked eagerly at out at the speaker, who fully realized Frank's idea of him. His beard was as long and black as a rapid growth of three weeks could make it. As Julia had feared he was dressed in his favorite bagging pants, which hung loosely even around his huge proportions, and looked as if fitted to some of his outbuildings. He was very warm, and he wore neither coat nor vest, while his feet, whose dimensions we have never mentioned before, were minus either shoes or stockings. He appeared in the doorway butting one of his suspenders. The truth was that he had spied the carriage in the distance, and as his linen was none the cleanest he had hastened to change, and was now putting the finishing touch to his toilet. When he caught the sight of the occupants of the carriage he thought to himself, there's a heap on them, Nancy'll have to route the whole gang of niggers fear-lands and all, to hunt his nests after eggs enough for dinner. By this time the gentleman had alighted, and Mr. Middleton went forward to receive them. How'd you do, how'd you do? said he. I'm not glad you've come. I wish you'd brought the whole city. We came pretty near it, I think, said Mr. Miller, at the same time presenting Mr. Stafford and Mr. Cameron. Mr. Middleton continued talking, as if replying to Mr. Miller's first remark. No consequence, no consequence. Mr. Stafford, Mr. Cameron, how are you? Them all the merrier, I suppose they've told you all about Josh, so I didn't even make believe any. But come in. The house looks better inside than it does out. Ho, loose, continuity. Where are the old boys, your mistress? Tell her there's a heap of folks out here. And mine tell Aunt Judy to get us up a whale and dinner. Here he stopped to take a breath for a moment, and then proceeded. You must excuse my rig, gentlemen. Or rather, you must excuse what ain't rigged. Maybe if I'd known all you city buggers was coming, I'd have given my bare feet. You go barefoot for comfort, said Mr. Middleton. Why, yes, mainly for that, I suppose. Answered Mr. Middleton, for I've got such fashion big horns on my feet that I ain't going to be cramped with any otogry. My feet happen to be clean, for I washed them in the water in Charles this morning. How'd you leave my gals? There well, answered Mr. Miller, or rather, Julia is, and Fanny is improving every day. I've often wondered, said Mr. Middleton, what was a old sunshine when she was sick? She didn't seem to have no disease in particular, and I reckon nothing's on her mind for all straight between her and Dr. Lacy as far as I know. Dr. Lacy, repeated Frank without knowing what he said. Yes, Dr. Lacy, know it? Asked Mr. Middleton. No, sir, answered Frank, and Ashton rejoined. I imagined he wishes Fanny had never known him. Mr. Middleton turned, and for a moment regarded Frank intently. Frank stood the inspection manfully, and Mr. Middleton said, you're from New York, eh? I like New Yorkers. And if sunshine wasn't promised to Dr. Lacy and never had seen him, and I like you, I'd assume you'd have as anybody, Mr. Stafford now said that he was acquainted with Dr. Lacy and proceeded to speak of the pleasant time he had spent with him. This occupied the time until dinner was ready. Come, hold up, said Mr. Middleton, hold up. We didn't expect so many for dinner, but the old table stretching, and you must sit close, but don't let me step on my colons for thunder's sake. Frank thought if his host kept on talking, he should not be able to eat for laughing, but the old man was but just getting into the merits of the case. When his guests receded, he said to Mr. Stafford, your white-neck cloth looks like you might belong to a clergy. If you do, you can say a short prayer over the eggs and bacon, but Lord's sake be spry for I'm blursed and hungry. But for the remembrance of his promise to Fanny, Mr. Stafford would have screamed. It is needless to say that he declined his host's invitation, and the company began their dinner. Suddenly Mr. Stafford asked if Mr. Middleton had any brothers. Yes. No, that is I had one once, answered Mr. Middleton, but he's deader than a doe now, I thought this, I reckon. And what makes you think he's dead? asked Stafford. Why, you see, returned Mr. Middleton, when our old path died, something in the wheel stuck crossways in Bill's swallow, and he left college and put to sea, and I ain't hurt from him in fifteen years. Did he look like you? asked Raymond. He was four years younger than I, answered Mr. Middleton, but no more like me than Sunshine's pet kitten is like our old watchdog, Tyke. He was soft-like in his ways, and took to book-learning mightily, and I'm—but everybody knows what old Josh is. Hold on there, say it to pieces, said he to Frank, who, unable longer to restrain his mirth, had deluged his plate with coffee. Prey, excuse me, said Frank, mortified beyond measured his mishap. His discomforture was, however, somewhat relieved by his companions, all of whom burst into a fit of laughter, in which Mr. Stafford hardly joined, forgetful of his promise to Fanny. By this time dinner was over, and the company repaired to the porch, where Ashton and Raymond betook themselves to their cigars, while Mr. Middleton puffed away at his old cob pipe. Mr. Stafford at length resumed the dinner-table conversation by saying, if I were you, Mr. Middleton, I wouldn't give up on my brother yet. Hope on, hope ever, is my motto. Hope on, repeated Mr. Middleton, I have hoped on till I'm tired on it, and by spells I have dreams in which it seems like my brother was alive and had come back. And then my old girl's shell of a heart gives a thunder and thump, and fetches me wide awake. I hate dreams mightily, for it takes me an all-fired wild to get to sleep all over, and when I do, I hate to be wake by dream. I hope you'll live to see your brother, though, said Frank. No, I shan't, answered Mr. Middleton, again feeling as cob pipe. Everything that I loved has always died. Have you lost many friends? Asked Mr. Stafford. It's considerable many, said Mr. Middleton, considering out of you I ever had. First, though his mother died, when Dylan and I was little boys, and I was so feared Bill would bust his jacket open that I whispered to him not to take on so, for I'd be his mother now. And then that night, which was the longest and darkest I ever knew, we took turn rockin' and singin' our little baby sister, just as we had seen mother do. Here he stopped a moment, and Raymond, who was rather impatient, said, Don't stop, go on. The old man wiped his eyes and said, Heaven's enough, don't hurry, I fell so. Can't you let him wait till the big bumps get out of his throat? Would you have me bellerin' here like a calf? Take your time, Mr. Middleton, said Mr. Stafford, who was as much affected as his brother at the remembrance of that sad night, when he first felt what it was to be motherless. After an instant Mr. Middleton continued. Directly that sister got big enough, she was married and started to go to England, but the vessel went to smash and the crew went to the bottom, oh gosh, she always hated salt, but she's used to it by this time, I reckon. And then there was Pat next, but he was old and grey-headed and sick-hearted like, and he wanted to go. But it made it just as bad for me. Then there was Bill. Here Mr. Stafford moved to his chair, so as to hide his face from the speaker, who continued, I did think I might have one left, but it wasn't to be. He went too, and Josh was left alone. Mr. Middleton cleared his throat a little. Refilled his cob pipe and proceeded, the Lord gave me two gals, and then he sent me as noble a boy as ever was. I don't care where the other one comes from. He was mine, but I loved him all the same. You, Mr. Miller, knew him, but you don't know, but you don't know, Noel begins to know how old Josh loved him, and what a tremendous wrench it gave my old heart when I come home and found he was dead. But Lord, ain't he got a fine gravestone, though. You go to the cemetery at Frankwood, and you'll see it right alongside the Luftenic Caringtoms, whose widows are flirting with everybody in creation anyway, and Frankwood starting. Now I've told you of all that's dead, continued he, striking the ashes out of his pipe and wiping it on his baggy trousers. But I ain't told you yet what troubles me more than all. There's something that haunts old Josh and makes his heart stand still with mortal fear. The sunshine dearer to her old pap than his own life. You've all seen her, and I reckon she's made some of your heart sake. But something's come over her. She seems delicate-like and is fading away. Here are two big tears that couldn't be mistaken. Hold down Mr. Middleton's cheeks, as he added emphatically, and by Jesus, his sunshine goes, old Josh will bust up and go, too. The winding-up of Uncle Josh's story was so odd and unexpected that all the gentlemen, Mr. Stafford included, laughed loudly. "'Tain no matter, boys,' said Mr. Middleton, and so you'll all think if you ever have a gal as sweet and lovin' like a sunshine.' Here, Mr. Stafford said, "'Yo, sister's name was Fanny, I believe.' Yes, it was. "'Who told you?' asked Mr. Middleton. "'No one. I knew it myself.' Entered Mr. Stafford, looking his brother earnestly in the face. Mr. Middleton seemed puzzled, and after closely scrutinizing Mr. Stafford's speeches, he said, "'Confounded, am I in a nap, man? I thought for a minute, but no, it can't be neither. Well, you've got too thunder and black I had to be, Bill!' Before Mr. Stafford replies to this remark, we will take the reader to the kitchen, where a group of negroes are assembled round old Aunt Katie, and are listenin' with breathless interest to what she is sayin'. Aunt Katie was so infirm that she kept her bed for the greater part of the time, but on this day she was sittin' up, and from her low cabin