ney : ohare esata aia Reese Aste ARG = ihe "rete. i aetiN : : z Pept : - sneseuegts a4 ' Hi Rapeanats eat aaks 4 i ¢ pe cay sesirtay SAiersyt p15 }¢ sa Peaibebtoe eeteatentat sted Cee eeel H be sei Sss AiSALLlszass. Mepe ysis ice Sy Estates perines . y é the ine eae ears Lisi rene Ha ie stat staeeseatt rete nit at ab ° tees es pga seers mn tibia! fiteleitetanieletg ete tactsset ae Sear nase : ease ereracdrsesstes asbie tis : pretreat its slepeacgeneats aes n Bere? arith faye : parents ie lasrts : ‘ ran es feos : iat rT} fete eslersisis stars nt + eens it cee spe : ; { t y serena acpaitat, [atledt At Rican MIE a slore | cee a pha tateias srelaleselesule sai ltbete, aoe ¢ aie = +! ‘ asics * tM barter as i i Pen eae $ tke (carettsteshionss ti ‘holasgies i : bea hie oe : Res as i He abet riers te . L % rye ts = >| 5 bs He se BRR " thes giyfais Peisste ‘ : pets Hheiereiene sn aleteie F eet) $ 4 “ i i , ia ape ad Lala pap jen peasene rd pope tts pretest Be Byot hay 7 tit Titetabart Feteet is Stabe te Sea Oar ta eee amen paegeth apnth anne annna rere fey ieaeks ‘ fedecee i, eeuieic eal " : sotrestss Pryrere Merge StH Bey TERE T 3 Ties iecs sass i haletete! ¥ erie pairs Herren tin Sera teaH ad iaTedsiateiede ian hasciete Hee Benhs abuts hits ates Z tule “$ 03 . 4 . - of sa dares a “ yy fefesete re te 3 safest es sierishatetnercetes No. 3G. RULES OF THE Universalist Sabbath School Library, St. Johnsbury Center, Vt. I. Members of the Sabbath School and those who attend the Universalist meeting are entitled to take books from the Library. iki No volume can be retained from the Library more than two weeks. Lik. A fine of two cents a week will be charged if the books are retained longer than two weeks. IV. Persons taking books from the Library will be held responsible for their return and for any damage that may occur to them. Vi Not more than two volumes can be taken at any one time by one person. VI. The Librarian shall keep an exact account of all books received, loaned and returned. UNIVERS!Ty | __ ILLINOIS ee, AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN BOOKSTACKs Wi) FATE tq} iNET a AAT HA NH NAGA UNA Mi HAN A THE HARVEST OF LOVE. A STORY FOR THE HOME CIRCLE. BY MINNIE S. DAVIS, AUTHOR OF **MARION LESTER.?? e BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY A. TOMPKINS, “ 38 & 40 CoRNHILL. 1860. ad eo Entered according to Act of ft Gegieke in the year 1859, by We ; Ay TOMPKINS, . : i In wee Clerk’ Office of the District Pom of the District of Massachusetts PREFACH. EE ooo ENncouraGeD by the kindly welcome which > greeted “Marion Lester,’ and in compliance $ with the wishes of her friends, the author here. ‘> . presents an earlier work, — the first continuous “effort of her pen. She has reviewed it with care ; and, though conscious that it is still im- ‘perfect, she hopes it may not prove wae unacceptable. \ Though the author gattiered the suatennle for her story only in the realms of imagination, she 2 believes there is nothing i in it untrue to nature. “Doubtless many will be able to point out the Niliving counterparts of some of the characters Shere portrayed. © Dear reader, are you seeking a “sensation “novel,” gorgeously colored, with intricate plot _ yand startling denouement ?— then lay this little Sbook aside; it is not for you. But if you wish g7C€- AE ® IV PREFACE. to find truth guiding the hand of fancy, —if you love a simple, home story, developing such characters as would bless and beautify that spot where all the holiest affections of the heart are centred,— perchance you may find pleasure in perusing these pages. : MINNIE 8. DAVIS. BetHeL, May, 1859. Ay CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. cements CHILDISH CHARACTER, + + + + ++ e+ ee es eS Aa ena 7 CHAPTER If, HOME INPLUENCH |. Bog 5 Peers) aso ected eke Ce a Eee 8 GHAPTER Tit. THE POWER OF KINDNESS, ...- « Pare hat eee 1c 6.t ox oh eee CHAPTER IV. THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING, . » « «= « ata gales uteuet ieee 33 CHAPTER V. SOOO SCENES;) «ful ss FL aloes beanie Mens Boo eee AL : CHAPTER VI. PLANS FOR CLINTON’S IMPROVEMENT, . «+ «2 es es «© « » 51 CHAPTER VII. PORESTADOWINGS 0% be Cis 6 te ee ve wa tae liek et eeemes 62 CHAPTER VIII.° BORA VEEN Tn oie ee et Ae. ae al elite eh ape devel epee are (cae CHAPTER 1X. NiCWACOMEES, - 0 eile c Wop eh ratisceica LS leis hatcebial seraiee 76 GHA P Tt Roark. CHENGHE Ge ah eee ets cok oe ia” eae ts Rake sh Cee 86 * ; CHAPTER XxX £. GeaeeVORTUNES OF OLINTON, 40 os, (so eet see se e+. 