The Harvest of Years | Page 6

majority; but, to her, this living aside from the dusty streets and exciting novelties of the city, was, I suppose, like being deposited in a little quiet nook. When we said "good night," all of us were of one mind regarding our new-found friend. I was perfectly at ease that first evening, and felt no inclination to make an unlucky speech until the next day, which was Sunday, came, and with it the question, "Are you going to church?" It was always our custom to go to the village church each Sabbath, and I enjoyed the sermons of Mr. Davis, then our minister, very much. He was a man of broad soul and genial spirit, and very generally liked. His sermons were never a re-hash but were quickened and brightened by new ideas originally expressed. Now, however, when this little lady asked, "Are you going to church?" I did not think at all of a good sermon, but of the shabbiness of my best bonnet, and I bit my tongue to check the speech which rose to my lips--"We generally go, but I'd rather not go with you"--while mother answered,
"Yes, Mrs. Desmonde" ("Clara, if you please," the lady interposed), "we always go; would you like to go with us?"
"Oh, yes, thank you, it is a delightful day."
I kept thinking about those shabby ribbons and wondering if I could not cover them up with my brown veil, and after breakfast was over, I actually did re-make an old lemon-colored bow to adorn myself with. I felt shabby enough, however, when we were all ready to start and my poor cotton gloves came in contact with the delicate kids of our guest, when she grasped my hand to say, "You cannot know, Emily dear, how happy I am."
Somehow she made me forget all about how I looked, but the sermon that day was all lost. My eyes divided their light between herself and Halbert, and my heart kept thumping heavily, "Hal goes away to-morrow." I think Hal knew my thoughts, for he sat next to me in our pew, and once when tears were in my eyes, tears which came with thoughts of his departure, he took my hand in his and held it firmly, as if to say, "I shall come back, Emily, don't feel badly." I looked him the grateful recognition my heart felt, and I crowded back the tears that were ready to fall, and when we drove home, our little lady chatting all the way, I was happier than before I went.
Monday morning came and with it Hal's departure. We were up betimes. I think Hal slept little, and I heard the old clock strike nearly every hour, and was down stairs before either mother or father were up. He was to take the stage at half-past eight, and ride to the nearest station, and our breakfast was ready at half-past six. It was a sad breakfast, and though mother tried hard to keep up a conversation on different topics, it was useless. Tears would fill our eyes, and brother Ben, though at that time only about thirteen, was forced to leave his breakfast untasted, and, rising hastily, to take himself out of Hal's sight; but the stage came rumbling down the road, and almost ere we knew it, our good-byes were said, and Hal was waving his handkerchief from his high seat beside the driver, from whence he could see the old home for a long distance.
Everything, so far as his plans were concerned, worked favorably, and a chance inquiry, resulted in a good offer as book-keeping clerk in a wholesale warehouse in Chicago. Chicago was in her youth then. Many changes have passed over the city of the West since those days, but her mercantile houses were never in a more flourishing condition than during Hal's stay there. Father had informed himself regarding the man with whom he was to be connected, and was well satisfied of his integrity, ability, etc.
When Hal was fairly gone I went to my room and cried disconsolately, and groaned aloud, and did everything but faint, and I might have accomplished that feat if Clara (for she insisted on that appellation) had not come in upon me, resolved to bring about different conditions. She succeeded at last, and the afternoon found us quietly sitting together in our middle room apparently enjoying ourselves, though I did not forget Hal was gone, and a cloud of woe overspread my mental horizon.
CHAPTER IV.
OUR NEW FRIEND.
We could not object to the stay of our cousin, and she planned to remain indefinitely. I always smiled at the relationship, and I don't know exactly how near it was, but this I believe was it--father's mother and Mrs. Desmonde's grandmother were cousins; that brought me, you see, into