window she caught a view of the visitors as they alighted from the carriage. When Mr. Stafford appeared, she half-started from her chair, and said aloud, "'Who upon earth can that be? And where have I seen him?' Somewhere certain, and then it occurred to her that she would go into the kitchen and inquire who that tall, darkish-looking gentleman was.' Accordingly she hobbled out to make the inquiry. She was much disappointed when she heard the name. "'No,' said she, "'tain't nobody I ever know'd. And yet how lacky is to somebody I've seen!' Not long after, the old negroes again muttered to herself, "'Go away now. What makes me keep a thinkin' so of Marsta William this morning? Peslacky keeps hauntin' me.' Then, rising, she went to an old cupboard, and took from it a cracked earthen teapot. From this teapot she drew a piece of brown paper, and opening it gazed fondly on the little lock of soft brown hair. "'The boy,' said she, "'I mind just how he looked when I cut this heart from his head. And the very day his mother was buried, pole-master William,' continued she. "'Most likely he's gone to tarnity before his time.' As she said this, tears, which were nonetheless sincere, because she who wept them belonged to Africa's sable race, fell upon the once bright, but now faded lock of hair, which the faithful creature had for more than forty years preserved as a memento of him whom she had long since looked upon as dead, although she had never ceased to pray for him, and always ended her a custom prayer, now I lay me.' With the petition that, God would take care, Master William, and bring him home again. Who shall say that the prayer was unanswered? Going back to her seat she took up her knitting, and was soon living over the past, when she was young, and dwelt with the old folks at home. Finally there came from the house the sound of merry laughter. High above all the rest was a voice, whose clear ringing tones made Katie start up so quickly that, as she afterward described it, a sudden misery caught her in the back, and pulled her down quicker. There was something in the sound of that laugh which seemed to Katie like an echo of the past. But thought she, I'm death-lack, and maybe didn't he as straight. I'll go to the kitchen again and hock. In a few minutes she was in the kitchen, and dropping down on the meal-chest as the first-seat handy. She said, Ho, Judy, is you notice the strange gentleman's laugh? I ain't notice nothing. Answered Judy, who chants to be out of sorts, because, as she said, the white folks had done it up every atom of egg, that didn't even leave her the yoller one. While something in his laugh carried me back to the old plantation in Carolina, and I believed between you and me, that Master William's here. Said Katie. Master William? What on earth do you mean? Asked Judy, forgetting the eggs in her surprise. At the mention of Master William, who was looked upon as a great man, but a dead one, the little negroes gathered around, and one of them, our old friend Bob away, said, Oh, laddie, I hoped is Master William for Master Josh will be so tickled that he won't care if we don't do nothing for a week, and I need milk the little hip another. Oh, good, good. You go long, you Bob, said Aunt Judy, seizing a lock of his wool between her thumb and finger. Let me get you not milkin' the hip and I'll crack you. Again there was the sound of laughter, and this time Judy dropped her dishcloth, while Katie sprang up sayin', Tiz, I know Tiz. Anyway, I'll walk around there as if for a little errand, and conceive of myself. Suddenly, old Katie appeared around the corner of the house, just as Mr. Middleton had spoken to his brother of his color. The moment Mr. Stafford's eyes rested on his old nurse, he knew her. Twenty years had not changed her as much as it had him. Starting up, he exclaimed, Katie, dear old man, Katie! While she uttered a wild, exultant cry of joy, and springing forward, through her thin, shriveled arms around his neck, exclaiming, My darling boy, my sweet Master William! I know it was you, I know your voice! You are alive! I have seen you, and now, oh, Katie's ready to die. White as ashes grew the face of Uncle Aunt Joshua. The truth had flashed upon him, and almost rendered in powerless. Pale and motionless he sat, until William, freeing himself from Aunt Katie, came forward and said, Joshua, I am William, your brother, don't you know me? Then the floodgates of Uncle Joshua's heart seemed unlocked, and the long, fervent embrace which followed between the rough old man and his newly found brother made more than one of the looker's turn away his face, lest his companion should detect the moisture in his eyes, which seriously threatened to assume the form of tears. When the first joy and surprise of this unexpected meeting was over, Mr. Joshua Middleton said, as of apologizing for his emotion, I am dumbly a feared bill that I acted might a baby lack, but hang me if I couldn't help it. Which day is this I never expected to see, and yet I have lain awake on nights, thinking maybe you've come back, but such ideas didn't last long, and I'd soon give you up as a gunner. That's just what I never did, said Aunt Katie, who still stood near. In the excitement of the moment she had forgotten that she had long thought of March to William as dead. She continued, A heap of prayers I said for him, and it's chiefly owe unto them, prayers I reckon, that he's done fished up out of the sea. I've never been in the sea yet, Aunt Katie, said Mr. Middleton, desirous of removing from her mind the fancy that any special miracle had been wrought on his behalf. Where in fury have you been? And what's the reason you ain't with these dozen years? Come on, give us a history of your carans on, said Mr. Joshua Middleton. Not now, answered his brother, let us wait till evening, and then you shall hear my adventures. And let me pay you my respects to your life. While he was introducing himself to Mrs. Middleton, Katie went back to the kitchen, wither the news had preceded her, causing Bob and his joy to turn several somersaults. In the last of these he was very unfortunate, for his heels in their descent chanced to hit and overturn a churn full of buttermilk. When Aunt Katie entered she found Bob bemoaning the backache which his mother had unsparingly given him. Aunt Judy herself, having cleared away the buttermilk by sweeping it out of doors, was waiting eagerly to know if Marsha William had done an aft start to her. Why, no, Judy, said Katie, somewhat elated because she had been the first to recognize and welcome the stranger. Why, no, I can't say you did, and take natural act that he should set much store by you as by me, and I got twenty years the start on you, and did not nust him, and out of his mother died didn't I learn him all his manners? Aunt Judy was on the point of crying, when who should walk in but Marsha William himself. I am told, said he, that Judy is here, Judy that I used to play with. Long bless you, Master William, exclaimed Judy, at the same time covering his hand with kisses and tears. It's Judy I is, I know you had done forgot me. Oh no, Judy, said he, I have not forgotten you, but I did not know whether you will live in or not, so I did not bring you presence. But I'll get you something in a few days. Meantime take this, said he, slipping a silver dollar into the hands of Aunt Katie and Aunt Judy, each of whom showered upon him so many blessings and thanks that he was glad to leave the kitchen and return to his companions, who were talking to Uncle Joshua without getting any definite answer. His brother sudden return had operated strangely upon him, and for a time he seemed to be in a kind of trance. He would drop his chair closely to William, and after gazing intently at him for a time, would pass his large rough hand over his hair, muttering to himself, yes, it is Bill and no mistake, but who'd have thought it? At last rousing himself, he turned to his other guests and said, You mustn't think hard on me if I ain't as puttin' talkin' like for a spell. Bill's comin' home is kinda over-sought, though, man, and I'm thinkin' of the past when we's little boys and lived at home on Pat's old plantation if for any of us was dead. The young gentlemen readily excused the old man's silence, and when slanting beams of the setting sun betoken the approach of night, they all, with the exception of Ashton, began to speak of returning home. Mr. Middleton urged them to stay, saying, What's the use of goin'? Nancy's got beds enough, I reckon, and will be wrackled out of a chance to show her new calico-kivalids. Besides, we're gonna have some broad hand in the morning, so stay. But as the next day was the Sabbath, the gentlemen declined the invitation. Embitting the host goodbye, they were soon on their way homeward, each declaring that he had seldom spent a pleasanter day. As they can undoubtedly find their way to Frankfurt without our assistance, we will remain at Uncle Joshua's house together with Mr. William Middleton and Ashton. The latter felt as if he had suddenly found an old friend, and as nothing of importance required his presence at home, he decided to remain where he was until Monday. That evening, after everything was put to rights, and Mr. Middleton had yelled out his usual amount of orders, he returned to the porch, where his brother and Ashton were still seated. Lighting his old cob pipe, he said, Come, Bill, Nancy'll fetch out her rock-and-chair and mittenwork, and we'll hear the story of your do-ins in that heathenish land. But be kind to short, full-piss like I'd lived a year today, and I feel mighty like going to sleep. After a moment's silence, Mr. Middleton commenced. I shall not attempt to justify myself for running away as I did, and yet I cannot say that I've ever seriously regretted visiting those