0 LOA CHAPTER XII. WEWeOBVPLOPMUNTO. oo ic). geo ef eueie bce +8) 0) eh 6 geiae 123 | GHA PTER: ALEL: “EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES, + « «© © eo se ee wo - 181 CHAPTER XIV. SORROW, — NOW PLANS, cote Sh eo ee bg wt ela 8 8 . 144 VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER XV. NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME, « .. . «eee Ar ae eu |) CHAPTER XVI. SPR UIOUN PTR LONG Wi! a Vref ae Sb ae ce Ly diechiwlh cis we fin te - 164 CHAPTER XVII BETOOME MOME e'\cun eta) ish oso 0 tae os Sas le Tipts c aie iets Nae O CHAPTER XVIII. AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS UPON THE STAGE, . . » « « « « « 189 CHAPTER XIX. TUG ORS EDs 1 to ths tao tty ae ie ice (ie 8 as Lime a ee 191 CHAPTEHR. xX GOMPORT: aici Vino ees iy reo ve the So tle ee hac eects Se Pe las 4CHAPTER XXI. A ATANDER EE OROUND, 6°!" sw veh s js 6. oie te Gb. se Sea ee SL CHAPTER XX Sis LOVE. — HOPE WOT: OUP AETN, oe eee sete bo elm Walon Te 210 CHAPTER XXIII. POMINA GD LMTERLOM Ss be ep evo. ook ce re eke OR Rae a 217 CHAPTER ele OUR HERO BROUGHT TO HIS SENSES, »« «s+ ee ew ee 2238 CHAPTER UA AY. HAPPINESS. —LAURETTA’S PRIDE, «1s ss 0 s+ 0 © © wo 229 CHAPTER XXVI. UNCLE IKE IN A DILEMMA, “MH. .... lie in FOS, Sekt 288 CHAPTER XXVII. RE BIO AS Shi cg tee Lgl ie Vie fete ae Tae ak Lp alee Ra drs Bas’. CHAPTER XXVIII. A TATRETTAS Sia Helin ye lie: Soot rege, Rive ae a fe fe Seles eres eOU CHAPTER XXIX. RO WUNAISEON,, a) ot 1 9b. we Lec Sata ameaicent acs gta icact es lecciv), «x tele “* ¢ CHAPTER I. CHIBDISH CHARACTER. ‘WHAT a naughty thing Clint Forrest is! He is the worst boy in school. Just hear how wickedly he talks.” “OQ, Dora! I am sure he is not as bad as those great boys who vex him so. Everybody tries to plague poor Clint!” ‘But just see, Mina; he is kicking John Carter with all his might; he is mad enough to tear him in pieces. He has gota dreadful temper,—you can’t dispute that? ”’ ‘‘T know he acts very badly; but he hasn’t any father or mother to teach him. I almost cry when I think that he has nobody to love him. The boys always blame him for everything ; and I don’t believe he’d hurt any one if they didn’t provoke him to it.” ‘Perhaps he would n’t, Mina. I didn’t think any- thing about his having no fafler and mother. Poor Clint ! ” | The group of quarrelsome boys, which the children were passing, now dispersed, and they soon forgot them. The little maidens were on their way to school, and not a wild flower on the roadside escaped their eager grasp; for they must all be presented as — a love-token to their teacher. A childish though beautiful friendship existed between the little eg COC a a? . ‘4 Re P st: ; ie ; a 3 $ & * 8 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. % which had never been marred by the least difference or coldness. They had been together daily from in- fancy, and no sisters ever loved each other better. Dora May lived with her widowed mother in the pretty cottage close to Dr. Clement’s fine mansion. She was the love and pride of that mother’s heart. And well she might be, for the gay, spirited Dora won all hearts by her sweet vivacity of manner. Though six months older than Elmina Clement, she appeared more than that younger. Her tiny figure seemed quite babyish beside Elmina’s elegant form. Her beautiful hazel eye beamed with a happy light. One could not look upon her sunny face without a thrill of pleasure. The little friends usually acted in concert; but Elrfina’s was the guiding spirit. Hl- mina possessed a maturity of mind, a precocity of in- tellect, rarely “found in ‘a child of seven years. So unconscious was she of this, that it’ did not destroy the childishness so beautiful in childhood. Though she was caressed and petted much, she was not spoiled; that the spss care of her mother had prevented. Very happily did they ramble on their way. Dora _had given Mina all her flowers, that there might be one large bouquet. Elmina accepted them, saying she would tell Miss Morris that Dora had gathered half of them. | Just then a boy, about nine years old, came run- ning by them. ‘‘There is Clint,” said Dora; ‘‘ won- der if he has got over his passion ? ” The boy heard what she said, and turned back spitefully. “You wonder if Clint has got over his passion, do you? Iam never going to get over it. I shall keep in a passion all the time. Everybody hates me, and I’m sure I hate everybody.” CHILDISH CHARACTER. 9 “O, Clint, you ought not to say that! It is very wrong,”’ said Mina. ‘Tt is very wrong!” he repeated, mockingly. “*Q, don’t I wish I was a little lady, and had long, black curls! How smart I should feel, wearing m pink muslin frock and white apron, and telling folks that didn’t care about anything or anybody, that they were very wreng! ”’ ‘Do go away, you disagreeable boy !”’ cried Dora. ‘You are vastly mistaken if you think I’ll go at your order, miss.”’ Clint observed that Elmina car- ried her flowers very carefully, and snatched them from her, throwing them upon the ground, and tread- ing them ito the damp earth. She stoed for a moment silent with astonishment, then burst into tears. ‘‘Q, you want your flowers, de you, you dear little cry-baby? Here, take ’em an’ welcome.’’ So saying, he gathered up the soiled and broken flowers, with a handful ef mud, and threw them upon her neat dress. | : ‘Clint Forrest, you are the worst boy in the world! I don’t wonder everybody hates you,” cried the indignant Dora. “ Don’t think you ’ve teld me any news, for I knew it all before.”” With a loud laugh he turned towards the scheol-house. Q, what a laugh for a child like him! It teld of a heart barren of all the sweet affec- tions which love and kindness foster. It told fearfully of the neglect of that young immortal. Child as he was, his heart was incrusted with bitterness and dis- trust. But down deep in that little heart were springs capable of vibrating to the purest and holiest emotions. Of their existence the boy himself was ignorant. They had never been sought for. _ This last rude act seemed very cruel vand uncalled ee ae for to Elmina, when she felt so much kindness towards * 10 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. him, and had expressed it so warmly. ‘The sensitive child sobbed convulsively, while Dora vented her feel- ings in the use of all the angry expletives she could command. ‘“‘What is the matter, sis? ’”’ cried a pleasant voice, and Elmina’s brother Frank put his arm kindly about the little girl. ‘What is it, dear Mina?” he re- peated. ‘‘ You don’t often cry like this. What has happened, darling?’”’ She could not speak, though she strove to suppress her sobbing. Dora told the story with flashing eyes, and in so spirited a manner, that Frank supposed it much worse than it really was. He was as much displeased as Dora could wish him to be. He soothed his little , sister with true brotherly kindness, and, when the school-bell rung, her tears were wiped away, and she was trying to smile. ‘‘ Don’t go into school now, with your red eyes, Mina. You and Dora go down to the brook and bathe your face. Wait till you are smiling and cheerful, and I will excuse you to the teacher.”? As soon as the little girls were out of hearing, he muttered to himself, ‘‘'The young scamp ! to think of his hurting my sister! I suppose he’lJ vex sweet little Dora next. Miss Morris shall know it; and I hope she’! punish him severely. I’d like to train him for one week !’’ The two children passed down a narrow path, lead- ing behind the school-house, to the place where a rivulet babbled over shining pebbles and glistening sand. ‘The banks were high on both sides, except where a large shelving rock rose a few rods from the water. A spreading willow shaded the spot. In summer it was a very inviting place, both for its cool- ness and rude beauty. This was Dora’s and Elmina’s favorite retreat. Here they brought their toys and books, and played many: happy hours. Sometimes CHILDISH CHARACTER. 13 « Frank came and read stories to them, or brought his hook and line and caught the tiny fishes that sported in the water. They were so happy here, and loved the place so well, that Frank had christened it ‘Happy Nook.’ The other school children did not often molest them in their Happy Nook; for most of them preferred rude and noisy games to the quiet amusements that delighted our little friends. To this pretty spot the children now turned their steps. After Elmina had bathed her*heated brow and swollen eyes in the cool water, they seated them- selves upon the rock, their arms thrown lovingly about each other. ‘I thought I should try to love that rude Clint Forrest,” said Dora; ‘‘ but I don’t want to love him now; he has so abused you, dear Mina.”’ ‘‘T shall love him just as much as ever,” replied Elmina. ‘I was not angry with him, only very sorry.”’ “T should n’t think you would care much about him, after he has mocked you, and called you proud, and spoiled your flowers, and all that.. If Frank tells . Miss Morris, he’ll get whipped for it. Don’t you recollect that, when he pushed Lizzie French down yesterday, and made her cut her lip, she said she’d whip him the very next time he quarrelled with any- body, or hurt any one?” ; ‘So she did, Dora. O, I hope Frank hasn’t told her! I don’t want Clint to be whipped; for he didn’t hurt me any. Come, let us hurry, Dora, so that we can tell her that, if Frank has told her about It.”’ Dora’s sympathies were aroused, and the two chil- dren hastened to the school-room. When they entered, they instantly perceived they were too late | to save the little urchin from his threatened punish- ment. He had already been chastised, and ston? é Pi 12 THE HARVEST OF LOViRS before his teacher with a stubborn and determined expression on his face. His eyes were filled with the tears which he was too proud to let fall. ‘‘T hope you understand me now, Clinton,”’ said Miss Morris, in a cold, stern voice. ‘Take your seat, and remember this day’s lesson.” The boy took his seat, muttering, ‘‘ 1 wish I had hurt her! I wish I’d half killed her!” Miss Morris turned, and saw the children standing near, with flushed and excited faces. She placed her hand caressingly upon Elmina’s head, and asked, in a kind ‘voice, if Clint had hurt her much. Elmina did not reply to the question, but raised her eyes with a reproachful look to her teacher’s face, and said, ‘‘Did you punish Clinton because he vexed me?” “Yes, my dear. I was very sorry to be obliged to do so; but it is my duty to try to prevent his bad treatment of the scholars. Don’t feel so grieved about it, Mina.’”’? She stooped, and would have kissed the rosy, pouting lips, but the child prevented it by turning quickly away. She took her seat, hid her face in her apron, and wept. Miss Morris was much surprised, and tried to comfort her, but she shook her curly head very determinedly, and sobbed more bitterly. ; Clint peered at her through his tangled hair, atid wondered. He could not understand Mina’s feelings ; still he thought that he would rather be punished again than see her crying for him. He sag remarkably still all the afternoon, wondering how it happened that a beautiful little girl, with so many nice clothes and such a number of kind friends, could care enough about him to cry because he was hurt; and one, too, whom he had treated so very unkindly. ‘Where is that dear, little Mina?” cried one of the large girls, at recess. No one could tell; not » May e a.) * ia [eo i ILDISH CHARACTER. 13 even Dora. What a tender-hearted child she is! I wanted to put my arms about her and kiss her, when she was crying as though her heart would break.” ‘* Did you notice,”’ said another, ‘‘ how proudly she came out of the school-house ? Then, what a look she gave Miss Morris! It told, better than she could have expressed in words, her indignation. I did n’t know, before, that she had so much spirit.” ‘Wor my part,’’ chimed in Jane Kent, ‘I think she is a silly thing to make such a fuss about that beggar-boy. I believe she made it more than half just for the sake of the impression.’’ ‘Why, Jane!” said the first speaker, ‘we all know Elmina too well to believe a word of it. I should think Clinten Forrest would be ashamed ever to look at her again. I wonder where the little one has hid herself?” They could not find the runaway, and they gave up the search, concluding that she had gone home. She did not make her appearance at school again’ that ' . afternoon, and Dora went home sad and lonely without her. ) CHAPTER II. HOME INFLUENCE. A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command 5 And yet a spirit still and bright, With something of an angel light. WORDSWORTH. THE beautiful Connecticut winds its silvery course through: the green plains of Oakville, —a charming rural “village. I'he emerald hills rise majestically towards heaven, throwing their cool shadows across the shining waters. How the heart of nature’s wor- _ shipper revels in the grand scenery which the Inimi- table Artist has pencilled along the banks of our own » beloved Connecticut! A writer from the far-famed West has called New England a noble “ panorama,” which she should like to visit on a pleasure excursion ; but thought a home in the fertile and luxuriant West far preferable. Not so, Earth has no purer, sweeter homes, than the thousands nestling in the green bosom of New England. arth has no nobler, wiser men, no gentler, truer women, than those who are the dwellers in these homes. One of these homes —a model home —a ‘ minia- ture heaven on earth,” we will introduce to the reader. The finest and most tasteful residence in Oakville is the property of Dr. Clement, —a generous, public- spirited man, and a skilful physician. He is emphat- (IB) oe a, HOME INFLUENCE. 