The Harvest of Years | Page 6

to take a great liking to Hal, and,
seated in our family circle, this first night of our acquaintance,
expressed great regret at his early departure, and remarked several
times during the evening, that it would have been so nice if Halbert and
her son Louis Robert could have been companions here in "Cosy
Nook," as she called our house. It seemed anything but a nook to me,
situated as it was on high ground, while about us on either side, lay the
seventy-five acres which was my father's inheritance, when he attained
his 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