countries, which I probably shall never look on again. I think I wrote to you, Joshua, that I took passage on the ship Santiago, which was bound for the East Indies. Never shall I forget the feeling of loneliness which crept over me on the night when I first entered the city of Calcutta and felt that I was indeed alone in a foreign land, and that more than an ocean's breath rolled between me and my childhood's home. But it was worse than useless to dwell upon the past. I had my fortune to make, and I began to look about for some employment. At last I chanced to fall in with an intelligent Spaniard, Señor de Castello. He was a wealthy merchant, and for several years had resided in Calcutta. As he spoke the English language fluently, I found no trouble in making his acquaintance. He seemed pleased with me, and offered me the situation of clerk in his counting-room. I accepted his offer, and also became an inmate of his dwelling, which was adorned with every conceivable luxury, his family consisted of himself and his daughter, Inés. At the mention of Inés, Ashton half-started from his chair, but immediately receding himself listened while Mr. Middleton proceeded. I will not attempt to describe Inés, for I am too old now to even feel young again, by picturing to your imagination the beauty of that fair Spaniard. I will only say that I never saw one whose style the beauty would begin to compare with hers, until I beheld my niece Julia. Lord knows I hope she wouldn't lack timbust, said Uncle Joshua, at the same time relieving his mouth of its overflowing contents. I do not know whether she were or not, answered Mr. Middleton. I only know that Inés seemed too beautiful, too gentle, for one to suspect that treachery lurked beneath the soft glance of her dark eyes. I do not know why it was, but Castello, from the first, seemed to entertain for me a strong friendship, and at last I fully believed the affection he felt for me was second only to what he felt for his daughter. But he could not remain with us, and in eighteen months after I first knew him he took one of the fevers common to that sultry climate, and in the course of a few days he was dead. I wrote to you of his death, but I did not tell you that he had left a will, in which all his immense wealth was equally divided between myself and Inés. He did not express his desire that we should marry, but I understood it so, and thenceforth looked upon Inés' belonging exclusively to myself. You didn't marry her, though I take it, said Joshua, making a thrust at an enormous mosquito, which had unceremoniously alighted on his brawny foot. No, answered William, I did not marry her, but it was not my fault. She played me false. Six months after her father's death we were to be married. The evening previous to our wedding arrived, I was perfectly happy, but Inés seemed low-spirited, and when I inquired the cause she answered, nothing except a little nervous excitement. I readily believed her, but when the morning came the cause of her low spirits was explained. The bird had flown with a young Englishman, Sir Arthur Effingham, who had been a frequent guest at my house. That was when a tempest capised to a dot, said Uncle Joshua, but go on, Bill, and tell us whether the disappointment killed you or not. So William proceeded. Instead of my bride I found a note for my niece, in which she asked pardon for what she had done, saying she had long loved Sir Arthur, but did not dare tell me so. They were going to England with us she wished me to send a part of her portion, as her husband was not wealthy. I could understand Inés's character perfectly, and could readily see that she preferred a titled but poor Englishman to a wealthy but plain American, so I gave her up quietly. William was might a glad to get shut of her so, interrupted Joshua. From that time, continued William, I gave up all thoughts of marriage, and devoted myself to increasing my wealth, and spending it for my own comfort and the good of others. Twelve years ago I chanced to go on board the Delphine, and there I found Ashton. Look at him, for gracious sake, said Uncle Joshua, pointing toward Ashton. Why, man, you are white as one of Judy's biscuits. What ails you? Nothing, answered Ashton, who was really much affected by Mr. Middleton's narrative, but he said, I am only thinking of the long weary days I passed in the Delphine before Mr. Middleton kindly cared for me. This seemed quite natural, and Mr. Middleton continued. Ashton was wasted to a mere skeleton by Shipfever, and my heart yearned toward him. Perhaps I felt a stronger sympathy for him when I learned he was an American. He, like myself, had run away. It's a vessel in which he had embarked and wrecked, and he, with two others, was saved in a small boat. For days they floated above the broad expanse of waters until at length Delphine picked them up and brought them to India. I had Ashton removed to my house, but as soon as he recovered he took French leave of me. From that time I lived alone. I wrote you frequently, but got no answer. My letters must have been lost. But then I concluded you were dead. At last I began to have such an ardent desire to tread on my native soil once more that I'd disposed my property and set out for home. So here I am and have told you my history. What do you think of it? There was no answer save the sound of heavy breathing. Uncle Joshua had probably gone to sleep all over. The cessation of his brother's voice awoke him, and rubbing his eyes he said, Yes, yes, Ashton has the Shipfever. I hope he can't give it now, for I'm mortal feared on it. Ashton assured him that there was no danger. And then, turning to William, said, Have you ever heard from Ainez? Yes, said Mr. Middleton. About a year after her marriage I heard of the birth of a daughter, whom she called Ainez Middleton. I have heard of them once or twice since, but not recently. After a moment's silence Ashton with some hesitation said, If I have a mistake not, I know Ainez Effingham well. You know Ainez? My Ainez? Where? How? Tell me all! Ainez Middleton grasping Ashton's hand as if a new link suddenly added to the chain of friendship which already bound them together. You probably remember, said Ashton, that when I left you so suddenly there was an American vessel in port. I was anxious to return home, but I fancied you would oppose it, so I left without a word and went on board the ship. During the voyage I found that one of the crew was from my native town. I eagerly inquired after my parents and my little sister Nellie, whom you so often heard me mention. Judge of my feelings when told that they were all dead, in the agony of the moment I attempted to throw myself overboard, but was prevented. From that time all desire to return was gone, and when at last we stopped at one of the ports in England I left the vessel to try my fortune in the mother country. But Ainez, said Mr. Middleton, what of Ainez? I will tell you, answered Ashton, after remaining in England some years, I became acquainted with her father, Sir Arthur Effingham, who lived forty miles from London. He invited me to his house, and there I first saw Ainez and her mother. To know Ainez was to love her, but I could not hope to win the haughty Englishman's daughter, and besides she was so young that I did not believe I had made any impression upon her. But encouraged by Lady Effingham I at length ventured to ask Ainez of her father. I did not wish to marry her then, as she was only fourteen. But her father spurned me with contempt, and bade me never again to enter his house. I obeyed, but tried many times to procure an interview with Ainez. I succeeded, and told her I was about to leave England for America, but should never forget her. I would not suffer her to bind herself to me by any promise, but express my belief that at some future time she would be mine. It is three years since we parted. I immediately came to America. But I could not bear to return to my old home, and see it occupied by others, so I wandered this way, and at last settled in Frankfurt as a merchant. Here he stopped, and Mr. Middleton said, You have not told me of the mother. Does she still live? Ashton answered, She was living when I left England, but Ainez has since written me of her death. That will do, Ashton, that will do. I do not wish to hear any more now, said Mr. William. While Mr. Middleton and Ashton were relating their adventures, Aunt Katie was busily engaged in superintending the arrangement of Master Williams' sleeping room. Mrs. Middleton had bitten Judy to see that everything was put in order, but Aunt Katie seemed to think nothing could be done right unless she had it oversight of it. So she was walking back and forth, consulting with Judy a little, and ordering her a good deal. Now, Judy, she said, Ain't you no more ideas of elegance than to push the bedstead smack up against the clavins. Just pull it out a foot or two as they'll misuse to do. Judy complied with her request, and she continued, Laudy sakes, don't miss Nancy no better than to put Master William to sleep in such cold sheets, at the same time casting a rueful glance at the linens which Judy had put on the bed. You sit down, Judy, said Aunt Katie, and I'll tend to the bed myself. So saying, she hopped off to her cabinet, and opening her old red chest, drew from it a pair of half-worn, very fine linen sheets. These she shook most lustily in order to free them from the rose-leaves' lavender-springs and tobacco, which she had placed between their folds. With the former she thought to perfume them, while the latter was put there for the purpose of keeping out moths. The old creature had heard that tobacco was good to keep moths from willens, and she knew of no reason why it would not answer every purpose for linen. Thar, she said, on returning to the house, these begins