Natures Serial Story | Page 7

thoughts
turned wistfully to the friend of his early manhood, and, as he recalled
Mr. Clifford's rural home, he felt that he could desire no better refuge
for his child. He had always written of her as his "little girl," and such
she was in his fond eyes, although in fact she had seen eighteen
summers. Her slight figure and girlish ways had never dispelled the
illusion that she was still a child, and as such he had commended her to
his friend, who had responded to the appeal as to a sacred claim, and
had already decided to give her a daughter's place in his warm heart.
Mr. Winfield could not have chosen a better guardian for the orphan
and her property, and a knowledge of this truth had soothed the last
hours of the dying man.
It struck Leonard that the muffled figure he picked up at the station and
carried through the dusk and snow to the sleigh was rather tall and

heavy for the child he was expecting; but he wrapped her warmly,
almost beyond the possibility of speaking, or even breathing, and spoke
the hearty and encouraging words which are naturally addressed to a
little girl. After seeing that her trunks were safely bestowed in a large
box-sledge, under the charge of black Abram, one of the farm-hands,
he drove rapidly homeward, admonishing Alfred, on the way, "to be
sociable." The boy, however, had burrowed so deep under the robes as
to be invisible and oblivious. When Leonard was about to lift her out of
the sleigh, as he had placed her in it, the young girl protested, and said:
"I fear I shall disappoint you all by being larger and older than you
expect."
A moment later he was surprised to find that the "child" was as tall as
his wife, who, with abounding motherly kindness, had received the girl
into open arms. Scarcely less demonstrative and affectionate was the
greeting of old Mr. Clifford, and the orphan felt, almost from the first,
that she had found a second father.
"Why, Maggie," whispered Leonard, "the child is as tall as you are!"
"There's only the more to welcome, then," was the genial answer, and,
turning to the young girl, she continued, "Come with me, my dear; I'm
not going to have you frightened and bewildered with all your new
relations before you can take breath. You shall unwrap in your own
room, and feel from the start that you have a nook where no one can
molest you or make you afraid, to which you can always retreat;" and
she led the way to a snug apartment, where an air-tight stove created
summer warmth. There was a caressing touch in Mrs. Leonard's
assistance which the young girl felt in her very soul, for tears came into
her eyes as with a deep sigh of relief she sat down on a low chair.
"I feared I should be a stranger among strangers," she murmured; "but I
already feel as if I were at home."
"You are, Amy," was the prompt reply, spoken with that quiet
emphasis which banishes all trace of doubt. "You are at home as truly
as I am. There is nothing halfway in this house. Do you know we all

thought that you were a child? I now foresee that we shall be
companions, and very companionable, too, I am sure."
There was a world of grateful good-will in the dark hazel eyes which
Amy lifted to the motherly face bending over her.
"And now come," pursued Mrs. Leonard; "mother Clifford, the boys,
and the children are all eager to see you. You won't find much ice to
break, and before the evening is over you will feel that you belong to us
and we to you. Don't be afraid."
"I am not afraid any more. I was, though, on my way here. Everything
looked so cold and dismal from the car windows, and the gentleman in
whose care I was had little to say, though kind and attentive enough. I
was left to my own thoughts, and gave way to a foolish depression; but
when your husband picked me up in his strong arms, and reassured me
as if I were a little girl, my feeling of desolation began to pass away.
Your greeting and dear old Mr. Clifford's have banished it altogether. I
felt as if my own father were blessing me in the friend who is now my
guardian, and of whom I have heard so often; and, after my long winter
journey among strangers, you've no idea what a refuge this warm room
has already become. Oh, I know I shall be happy. I only wish that dear
papa knew how well he has provided for me."
"He knows, my