Aikenside | Page 5

of
the office, and that from it a young girl was alighting.
Naturally very polite to females, Guy's first impulse was to go to her
assistance, but she did not need it, as was proven by the light spring
with which she reached the ground. The white-haired man was with her
again, but he evidently did not intend to stop, and a close observer
might have detected a shade of sadness and anxiety upon his face as
Madeline called cheerily out to him: "Good-by, grandpa. Don't fear for
me; I hope you have good luck;" then, as he drove away, she ran a step
after him and said; "Don't look so sorry, for if Mr. Remington won't let
you have the money, there's my pony, Beauty. I am willing to give him
up."
"Never, Maddy. It's all the little fortin' you've got. I'll let the old place
go first;" and, chirruping to Sorrel, the old man drove on, while
Madeline walked, with a beating heart, to the office door, knocking
timidly.
Glancing involuntarily at each other, the young men exchanged
meaning smiles, while the doctor whispered softly: "Verdant--that's
sure. Wonder if she'll knock at a church."
As Guy sat nearest the door, it was he who held it ajar while Madeline
came in, her soft brown eyes glistening with something like a tear, and
her cheeks burning with excitement as she took the chair indicated by

Guy Remington, who unconsciously found himself master of
ceremonies.
Poor little Madeline!
CHAPTER II
MADELINE CLYDE.
Madge her schoolmates called her, because the name suited her, they
said; but Maddy they called her at home, and there was a world of
unutterable tenderness in the voices of the old couple, her grandparents,
when they said that name, while their dim eyes lighted up with pride
and joy when they rested upon the young girl who answered to the
name of Maddy. Their only daughter's only child, she had lived with
them since her mother's death, for her father was a sea captain, who
never returned from his last voyage to China, made two months before
she was born. Very lonely and desolate would the home of Grandfather
Markham have been without the presence of Madeline, but with her
there, the old red farmhouse seemed to the aged couple like a paradise.
Forty years they had lived there, tilling the rather barren soil of the
rocky homestead, and, saving the sad night when they heard that
Richard Clyde was lost at sea, and the far sadder morning when their
daughter died, bitter sorrow had not come to them; and, truly thankful
for the blessings so long vouchsafed them, they had retired each night
in peace with God and man, and risen each morning to pray. But a
change was coming over them. In an evil hour Grandpa Markham had
signed a note for a neighbor and friend, who failed to pay, and so it all
fell on Mr. Markham, who, to meet the demand, mortgaged his
homestead; the recreant neighbor still insisting that long before the
mortgage should be due, he certainly would be able himself to meet it.
This, however, he had not done, and, after twice begging off a
foreclosure, poor old Grandfather Markham found himself at the mercy
of a grasping, remorseless man, into whose hands the mortgage had
passed. It was vain to hope that Silas Slocum would wait. The money
must either be forthcoming, or the red farmhouse be sold, with its few

acres of land. Among his neighbors there was not one who had the
money to spare, even if they had been willing to do so. And so he must
look among strangers.
"If I could only help," Madeline had said one evening when they sat
talking over their troubles; "but there's nothing I can do, unless I apply
for our school this summer. Mr. Green is committeeman; he likes us,
and I don't believe but what he'll let me have it. I mean to go and see;"
and, ere the old people had recovered from their astonishment,
Madeline had caught her bonnet and shawl, and was flying down the
road.
Madeline was a favorite with all, especially with Mr. Green, and as the
school would be small that summer, the plan struck him favorably. Her
age, however, was an objection, and he must take time to see what
others thought of a child like her becoming a schoolmistress. Others
thought well of it, and so before the close of the next day it was
generally known through Honedale, as the southern part of Devonshire
was called, that pretty little Madge Clyde had been engaged as teacher,
she receiving three dollars a week, with the understanding that she must
board herself. It did not take Madeline long to calculate that