to look a little like Master William. They was ginned to me by Old Master just before he died. They along to Old Miss, and if any one on us could read, I reckon we should find her name on it somewhere, Witten Brody. When the bed and room were adjusted to her satisfaction, she went down to the kitchen, and took a seat there. Here Aunt Judy found her about ten o'clock that night. What on earth are you sitting here for? Said she. Old eyes only wait until Master William gets a little used to his room before I ask him how he lacks it, and does he want anything. Accordingly, not long after, Aunt Katie stole upstairs, and opened the door, called out, Oh, Master William, does you want anything, and as you've got enough kiver. But Master William's senses were too soundly locked in sleep to heed the faithful creature, and after standing a moment she said to herself, I might have feared he'll catch a cold. So back she went to her cabin, and from the same red chest, took a many-colored patchwork quilt. This she carried to the house, and spread carefully over Mr. Middleton, saying, He won't be none too comfortable, and in the morning he'll see it, and I'll tell him I don't piece and quilted it my own self. Consequence of this extra covering was that Mr. Middleton awoke in the night with the impression that he was being suffocated in the hot climate of Calcutta. He did not know that she, to whom he was indebted for his warm birth, was now sleeping quietly and dreaming how tickled Master William would be when he knew she had lent him her spire sheets and bed-quilt. CHAPTER 16 of Tempest and Sunshine This is a LibriVox recording. A LibriVox recording is in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Amanda Friday. Tempest and Sunshine by Mary Jane Holmes CHAPTER 16 Fanny Refuses to Go to New Orleans The next day was the Sabbath. Contrary to their usual custom on such mornings, Mr. Middleton and his Negroes were a stirrer at an early hour. The female portion of the latter were occupied in preparing a great breakfast in honor of Marster William's arrival, while Mr. Middleton busied himself in removing a part of his dark, heavy beard. When William made his appearance in the sitting-room, he was greeted by his brother with, How are you, Bill? Hope you slept better than I did, for peers like I couldn't get a sleep know-how till toward morning, and then I was mighty scary about waking up for fear I should find it all moonshine and no Bill here after all. After a moment's pause he added, Ours to other chap. If he don't come down directly, the hen'll spill, for Judy's had it ready better than half an hour. Ashton soon appeared, and the party did ample justice to Aunt Judy's well-cooked breakfast. That meal being over, Mr. Middleton said, Now, boys, what do you say to go into Meaton? The Baptists have preaching, and I have a mind to go. How the focal stare, though, to see Bill. Say, will you go? The gentlemen signified their assent, and at the usual hour they proceeded to the church, which was situated about two miles from Mr. Middleton's. We are sorry for it, but truth compels us to say, that on this day Uncle Joshua was not quite as devotional as usual. He was looking over the congregation to see what effect his brother's presence was producing. When he saw that no one exclaimed or turned pale, and that even the minister kept on the even tenor of his discourse, he inwardly accused them all of being dough-heads, and wondered he had never before discovered how little they knew. However, when meeting was over, the neighbors crowded around the old man, congratulating him on the unexpected return of his brother, whom they welcomed so warmly, that Uncle Joshua began to think he had been too hasty in condemning them, for, after all, they knew a heap. That night, after supper, Mr. Middleton was again seated in the little porch with his guests. They had been speaking of the sermon they had heard, when Mr. Middleton said, That's the right kind of meeting to my notion. A feller can sleep a bit if he likes it, but why are my gals go? In Frankfurt, they have the queerest duens, keep a getting up and a sitting down, peers like you don't mourn't get fairly sought before you have to hissed up again, and you can't sleep to save you. Then they have streaked yellow and black prayer books and keep a reading all meetin' time. Do your daughters prefer that church? asked William. Why, yes, returned his brother, or that is, Dick, poor boy Dick, belonged thar, so did the young lieutenant Carrington, so does Dr. Lacey, and that's reason enough why sunshine should prefer it. Tempest goes thar, I reckon, because it's fashionable, and she can have a nice prayer book to show. You ought to see the one I bought for sunshine. It's all velvety, and has gold clasps with just the word sunshine writ on it. Tempest has got a more common one. It didn't cost half as much. I noticed that you make quite a distinction between your daughters, said William. May I ask why you do it? Mr. Middleton stopped smoking and said, If you please, Bill, I'd rather say nothing about that now. I make it a rule never to swar Sundays, and if I got to go in it about Tempest, and the way she used, poor Dick, I should have to swar and no mistake. Maybe you think I'd better not swar any time. Yes, answered William. I should be glad if you would not. It is a bad habit, and I wish you would discontinue it. Well now, Bill, said Mr. Middleton. Lord knows. No, I mean, I know I've tried a heap of times to break off, and now I'll try again. I'll not cuss a word till I forget. Dick used to want me to stop, and when he died I promised myself I would. But the pigs and horses got into the corn, and fussed I knew I was swaring worse than ever. I wish you had seen Dick. It can't be, he's gone forever. Have you no daguerro type of him? Asked William. No, I ain't, but his folks have. And Mr. Miller and Cater going home this summer, and they'll fetch me one. That makes me think sunshine is so puny and sick-like that I'm going to let her go north with them. It'll do her good, and I'm going to buy her four silk gowns to go with. But for lords, no, for land's sake, don't tell Tempest. I hope you are not very anxious to have Fanny go north, said William, for it will seriously affect a plan which I have formed. Well, what is it? Asked Mr. Middleton. William then told of the house he had purchased, and of his intention to take both his nieces back with him. I know, said he, that it seems strange to take them there in hot weather, but down by the lake it will be pleasant and cool, and I must have them with me. Have you said anything to them about it? Asked Mr. Middleton. Yes, answered his brother. I have mentioned it to them. What did they say? Fanny said nothing, but Julia seemed much pleased with the idea, said William. I'll warrant that, returned Mr. Middleton. She's tickled enough, and in her own mind she's run up a bill again for me for at least five hundred. Sunshine is so modest, I suppose, because Dr. Lacey will be there, that she does not want to seem very glad. But she'll go. I'll have them come home tomorrow, and we'll talk the matter over. I'd as soon have her go to New Orleans as to New York. Here the conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Middleton, who came to tell her husband that it was past nine. Mr. Middleton had a great horror of being up after that hour, so he hastily bade his brother and Ashton good night, saying to the former, Now I've got kind of used to your being alive, Bill. I hope I shan't have such pesky work going to sleep. Next morning Ashton returned to Frankfurt in the carriage which Mr. Middleton had sent for the purpose of bringing his daughter's home. For once in her life, Julia was delighted with the idea of visiting her parents. She had learned from a note which her mother had written, that the reason of their being sent for was to talk over the matter of going to New Orleans, Fanny felt differently. She wished, yet dreaded, to go home. She too knew why they were sent for, and as she was determined not to go to New Orleans, it would be necessary at last to tell her father the true reason. She was certain he would be unsparing in his wrath against Dr. Lacey, and she almost trembled for the consequences. When at last she was ready, she descended to the parlor, and sitting down to her piano ran her fingers lightly over the keys. At that moment Frank Cameron entered. He had learned from his cousin Kate enough of Fanny's history to make him fear that she never could be ought to him, and yet the knowledge that he could not, must not, hope to win her, only rendered the attraction stronger. He was intending to start for home the next day, and had now come to spend a few minutes alone with Fanny ere he bade her good-bye. As he entered the room she ceased playing and said, I believe you leave town to-morrow, do you not? I do, replied Frank, and I've come to bid you good-bye now, for when you return I shall probably be looking on the dust, smoke, and chimneys of the Empire City. As Fanny made no answer, Frank continued, Miss Middleton, we shall meet again, I trust. Kate tells me that you are to accompany them to New York this summer. Expect you and shall watch anxiously for your coming. Fanny replied, I have thought of going north with Mrs. Miller, but it is possible I may be disappointed. Disappointed, repeated Frank. You must not be disappointed, or disappoint me, either. I would hardly be willing to leave Frankfurt if I did not hope to see you again. And yet if we never do meet, I shall know that I am a better man for having once seen and known you, and I shall look back upon the few days spent in Kentucky as upon one of the bright spots in my life. We do not know what Fanny would have replied, for ere she had time to answer, Julia appeared in the door calling out. Come, Fan, the