Darkness and Daylight | Page 4

could possibly come,
thundered through the town, her quick ear was the first to catch the
sound of wheels grinding slowly up the hill.
"They are coming, Mrs. Atherton!" she cried; and nimble as a squirrel
she climbed the great gate post, where with her elf locks floating about
her sparkling face, she sat, while the carriage passed slowly by, then
saying to herself, "Pshaw, it wasn't worth the trouble--I never saw a
thing," she slid down from her high position, and stealing in the back
way so as to avoid the scolding Mrs. Atherton was sure to give her, she
crept up to her own chamber, where she stood long by the open
window, watching the lights at Collingwood, and wondering if it
WOULD make a person perfectly happy to be its mistress and the bride
of Richard Harrington.
CHAPTER II.
EDITH HASTINGS GOES TO COLLINGWOOD.
The question Edith had asked herself, standing by her chamber window,
was answered by Grace Atherton sitting near her own. "Yes, the bride
of Richard Harrington MUST be perfectly happy, if bride indeed there
were." She was beginning to feel some doubt upon this point, for strain
her eyes as she might, she had not been able to detect the least signs of
femininity in the passing carriage, and hope whispered that the
brightest dream she had ever dreamed might yet be realized.
"I'll let him know to-morrow, that I'm here," she said, as she shook out

her wavy auburn hair, and thought, with a glow of pride, how beautiful
it was. "I'll send Edith with my compliments and a bouquet of flowers
to the bride. She'll deliver them better than any one else, if I can once
make her understand what I wish her to do."
Accordingly, the next morning, as Edith sat upon the steps of the
kitchen door, talking to herself, Grace appeared before her with a
tastefully arranged bouquet, which she bade her take with her
compliments to Mrs. Richard Harrington, if there was such a body, and
to Mr. Richard Harrington if there were not.
"Do you understand?" she asked, and Edith far more interested in her
visit to Collingwood than in what she was to do when she reached there,
replied,
"Of course I do; I'm to give your compliments;" and she jammed her
hand into the pocket of her gingham apron, as if to make sure the
compliments were there. "I'm to give them to MR. Richard, if there is
one, and the flowers to Mrs. Richard, if there ain't!"
Grace groaned aloud, while old Rachel, the colored cook, who on all
occasions was Edith's champion, removed her hands from the dough
she was kneading and coming towards them, chimed in, "She ain't
fairly got it through her har, Miss Grace. She's such a substracted way
with her that you mostly has to tell her twicet," and in her own peculiar
style Rachel succeeded in making the "substracted" child comprehend
the nature of her errand.
"Now don't go to blunderin'," was Rachel's parting injunction, as Edith
left the yard and turned in the direction of Collingwood.
It was a mellow September morning, and after leaving the main road
and entering the gate of Collingwood, the young girl lingered by the
way, admiring the beauty of the grounds, and gazing with feelings of
admiration upon the massive building, surrounded by majestic maples,
and basking so quietly in the warm sunlight. At the marble fountain she
paused for a long, long time, talking to the golden fishes which darted
so swiftly past each other, and wishing she could take them in her hand

"just to see them squirm."
"I mean to catch ONE any way," she said, and glancing nervously at
the windows to make sure no Mrs. Richard was watching her, she bared
her round, plump arm, and thrust it into the water, just as a footstep
sounded near.
Quickly withdrawing her hand and gathering up her bouquet, she
turned about and saw approaching her one of Collingwood's ghosts.
She knew him in a moment, for she had heard him described too often
to mistake that white-haired, bent old man for other than Capt.
Harrington. He did not chide her as she supposed he would, neither did
he seem in the least surprised to see her there. On the contrary, his
withered, wrinkled face brightened with a look of eager expectancy, as
he said to her, "Little girl, can you tell me where Charlie is?"
"Charlie?" she repeated, retreating a step or two as he approached
nearer and seemed about to lay his hand upon her hair, for her bonnet
was hanging down her back, and her wild gipsy locks fell in rich
profusion about her face. "I don't know any boy by that name, I'm
nobody but Edith