awoke, the
motion of the vessel had ceased, and Boston, with its numerous domes
and spires, was before them. Towards noon a pleasant-looking,
middle-aged man came on board, inquiring for George Moreland, and
announcing himself as Mr. Selden. George immediately stepped
forward, and after greeting his uncle, introduced Mr. and Mrs. Howard,
speaking at the same time of their kindness to him during his illness.
All was now confusion, but in the hurry and bustle of going ashore,
George did not forget Mary. Taking her aside, he threw round her neck
a small golden chain, to which was attached a locket containing a
miniature likeness of himself painted a year before.
"Keep it," said he, "to remember me by, or if you get tired of it, give it
to Ella for a plaything."
"I wish I had one for you," said Mary; and George replied, "Never
mind, I can remember your looks without a likeness. I've only to shut
my eyes, and a little forlorn, sallow-faced, old-looking girl, with
crooked teeth--"
He was prevented from finishing his speech by a low cry from Mary,
who, pressing his hands in hers, looked beseechingly in his face, and
said, "Oh, don't, George!--don't talk so."
He had not teased her about her looks for a long time, and now just as
he was leaving her, 'twas more than she could bear. Instantly regretting
his thoughtless words, George took her in his arms, and wiping away
her tears, said, "Forgive me, Mary. I don't know what made me say so,
for I do love you dearly, and always will. You have been kind to me,
and I shall remember it, and some time, perhaps, repay it." Then putting
her down, and bidding adieu to Mr. and Mrs. Howard, Frank, and Ella,
he sprang into his uncle's carriage, and was rapidly driven away.
Mary looked after him as long as the heads of the white horses were in
sight, and then taking Frank's hand, followed her parents to the hotel,
where for a few days they had determined to stop while Mrs. Howard
made inquiries for her sister.
Meantime, from the richly curtained windows of a large handsome
building a little girl looked out, impatiently waiting her father's return,
wondering why he was gone so long and if she should like her cousin
George, or whether he was a bearish looking fellow, with warty hands,
who would tease her pet kitten and ink the faces of her doll babies. In
the centre of the room the dinner table was standing, and Ida Selden
had twice changed the location of her cousin's plate, once placing it at
her side, and lastly putting it directly in front, so she could have a fair
view of his face.
"Why don't they come?" she had said for the twentieth time, when the
sound of carriage wheels in the yard below made her start up, and
running down stairs, she was soon shaking the hands of her cousin,
whom she decided to be handsome, though she felt puzzled to know
whether her kitten and dolls were in any immediate danger or not!
Placing her arm affectionately around him, she led him into the parlor,
saying, "I am so glad that you have come to live with me and be my
brother. We'll have real nice times, but perhaps you dislike little girls.
Did you ever see one that you loved?"
"Yes, two," was the answer. "My cousin Ida, and one other."
"Oh, who is she?" asked Ida. "Tell me all about her How does she look?
Is she pretty?"
Instantly as George had predicted, there came before his vision the
image of "a forlorn-looking, sallow-faced child," whom he did not care
about describing to Ida. She, however, insisted upon a description, and
that evening when tea was over, the lamps lighted, and Mr. Selden
reading the paper, George told her of Mary, who had watched so kindly
over him during the weary days of his illness. Contrary to his
expectations, she did not laugh at the picture which he drew of Mary's
face, but simply said, "I know I should like her." Then after a moment's
pause, she continued; "They are poor, you say, and Mr. Howard is a
music teacher. Monsieur Duprês has just left me, and who knows but
papa can get Mr. Howard to fill his place."
When the subject was referred to her father, he said that he had liked
the appearance of Mr. Howard, and would if possible find him on the
morrow and engage his services. The next morning Ida awoke with an
uncomfortable impression that something was the matter with the
weather. Raising herself on her elbow, and pushing back the heavy
curtains, she looked out and saw that the sky was dark with angry
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