carriage is ready. But, Prey, excuse me, continued she, as she saw Frank. I had no idea that I was interrupting so interesting a conversation as your looks seem to indicate. This increased Fanny's confusion, but she endeavored to appear at ease, and rising up she offered Frank her hand, saying, I must bid you farewell, Mr. Cameron. Frank took her hand, and quick as thought raised it to his lips. Fanny's cheeks reddened as she hastily withdrew her hand, saying rather indignantly, Mr. Cameron, I am surprised. Frank expected as much, and he said rather gaily, pardon me, Miss Middleton, I could not help it, and would not if I could. It is all I ever hope to receive from you, and years hence, when I am alone, Lord Old Bachelor, I shall love to think of the morning when I bade good-bye to and kissed Fanny Middleton. A moment more and the carriage drove rapidly away. Frank watched it until it disappeared down the street, then turning away he thought, I have met and parted with the only person on earth who has power to awaken in me any deeper feeling than that of respect. When Julian Fanny reached home, they were greeted kindly by both their parents and uncle. The latter had resolved to watch them closely in order to ascertain, if possible, the reason of his brother's evident preference for Fanny. During the morning, nothing was said of the projected visit to New Orleans, and Julia was becoming very impatient. But she knew better than to broach the subject herself, so she was obliged to wait. That evening the family, as usual, assembled on the little porch. Fanny occupied her accustomed seat and low stool by the side of her father, whose pipe she filled and refilled, for he said, the tobacco tasted a heap better after Sunshine had handled it. Julia could wait no longer, and she began the conversation by asking her uncle something about New Orleans. Thar I knew it would be so, said Mr. Middleton. Tempest is in a desperate hurry to know whether I'm going to cash over and send her to market New Orleans. Well, father, said Julia coaxingly, you are going to let Fanny and me go with Uncle William, I know. It was lucky for Julia that she chanced to mention her sister, for however much her father might be inclined to tease her, the word Fanny mollified him at once, and he answered, why yes, I may as well let you go as to keep me here doing nothing and eating up my cornbread. Then drawing Fanny nearer to him, he said, I've talked some of letting Sunshine go to New York, but she'll jump at the chance of going to New Orleans, I reckon. There was no answer, and as Julia was not particularly desirous of having her sister's silence questioned, she rattled on about her expected visit, and even went so far as to caress her father, because he had given his consent to her going. It was decided that Mr. William Middleton should return, as he had intended, in two weeks time, so as to have everything in readiness for the reception of his nieces, who were to come on as soon as school closed, which would be about the tenth of June. During all this time Fanny said not a word, and at last it occurred to her father that she had neither expressed her desire nor willingness to go, so he said, come, Sunshine, why don't you hold up your head and talk about it? We all know you want to go mightily, and see that little doctor. Fanny knew it was of no use delaying longer, and she answered gently, but decidedly, Father, I have no desire to go to New Orleans. I cannot go. Fudge on being so very modest, replied Mr. Middleton, it is natural like that you should want to see him, and nobody will think less of you. Fanny answered, You know I have thought of going to New York with Mr. and Mrs. Miller. I am still anxious to do so, but to New Orleans I cannot, shall not go, unless you command me to do so. Hey, Peter, said Mr. Middleton, What's the row now? What's happened to make little Sunshine spurt up so? Don't you want to see Dr. Lacey, child? No, Father, I never desire to see him again. The old cob pipe dropped for Mr. Middleton's mouth, and springing up he confronted Fanny, saying, What in fury is this racket? You not wish to go to New Orleans, or see Dr. Lacey either? I half wish you was tempest for a spell, so I could storm at you, but as it is Sunshine, I can't even feel mad. Oh, Father, Father! cried Fanny, weeping, If you knew all that has occurred you would not blame me. What do you mean, darling? asked Mr. Middleton, suddenly becoming cool. What has happened? Then looking at Julia, whose face was crimson, a new idea struck him, and he exclaimed more wrathfully, How now, tempest? What makes you turn as red as a hickory fire? Have you been raising a rumpus between Dr. Lacey and Sunshine? Out with it, if you have. It was now Julia's turn to cry in appeal to her uncle, if it were not unjust in her father always to suspect her of evil if anything were wrong. William very wisely kept silent, but Fanny said, Do not accuse Julia, for she is not guilty. She knows it all, however, and is sorry for it. Knows what? Sorry for what? Why don't you tell? said Mr. Middleton, stalking back and forth through the porch, and setting down his feet as heavily as if he would crush everything which might fall beneath his tread. I cannot tell you now, said Fanny, but when we are alone you shall know all. In a few moments William thought proper to retire, and as his example was soon followed by Julia, Fanny was left alone with her parents. Drawing her stool nearer to her father, and laying her hot feverish forehead on his hand, she said, Before I give any explanation, I wish you to make me a promise. Promise of what? Asked her father and mother simultaneously. It is not probable, answered Fanny, that you will ever see Dr. Lacey again, but if you do, I wish you never to mention to him what I am about to tell you. The promise was readily given by Mrs. Middleton, but her husband demurred, saying, I shan't commit myself until I know what is. If Dr. Lacey's been cuttin' up, why I'll cow-hide him, that's all. Then I shall not tell you, was Fanny's firm reply. Her father saw she was an earnest and replied, What's got your back up so high, sunshine? I never knew you had so much grit. What's the reason you don't want Dr. Lacey to hear of it? Because, said Fanny, hesitatingly, Because I do not wish him to know how much I care about it, and besides it can do no possible good. Now, Father, promise you will not tell him or anyone else. Mr. Middleton was finally persuaded, and his promise given, Fanny knew it would not be broken, for her father prided himself on keeping his word. So she gave an account of Dr. Lacey's conduct, and ended her narrative by producing a letter which she supposed came from him. Up to the moment Mr. Middleton had sat perfectly still, but meantime his wrath had waxed warmer and warmer, until at last it could no longer be restrained, but burst forth in such a storm of fury, as made Fanny stop her ears. She, however, caught the words. And I was full enough to promise not to say a word. Well, thank the Lord I didn't promise not to shoot the puppy! Let me catch him within pistol shot of me, and I'll pop him over as I would a woodchuck. And if he don't come back, I'll go all the way to New Orleans for the sake of douanante. I'll larn him to fool with my gal, yes I will! Fanny's fears for Dr. Lacey's safety were immediately roused, and again were her arms wound round the neck of her enraged father while she begged of him to be quiet and think reasonably of the matter. Not long could one resist the arguments of Fanny, and in less than half an hour her father grew calm and said more gently, I shouldn't have been so rare and mad if it had been anybody but you, sunshine. I suppose I did go on high and swar like a pirate. I didn't mean to do that, for I promised Bill I'd try and leave off. Leave swearing, said Fanny. Oh, I'm so glad. I hope you will. Now promise that you will, dear father, and say again that you will not mention Dr. Lacey's conduct either to him or to anyone else. I have promised once, said Mr. Middleton, and one promise is as good as forty. Old Josh'll never break his word as long as he has his senses. But that paltry doctor owes his life to you, sunshine. Half an hour ago I was as fully set to knock him over as I am now determined to let the varmint go to destruction in his own way. Fanny shuttered that the idea of her father becoming the murderer of Dr. Lacey, and Mrs. Middleton rejoined. I am glad, husband, to hear you talk more sensibly. It could do no possible good for you to shoot Dr. Lacey, and then lose your own life as you assuredly would. Besides, I think the less we say of the matter, the better it will be. I reckon you are right, Nancy, said Mr. Middleton. But hang it all! What excuse shall I give Bill for not letting the gals go to New Orleans? But father, said Fanny, you will let Julia go, of course. Uncle knows I do not intend to go, and consequently will think nothing of that, and there is no reason why Julia should not go to New Orleans and I to New York. Now, say we may. That's a dear father. I suppose I'll have to, honey. Mr. Middleton, but if I can see ahead an inch, you're biting your own nose off by sending Tempest to New Orleans without you. Afterward, Fanny remembered this speech and understood it, too, but now she was prevented from giving it a thought by her father, who continued, Doesn't that Cameron Chapp live some us in New York? There was no reason for it, but Fanny blushed deeply as she replied, Yes, sir, Mr. Cameron lives in New York City, but I'm not going to see him. Maybe not, answered her father. But my name ain't Josh if he won't be on the lookout for you. And Twix does, darling. Now the doctor served you such a scaly trick. I shouldn't pitch and drive much if I heard that you and Cameron were on good terms. That will