Maggie Miller

Maggie Miller

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Maggie Miller, by Mary J. Holmes This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Maggie Miller
Author: Mary J. Holmes
Release Date: February 25, 2004 [EBook #11280]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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MAGGIE MILLER.
THE STORY OF OLD HAGAR'S SECRET.
By MARY J. HOLMES,
Author of "Lena Rivers," "Tempest and Sunshine," "English Orphans," "Dora Deane," etc., etc.
"Lead us not into temptation."

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER
I. THE OLD HOUSE BY THE MILL
II. HAGAR'S SECRET
III. HESTER AND MAGGIE
IV. GIRLHOOD
V. TRIFLES
VI. THE JUNIOR PARTNER
VII. THE SENIOR PARTNER
VIII. STARS AND STRIPES
IX. ROSE WARNER
X. EXPECTED GUESTS
XI. UNEXPECTED GUESTS
XII. THE WATERS ARE TROUBLED
XIII. SOCIETY
XIV. MADAM CONWAY'S DISASTERS
XV. ARTHUR CARROLLTON AND MAGGIE
XVI. PERPLEXITY
XVII. BROTHER AND SISTER
XVIII. THE PEDDLER
XIX. THE TELLING OF THE SECRET
XX. THE RESULT
XXI. THE SISTERS
XXII. THE HOUSE OF MOURNING
XXIII. NIAGARA
XXIV. HOME
XXV. HAGAR
XXVI. AUGUST EIGHTEENTH, 1858

MAGGIE MILLER.

CHAPTER I.
THE OLD HOUSE BY THE MILL.
'Mid the New England hills, and beneath the shadow of their dim old woods, is a running brook whose deep waters were not always as merry and frolicsome as now; for years before our story opens, pent up and impeded in their course, they dashed angrily against their prison walls, and turned the creaking wheel of an old sawmill with a sullen, rebellious roar. The mill has gone to decay, and the sturdy men who fed it with the giant oaks of the forest are sleeping quietly in the village graveyard. The waters of the mill-pond, too, relieved from their confinement, leap gayly over the ruined dam, tossing for a moment in wanton glee their locks of snow-white foam, and then flowing on, half fearfully as it were, through the deep gorge overhung with the hemlock and the pine, where the shadows of twilight ever lie, and where the rocks frown gloomily down upon the stream below, which, emerging from the darkness, loses itself at last in the waters of the gracefully winding Chicopee, and leaves far behind the moss-covered walls of what is familiarly known as the "Old House by the Mill."
'Tis a huge, old-fashioned building, distant nearly a mile from the public highway, and surrounded so thickly by forest trees that the bright sunlight, dancing merrily midst the rustling leaves above, falls but seldom on the time-stained walls of dark gray stone, where the damp and dews of more than a century have fallen, and where now the green moss clings with a loving grasp, as if 'twere its rightful resting-place. When the thunders of the Revolution shook the hills of the Bay State, and the royal banner floated in the evening breeze, the house was owned by an old Englishman who, loyal to his king and country, denounced as rebels the followers of Washington. Against these, however, he would not raise his hand, for among them were many long-tried friends who had gathered with him around the festal board; so he chose the only remaining alternative, and went back to his native country, cherishing the hope that he should one day return to the home he loved so well, and listen again to the musical flow of the brook, which could be distinctly heard from the door of the mansion. But his wish was vain, for when at last America was free and the British troops recalled, he slept beneath the sod of England, and the old house was for many years deserted. The Englishman had been greatly beloved, and his property was unmolested, while the weeds and grass grew tall and rank in the garden beds, and the birds of heaven built their nests beneath the projecting roof or held a holiday in the gloomy, silent rooms.
As time passed on, however, and no one appeared to dispute their right, different families occupied the house at intervals, until at last, when nearly fifty years had elapsed, news was one day received that Madam Conway, a granddaughter of the old Englishman, having met with reverses at home, had determined to emigrate to the New World, and remembering the "House by the Mill," of which she had heard so much, she wished to know if peaceable possession of it would be allowed her, in case she decided upon removing thither and making it her future home. To this plan no objection was made, for the aged people of Hillsdale still cherished the memory of the hospitable old man whose locks were gray while they were yet but children, and the younger portion of the community hoped for a renewal of the gayeties which they had heard were once so common