The English Orphans | Page 2

and thus Mr. Temple was left alone with his
eldest daughter, Ella. Occasionally he heard from Jane, but time and
distance gradually weakened the tie of parental affection, which wound
itself more closely around Ella; and now, when she, too, left him, and
worse than all, married a poor music teacher, the old man's wrath knew
no bounds.
"But, we'll see," said he, as with his hands behind him, and his head
bent forward, he strode up and down the room--"we'll see how they'll
get on. I'll use all my influence against the dog, and when Miss Ella's
right cold and hungry, she'll be glad to come back and leave him."
But he was mistaken, for though right cold and hungry Ella ofttimes
was, she only clung the closer to her husband, happy to share his
fortune, whatever it might be. Two years after her marriage, hearing
that her father was dangerously ill, she went to him, but the forgiveness
she so ardently desired was never gained, for the old man's reason was
gone. Faithfully she watched until the end, and then when she heard
read his will (made in a fit of anger), and knew that his property was all
bequeathed to her sister in America, she crushed the tears from her long
eyelashes and went back to her humble home prepared to meet the
worst.
In course of time three children, Frank, Mary, and Ella were added to
their number, and though their presence brought sunshine and gladness,
it brought also an increase of toil and care. Year after year Mr. Howard
struggled on, while each day rumors reached him of the plenty to be

had in the land beyond the sea; and at last, when hope seemed dying
out, and even his brave-hearted Ella smiled less cheerfully than was her
wont to do he resolved to try his fortune in the far-famed home of the
weary emigrant. This resolution he communicated to his wife, who
gladly consented to accompany him, for England now held nothing
dear to her save the graves of her parents, and in the western world she
knew she had two sisters, Sarah having some years before gone with
her uncle to New York.
Accordingly the necessary preparations for their voyage were made as
soon as possible, and when the Windermere left the harbor of Liverpool,
they stood upon her deck waving a last adieu to the few kind friends,
who on shore were bidding them "God speed."
Among the passengers was George Moreland, whose parents had died
some months before, leaving him and a large fortune to the
guardianship of his uncle, a wealthy merchant residing in Boston. This
uncle, Mr. Selden, had written for his nephew to join him in America,
and it was for this purpose that George had taken passage in the
Windermere. He was a frank, generous-hearted boy, and though
sometimes a little too much inclined to tease, he was usually a favorite
with all who knew him. He was a passionate admirer of beauty, and the
moment the Howards came on board and he caught a sight of Ella, he
felt irresistibly attracted towards her, and ere long had completely won
her heart by coaxing her into his lap and praising her glossy curls. Mary,
whose sensitive nature shrank from the observation of strangers, and
who felt that one as handsome as George Moreland must necessarily
laugh at her, kept aloof, and successfully eluded all his efforts to look
under her bonnet. This aroused his curiosity, and when he saw her
move away to a distant part of the vessel, he followed her, addressing
to her the remark with which we commenced this chapter. As George
had said he liked little girls, though he greatly preferred talking to
pretty ones. On this occasion, however, he resolved to make himself
agreeable, and in ten minutes' time he had so far succeeded in gaining
Mary's friendship, that she allowed him to untie the blue bonnet, which
he carefully removed, and then when she did not know it, he scanned
her features attentively as if trying to discover all the beauty there was

in them.
At last gently smoothing back her hair, which was really bright and
glossy, he said, "Who told you that you were so ugly looking?" The
tears started to Mary's eyes, and her chin quivered, as she replied,
"Father says so, Ella says so, and every body says so, but mother and
Franky."
"Every body doesn't always tell the truth," said George, wishing to
administer as much comfort as possible. "You've got pretty blue eyes,
nice brown hair, and your forehead, too, is broad and high; now if you
hadn't such a muddy complexion, bony cheeks, little nose, big ears and
awful teeth, you wouldn't be such a fright!"