never, never be, answered Fanny. I shall always live at home with you and mother. You are a blessed daughter, said Mr. Middleton, and I hope there's better fortune in store for you than to stay hyped up with us two old crones. And I can't help thinking that you'll have Dr. Lacey yet, for somebody a heap better. Now go to bed, child, for your eyes are getting red-like and heavy. Fanny obeyed and retired to her room, where she found Julia sitting up and waiting for her. As soon as Fanny appeared she began, Fanny, you are a real good girl. I was pleased to hear you talk. Nobody but you could have done anything with the old heathen. What are you talking about? Asked Fanny. Why? Said Julia. I had my head out of the window listening all the time and overheard what you said. Perhaps I trembled, for fear father would take it into his head not to let me go anyway. But you fixed it all right, and I thank you for it. As Fanny made no answer, Julia continued, I heard too all about Frank Cameron. Now, Fanny, I know he admires you, and I really hope you'll not be silly enough to discourage him. I shall expect you to write that you have become Mrs. Cameron. Will you please, Julia, say no more on that subject? Said Fanny. I do not suppose Frank Cameron has any particular regard for me. If he has, it will do no good. Thus the conversation ended for that night. The next day Mr. William Middleton was informed that Julia would spend the summer in New Orleans, but that Fanny preferred going north. He was rather disappointed. His preference, if any he had, was for Fanny. She was so quiet, so gentle, he could not help loving her. But Julia puzzled him. There was a certain bold assurance in her manner which he disliked. Besides, he could not help fearing there was some good reason why her father censured her so much. I will watch her closely," thought he, and if possible, discover her faults and help her correct them. It would seem that Julia suspected her uncle's intentions, for she intended to be very correct and amiable in her deportment whenever he was present. Thought she, I will thus retain his good opinion, and by doing so I shall more easily win Dr. Lacy's regard. In the course of a few days Fanny and Julia returned to school, the one elated with the prospect of going to New Orleans, and the other, quietly anticipating a pleasant but rather sad journey to New York. Two weeks after their return to Frankfurt, their uncle called upon them on his way south. He again repeated his invitation that Stanton and Ashton would spend a part of the summer with him. Ashton consented, but Stanton still pleaded his important business north, and his excuse was considered a sufficient one. Mrs. Carrington, who had become rather weary of Raymond's attentions and was longing for a change of place and scene, now tried by every possible maneuver to induce Mr. Middleton to invite her also. Julia readily understood her, and as she feared Mrs. Carrington's presence would frustrate her plans, she resolutely determined that she should not be invited. Consequently, when that lady talked to Mr. Middleton of New Orleans, and the desire she had of again visiting that city, Julia would adroitly change the conversation to some other subject, and once when Mr. Middleton had actually opened his mouth and commenced giving the desired invitation, Julia, as if suddenly recollecting herself, started up, saying, Excuse me, Uncle, but I have a painting in my room which I wish you to see. Pray, come with me now, for I cannot bring it down, and as it is getting dark there is no time to be lost. Mr. Middleton arose and followed his niece, who congratulated herself on the success of her stratagem. After reaching her room and exhibiting her painting, she said to her Uncle, I do hope you will not ask Mrs. Carrington to go to New Orleans this summer. Why not? said Mr. Middleton. She seems anxious that I should do so. I know it, answered Julia, but I am afraid she is not a good woman. At least she had a bad influence over me, and I always feel wicked after being with her a while. As Julia had supposed, this had the desired effect. Mr. Middleton would not ask one to visit him whose influence over his niece was bad. Consequently, all Mrs. Carrington's hints were unnoticed or misunderstood. She, however, knew tolerably well to whom she was indebted for the slight. And when, after Mr. Middleton's departure, Julia said to her, I wonder Uncle did not invite you, too. I thought he was going to do so. She replied rather sharply, I fancy I should have been under no obligations to you, Ms. Julia, if I had received an invitation. Then turning she hastily entered her room, and throwing herself upon the sofa, she tried to devise some scheme by which she could undermine Julia, provided Dr. Lacey should show her any marked attention. Mrs. Carrington was not in a very enviable mood. The night before, Raymond had offered her his heart and hand, and of course had been rejected. He was in the parlour when Julia so abruptly took her uncle away. As there was no one present besides Mrs. Carrington, he seized upon that moment to declare his love. It is impossible to describe the loathing and contempt which she pretended to feel for him who sued so earnestly for her hand, even if her heart did not accompany it. Being daunted by her haughty refusal, Raymond arose, and standing proudly before the indignant lady said, Ida Carrington, however much dislike you may pretend to feel for me, I do not believe it. I know I am not wholly disagreeable to you, and were I possessed of thousands you would gladly seize the golden bait. I do not ask you to love me, for it is not in your nature to love anything. You are ambitious, and even now are dreaming of one whom you will never win. For just as sure as Yon Sun shall set again. So sure you, proud lady, shall one day be my wife. When Mrs. Carrington had recovered a little from the surprise into which Raymond's fiery speech had thrown her, he was gone and she was alone. Impudent puppy, said she, and yet he was right in saying he was not disagreeable to me, but I'll never be his wife. I die first. Still, do what she would, a feeling haunted her that Raymond's prediction would prove true. Thus it was this which made her so determined to supplant Julia in Dr. Lacey's good opinion, should he ever presume to think favorably of her. How she succeeded, we shall see hereafter. CHAPTER XVII of Tempest and Sunshine This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE by Mary Jane Holmes CHAPTER XVII Fanny Middleton arrives in New York. Three weeks after Mr. Middleton's departure for New Orleans, Mr. Miller's school closed. Uncle Joshua was present at the examination and congratulated himself much because he did not feel at all stuck up at seeing both Julia and Fanny acquit themselves so creditably. After the exercises were concluded, he returned with Mr. Miller to Mrs. Crane's. Just before he started for home, he drew from his sheepskin pocketbook five hundred dollars which he divided equally between his daughters saying, Here, gals, I reckon this will be enough to pay for all the fur belowes you've bought or will want to buy. I'll leave you here the rest of the week to see to fixen up your rig, but Saturday I shall send for you. Fanny was surprised at her father's unlooked for generosity and thanked him again and again. Julia was silent, but her face told how vexed and disappointed she was. As soon as her father was gone, her rage burst forth. Stingy old thing, said she, and yet he thinks he's done something wonderful. Why, my billet sees already amounts to two hundred, and I want as much more. What I am to do I don't know. She would have said more, but Fanny quieted her by saying, Don't talk so about father, Julia. It was very liberal, and really I do not know what to do with all mine. But we will not continue this conversation. I suffice it to say that when Julia retired that night, her own money was safe in her purse, and by the side of it lay the hundred dollars she had coaxed from Fanny. As they were preparing to return home on Saturday, Julia said to her sister, Fan, don't let father know that you gave me a hundred dollars, for I fear all your powers of persuasion would be no avail to stay the storm he would consider at his bounden duty to raise. There was no need of this caution, for Fanny was not one to do a generous act and then boast of it, neither did her father ask her how she had disposed of her money. He was satisfied to know that the four silk gowns were purchased, as in his estimation they constituted the essential part of a young lady's wardrobe. Since Fanny had disclosed the heartless desertion of Dr. Lacey, she seemed to be doubly dear to her father, for Pity now mingled with the intense love he always had for his youngest and best-loved daughter. Often during the last three days she passed at home prior to her departure for New York. He would sit and gaze fondly upon her until the tears would blind his vision, then springing up he would pace the floor impetuously muttering, the scamp, the vagabond, but he'll get his pay fast enough, and I'd pay him, too, if I hadn't promised not to, but taint worth a while, for I reckoned to only make her face grow whiter and thinner if I did anything. At length the morning came on which Julia and Fanny were to leave for the first time their native state, side by side near the landing at Frankfurt lay the two boats, Blue Wing and Diana. The one was to bear Fanny on her northern tour, and the other would convey Julia as far as Louisville, on her way south. Mr. Woodburn, who had business in New Orleans, was to take Julia under his protection. And now but a short time remained ere the Diana would loose her moorings and be under way. These few moments were moments of sorrow to Mr. and Mrs. Middleton, who had accompanied their daughters