Lewie | Page 7

two days after,
he had another, and died. Master Harry was almost distracted then: he
called himself his father's murderer; and, indeed, I think he was never
what you might call well from that time."
"But you never saw any one so angry as Mr. Benjamin Elwyn was. He
had always intended to make master Harry his heir, but his conduct in
this foolish affair enraged him so that he said he would leave him
nothing. At first the young folks lived with her father, but he soon died,
leaving his daughter a little property settled on herself. But it was not
enough to support them, and so Master Harry had to apply to old Mr.
Benjamin Elwyn again, and the old man gave him this place, and
enough to live on pretty comfortably here. He told Master Harry that
perhaps something might be made of his baby wife yet, if he brought
her away from the follies of the city, to a country place like this, and
tried to improve her mind; and so they have lived here ever since, till
last year, when poor master Harry died."
"And what do ye think is the raison that the misthress thrates little Miss
Agnes the way she does?"

"Well, I can hardly tell you, Bridget. In the first place, I have often
heard her say that she couldn't abide girls, and bating other reasons, I
think she would have been disappointed on her own account, you know,
to have the first child a girl. But, besides this, I have heard that Mr.
Benjamin Elwyn quite forgave Mr. Harry, and promised him that if his
oldest child was a boy, and he named it after him, he would leave him
the bulk of his property. I cannot tell you how bitterly disappointed my
young mistress was, when her first born proved to be a girl. She was
but sixteen years old then, you know, Bridget, and she acted like a
cross, spoiled baby. She cried herself into a fever, and she wouldn't let
the poor, helpless baby, come into her sight. I think she never loved her;
and from the time of Master Lewie's birth, she has seemed to dislike
her more and more."
"But how the father loved her, Mrs. McCrae!"
"Aye, indeed he did; he never could be easy a minute without her. It
was a sore day for my poor bairn, when it pleased God to take her
father; poor man! But He knows best, Bridget, and He orders all things
right."
Here Mammy was summoned by the bell, and despatched to bring little
Agnes down; to accompany her aunt and cousins to their home.
As Agnes was riding along, seated so comfortably by the side of her
kind aunt, in the large covered sleigh, with the rosy, smiling faces of
her little cousins, Grace and Effie, opposite her, she could scarcely
believe that she was the same little girl, who, but an hour or two before,
was walking so sadly up and down the desolate North Room, and
trying to persuade herself that she was "not alone." Agnes was naturally
of a lively, cheerful disposition, and like any other little girl of six years
of age, she soon forgot past sorrow in present pleasure, though, at times,
the sudden remembrance of her dear little baby brother, lying so ill at
home, would cause a sigh to chase away the smile of pleasure beaming
on her lovely face.
It was but little more than two miles from "The Hemlocks," Mrs.
Elwyn's residence, to "Brook Farm," the home of the Wharton's, and, as
Matthew had received orders to drive very rapidly, it seemed to Agnes
that her ride was just begun, when they turned into the lane that led up
to her Uncle Wharton's house. And now the pillars of the piazza appear
between the trees, and now the breakfast room windows, and more

bright young faces are looking out, and little chubby hands are clapped
together, as the sleigh is discovered coming rapidly up the lane, and the
cry resounds through the house, "They've come! they've come! and
Agnes is with them!"
A bright, cheerful wood fire was burning in the pleasant, great
breakfast room, and the party who had just arrived were soon
surrounded by smiles of welcome, while busy little fingers were
assisting them to untie their bonnets, and unfasten their cloaks. In a few
moments the door opened, and a pale, but lovely looking girl, in deep
mourning, entered the room. She was a niece of Mr. Wharton's, and,
having lately been left an orphan, by the death of her mother, she had
been brought by her kind uncle, to his hospitable home, where she was
received by all as a member, henceforth, of their family.
"Well,