to Frankfurt. Uncle Joshua particularly was much depressed, and scarce took his eyes from his treasure, who might be leaving him forever. In his estimation the far off north was a barren, chilly region, and although he did not quite believe his Fanny would be frozen to death he could not rid himself of the fear that something would befall her. You'll take good care of her, won't you, Miller? said he, and bring her safely back to us. Mr. Miller gave the promise, and then observing that there was something else on Mr. Middleton's mind he said. What is it, Mr. Middleton? What more do you wish to say? Mr. Middleton struggled hard with his feelings, and his voice sank to a whisper as he answered. I wanted to tell you that if—if she should die—bring her home. Bring her back. Don't leave her there all alone. The old man could say no more, for the bell rang out its last warning. The parting between Fanny and her parents was a sad one, and even Julia wept as she kissed her sister, and thought it might be for the last time. Soon after the Diana, with its precious freight disappeared from view, Mr. Middleton was called upon to bid another farewell to his eldest daughter. Even the old fellow likes one girl better than the other, said a bystander who had witnessed both partings. And yet Mr. Middleton did well, and his look and manner was very affectionate as he bade Julia goodbye and charged her not to be giddy and act like a fool, nor try to come it over Dr. Lacey. Though, thought he, it'll be sovereign the rascal right if he should have to live with tempest all his life. It is not our intention at present to follow Julia in her passage to New Orleans. In another chapter we will take up the subject and narrate her adventures. Now we prefer going north with the other party, which consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Miller, Fanny, and Raymond. The latter had, in a fit of desperation, determined to quit Frankfurt, and go no one knew with her. He accompanied his friends as far as Cincinnati, and there bade them adieu, saying that they would hear of him again in a way they little dreamed of. Mr. Miller was sorry to part with one who had proved so valuable an assistant in his school that all his arguments had failed, and he was obliged to give him up, saying, I hope, Raymond, that all your laudable enterprises may be successful. I shall succeed, were Raymond's emphatic words, and she, the haughty woman, who tried to smile so scornfully when I bade her farewell, will yet be proud to say she has had a smile from me, a poor schoolmaster. Well, Raymond, said Mr. Miller, you have my good wishes, and if you ever run for president, I'll vote for you. So now goodbye. He'd wrung his friend's hand, and then stepped from the cars, which soon rolled heavily from the depot. Faster and faster sped the train on its pathway over Streamlint and Valley, Meadow and Woodland, until it last Queen City, with its numerous spires, was left far behind. From the car windows Fanny watched the long blue line of hills which marks the Kentucky shore, until they, too, disappeared from view. For a time now we will leave her to the tender mercies of the Ohio Railroad and a Lake Erie steamer, and hurrying on in advance we will introduce the reader to the home where once had sported Richard Wilmot and his sister Kate. It stood about a half a mile from the pleasant rural village of sea in the eastern part of New York. The house was large and handsome, and had about it an air of thrift and neatness which showed its owner to be a farmer, who not only understood his business but also attended to it himself. Between the house and the road was a large grassy lawn, on which was growing many a tall, stately maple and elm, under whose wide-spreading branches Kate and her brother had often played during the glad-some days of their childhood. Along Piazza ran around two sides of the building. Upon this Piazza the family sitting-room opened. Could we have entered that sitting-room the day on which our travellers arrived? We should have seen a fine-looking middle-aged lady whose form and features would instantly have convinced us that we looked upon the mother of Kate. Yes, what Kate Miller is now, her mother, was once, but time and sorrow have made inroads upon her dazzling beauty, and here and there the once bright locks of Auburn are now silvered over, and across the high-white brow are drawn many deep-cut lines. Since Kate last saw her mother, these lines have increased, for the bursting heart has swelled with anguish, and the dark eye has wept bitter tears for the son who died far away from his childhood's home. Even now the remembrance of the noble youth who scares two years ago, left her full of life and health, makes the teardrop start as she says aloud, How can I welcome back my darling Kate and know that he will never come again? The sound of her voice aroused old Hector, the watchdog, who had been lying in the sun upon the piazza. Stretching his huge limbs and shaking his shaggy sides, he stalked into the sitting-room, and going up to his mistress, laid his head caressingly in her lap. The sight of Hector made Mrs. Wilmot's tears flow afresh, for during many years he had been the faithful companion of Richard, whose long absence he seemed seriously to mourn. For days and weeks he had watched by the gate, through which he had seen his young master pass, and when at last the darkness of night forbade a longer watch, he would lay his head on the ground and give vent to his evident disappointment in a low, mournful howl. Mrs. Wilmot was not superstitious, but when, day after day, the same sad cry was repeated, it became to her an omen of coming evil, and thus the shock of her son's death, though nonetheless painful, was not quite as great as it would otherwise have been. For Kate too, old Hector had wept, but not so long or so mournfully. Still he remembered her, and always evinced his joy whenever her name was spoken. On the morning of the day on which she was expected home, a boy who had lived in the family when she went away called Hector to him, and endeavored, by showing him some garment which Kate had worn, and by repeating her name, to make him understand that she was coming home. We will not say that Hector understood him, but we know that during the day he never for a moment left the house or yard, but lay upon the piazza, looking eagerly toward the road which led from the village. Whenever he saw a carriage coming, he would start up and gaze wistfully at it until it had passed, then he would again lie down and resume his watch. Mrs. Wilmot noticed this, and when Hector, as we have seen, walked up to her and looked so sympathizingly in her face, she patted his head, saying, Poor Hector, you will see Kate at least today. Nor was she mistaken. For about three that afternoon an omnibus drew up before the gate. Kate immediately sprang out, and was followed by Mr. Miller and Fanny. Their arrival was first made known to Mrs. Wilmot by the cry of joy which Hector sent forth at sight of Kate, with lightning speed he bounded over the lawn to meet the travellers. Fanny, who was accustomed to the savage watchtogs of Kentucky, sprang back in terror and clung to Mr. Miller for protection. But Kate cried out, Do not fear, it is only Hector, and he wouldn't harm you for the world. Then she ran forward to meet him and embraced him as fondly as though he had really been a human being and understood and appreciated it all. Then he did seem to, for after caressing Kate he looked about as if in quest of the missing one. Gradually he seemed to become convinced that Richard was not there. Again was heard the old wailing howl, but this time it was more prolonged, more despairing. Faithful creature. Know you not that summer's gentle gale and winter's howling storm have swept over the grave of him whom you so piteously bemoan. Fanny stopped her ears to shut out the bitter cry, but if Kate heard it she heeded it not, and bounded on over the graveled walk toward her mother who was eagerly waiting for her. In an instant parent and child were weeping in each other's arms. My Kate, my darling Kate, are you indeed here? said Mrs. Wilmot. Kate's only answer was a still more passionate embrace. Then recollecting herself she took her husband's hand and presented him to her mother, saying, Mother, I could not bring you Richard, but I have brought you another son. Will you not give him room in your heart? Mrs. Wilmot had never seen Mr. Miller before, but she was prepared to like him, not only because he was her daughter's choice, but because he had been the devoted friend of her son. Consequently she greeted him with a most kind and affectionate welcome. During all this time Fanny was leaning against one of the pillars of the piazza, but her thoughts were far away. She was thinking of her distant Kentucky home, and a half feeling of homesickness crept over her, as she thought how joyfully she would be greeted there should she ever return. Her reverie was of short duration, for Kate approached, and leading her to her mother simply said, Mother, this is Fanny. It was enough, the word Fanny had a power to open the fountains of that mother's heart. She had heard the story of the young girl, who had watched so unweirdly by the bedside of Richard. She had heard, too, of the generous old man, whose noble heart had cared for and cherished the stranger, and she knew that she, who advanced toward her so timidly, was the same young girl, the same old man's daughter, and could Mr. Middleton have witnessed her reception of his sunshine he would have been satisfied. A messenger was dispatched for Mr. Wilmot, who was superintending some workman in a field not far from the house. Mr. Wilmot was a tall, noble-looking man whose fine figure was slightly bowed by the frosts of sixty winters. As he advanced with breathless haste toward the house, Kate ran to meet him, and the tears which the strong man wept, told how dear to him was this, his beautiful daughter, and how forcibly her presence reminded him of his firstborn, only son, who went away to die among strangers. When he was presented to Mr. Miller and Fanny, a scene similar to the one we have already described took place, as he blessed Fanny for Richard's sake. She felt that though in a strange land she was not alone or unloved, her homesickness soon vanished, for how could she be lonely and sad, where all were so kind, and where each seemed to vie with the other in trying to make everything agreeable to her. It was strange how soon even Hector learned to love the fair Kentuckian. He would follow her footsteps wherever she went and affectionately kiss her hands. But then, as Kate said, Hector had more common sense than half the people in the world, and he seemed to know by instinct that she whom he so fondly caressed had once watched over his young master, who was now sleeping in his silent grave, unmindful that in his home he was still sincerely mourned even by old Hector. Not many days after Fanny's arrival at Mr. Wilmot's, she was told that a gentleman wished to see her in the parlor. On entering the room how surprised she was at beholding Frank Cameron. He had learned by letter from Kate that Fanny was in sea, and he immediately started for his uncles. Since his return from Kentucky he had thought of little else save Fanny Middleton. Waking or sleeping she was constantly in his mind. And still with a happy thought of her there ever came a sadder feeling, a fear that his love for her would be in vain. But since the morning when he bade her adieu her name had never once passed his lips, when his sister Gertrude questioned him concerning the Kentucky girls, he had described to her in glowing terms the extreme beauty of Julia and the handsome eyes of the Whitter, as he called Mrs. Carrington, but a Fanny he had never spoken. He could not bear that even his own sister should mention Fanny in connection with anyone else. However, when Kate's letter arrived he passed it over to Gertrude whose curiosity was instantly roused, and she poured forth a torrent of questions as to who that Fanny Middleton was. I suppose she must be old Mr. Middleton's daughter, was Frank's teasing reply. Of course I know that, said Gertrude, but what of her? Who is she? Why I've told you once she is Fanny Middleton, said Frank. These and similar answers were all Gertrude could draw from him, and she fell into a fit of pouting, but Frank was accustomed to that, and consequently did not mind it. Next he announced his intention to visit his uncle Wilmot. Gertrude instantly exclaimed, Now, Frank, you are too bad! Just as soon as you hear Fanny Middleton is in New York you start off to see her, without even telling me who she is or what she is. In my opinion you are in love with her and do not wish us to know it. This started up Mrs. Cameron's ideas, she said, Frank, I am inclined to believe Gertrude is right, but you surely will be respectful enough to me to answer my questions civilly. Certainly, said Frank, Ask anything you please, only be quick for it is almost car time. Well then, do you intend to make this Miss Middleton your wife? I do, if she will have me, said Frank. The distressed lady groaned audibly, but continued, One more question, Frank. Is she rich and well connected? Frank passed his hand through the thick curls of his brown hair, and seemed to be trying hard to think of something. Finally he answered, Why really, mother, I never once thought to ask that question. But, persisted Mrs. Cameron, you can judge by her appearance and that of her parents. Did you not see them? Frank laughed loudly as the image of Uncle Joshua as he first saw him in the door, buttoning his suspender, presented itself to his remembrance, but he answered, Yes, mother, I did see her father, and was the richest sight I ever saw. He then proceeded to give a description of Mr. Middleton to his astonished sister and mother, the latter of whom exhibited such distress that Frank very compassionately asked if she had the toothache. Before she had time to answer, Frank was gone, leaving his mother to lament over the strange infatuation which always led Frank in pursuit of somebody beneath him. I know, said she to Gertrude, that this fanny Middleton is from a horrid, low family, and is as poor as a church mouse, so while Frank was hurrying toward the village of sea his mother and sister were brooding over the disgrace which they feared threatened them. They could have spared all their painful feelings, for she of the low family was destined to be another's. During Frank's ride to sea he determined, ere his return, to know the worst. She can but refuse me, thought he, and even if she does, I shall feel better than I do now. When he met Fanny his manner was so calm and collected that she never dreamed how deep was the affection she had kindled in his heart. She received him with real pleasure, for he seemed like a friend from Kentucky. He stayed with her but three days, and when he left he bore a sadder heart than he had ever felt before. Fanny had refused him, not exultingly as if a fresh laurel had been one only to be boasted of, but so kindly, so delicately, that Frank felt almost willing to act it all over again for the sake of once more hearing Fanny's voice as she told him how utterly impossible it was for her ever again to love as a husband should be loved. Then, said Frank somewhat bitterly, you acknowledged that you have loved another. Yes, answered Fanny, but no other circumstances could have wrung the confession from me. I have loved and been deceived. I will not say my faith in man's honor is wholly gone, for I believe you, Mr. Cameron, to be perfectly sincere and honorable in your professions of regard, had we met earlier all might have been different, but now it is too late. If my friendship is worth having, it is yours. I have never had a brother, but will look upon and love you as one. With that you must be satisfied. And he did try to be satisfied, but only because there was no other alternative. Still he felt a pleasure in being near her, in breathing the same atmosphere, in gazing on the same scenes. Before he returned home he had decided upon accompanying her, together with Mr. and Mrs. Miller, on their contemplated trip to Saratoga. Hence they would go on to New York City and visit at his father's. I am sorry, said he, that it is not the season for parties as I should love dearly to show off Fanny in opposition to our practised city bells, and now I think of it, continued he. Isn't Mr. Stanton coming north this summer after a certain Miss Ashton? I believe he is, answered Kate. Now then, said Frank, I have it exactly. Judge Fulton, who is Miss Ashton's guardian, has recently removed to the city. I knew him well, and have been introduced to Miss Helen. Stanton has already invited us all to his wedding, and as Miss Ashton will of course repeat the invitation, Fanny will thus have an opportunity of seeing a little of the gay world in New York. You seem to think any praise bestowed upon Fanny is so much credit for yourself, said Kate mischievously. Frank made no reply, and soon bidding good-bye to his friends he was on his way to the city. On reaching home he found his mother and sister in a state of great anxiety, concerning the odious old scarecrow's corn-cake daughter, as Gertrude styled Fanny. Her first question, after asking about Kate, was, Well, Frank, tell me, did you propose to Miss Middleton? Most certainly I did. That was one object in going, was Frank's quiet reply. The horrified Mrs. Cameron, throwing up both hands in a most theatrical manner, exclaimed, Monde d'eux! It was the only French phrase she knew, and she used it upon all occasions. This time, however, it was accompanied by a loud call for her vinaigrette and for air, at the same time declaring it was of no use trying to restore her, for her heart was broken and she was going to faint. Let me wash these red spots off from your cheek. You can't faint gracefully with so much color, said Frank gravely, at the same time literally deluging his mother's face with Cologne, much against the blooming lady's inclination. This little scene determined Frank not to tell that he was rejected. At first he had intended to disclose all, but now he decided otherwise. They may as well fret about that as anything else, thought he. And when they see Fanny I shall have a glorious triumph, so he kept his own secret, and commenced teasing Gertrude about going to Saratoga with himself, their cousin Kate, and Fanny. I shall do no such thing, Master Frank, said Gertrude. I am willing enough to see Kate, and invite her here, too, for she is fine-looking and appears well, even if she is a music teacher. But this Fanny Middleton, uh, I'll never associate with her on terms of equality, or own her as my sister, either. I do not think you will, said Frank, but Gertrude knew not what cause he had for so saying. After he had quitted the apartment, Mrs. Cameron and Gertrude tried to think of some way to let Fanny know that she was not wanted in their family. Dear me, said Gertrude, I will not go to Saratoga, and be obliged to see Frank make a dolt of himself with this plebeian Kentuckian. If she were only rich and accomplished, why it would be different, and the fact of her being from Kentucky would increase her attractions. But now it is too bad. And Gertrude actually cried with vexation and mortified pride. What a creature! How mistaken she was with regard to Fanny Middleton, and so she one day learned. But as the reader is doubtless anxious to hear of Fanny's introduction to Mrs. Cameron and Gertrude, we will give a description of it in the next chapter.