15 ically the man of the place. His wealth and station in society render him influential, while his generosity and affable manners make him popular. The poor do not envy, nor the rich rival him. He is alike the friend of the high and lowly. His wife and two children, Frank and Elmina, are the treasures which God has lent and enshrined within his heart and home. 3 , The wife and mother is the guiding-star of this happy family. What sunshine is to day, what health is to life, what religion is to man, is she to every member of the household. ‘A perfect woman, nobly _ planned.”’ We think she must have been formed after Wordsworth’s beautiful ideal. She possesses a delicate and pleasing person, a refined and cultivated intellect, and a heart where the religion of love dwells as in a fitting temple. Her husband loves her almost idolatrously, and her children reverentially. One beautiful evening, Mrs. Clement sat by her open window, watching the gentle falling of the cur- ~ tain which twilight spreads before the glory of re- treatmg day. Karly September had added a soften- — ing charm to nature, which had seemed almost too » beautiful before. The birds were softly chanting whale eta ‘* sood-night songs,’”’ and the fragrance.of many flow- ers was wafted to her on the wings of the zephyr. She had ** Looked and listened, till the spell Of music and of beauty fell So radiant. on her heart,’’ that her senses seemed lost in a sweet revery. A glad laugh and the sound of childish voices aroused her. A happy smile danced ’neath the lids of her eyes as she called, in her gentle, motherly voice, ‘Mina, bid Dora ‘good-night’ and come in to “mamma, for the dew is falling.” 16 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. A moment more, and Elmina skipped into the room, followed by Frank, who seated himself by the table, and commenced studying his lessons for the morrow. Elmina drew her little chair to her mother’s side, and Jaid her head in her Jap, looking up into her face with smiling eyes. ) Mrs. Clement parted the damp curls from her daughter’s brow, saying, ‘‘Is my little girl sorry when night comes,.and she must leave her play and come in and stay with her mother ?”’ “OQ; no, mamma! I love Dora dearly, and papa “and Frank ever so much; but you, mamma, I love better than everybody else! It seems so nice to lay my head in your lap when I am tired. O, mamma!” she added, raising her head eagerly, with the sudden thought, “tell me some more about the angels and heaven. I wish I was an angel myself, when I hear you talk about them.” ‘“‘T have told you all I know, my love. You must recollect that 1 have never seen an angel; they live with God in heaven.” ‘Then, mamma, please tell me about Jesus, who slept in a manger, and how the angels sung when he was born. When you tell me about that, I feel as though I should always be good.”’ The pleased mother related, as she had many times before, the story of the birth of our Saviour. She interspersed it with judicious remarks calculated to impress the plastic mind of her eager listener with the value and beauty of religion. Child as Elmina was, her greatest desire was to become good. Her mother she deemed perfect ; and, as was most natural, she looked upon her as her model and example. Mrs. Clement knew this, and with earnest solicitude she strove thus early to implant in the mind of her child a love for that only perfect example and pattern—our HOME INFLUENCE. 17 Saviour. She felt that her delicate and sensitive child could never withstand the trials and temptations of this life without His holy arm to lean upon. Though she was anxious that her beloved children should attain to intellectual. greatness, she considered that insig- nificant when compared to a character adorned with the Christian graces. Mina listened to her mother’s words with great seriousness. After she had ceased speaking, she sat _ silent and thoughtful for some time. Mrs. Clement, thinking proper to divert her mind to some lighter and more trifling subject, inquired if they had had a pleasant school that day. The question seemed to confuse Mina; for she blushed, and fixed her eyes upon her mother’s with a troubled expression. Mrs. Clement looked at her with surprise, and asked if she had not been a good girl. | The reply was in a low voice. ‘‘No, mamma, DP m afraid that I have not been very good. ‘How have you been naughty, my dear? I hope you was not so at school.” ‘Why, mamma, I looked cross at my teacher, and would not let her kiss me.’ ‘ Looked cross at your teacher, Mina! How came you to be so disrespectful ? Tell me all about it.” ‘“‘T could n’t love her any!, She whipped poor Clinton Forrest when he didn’t deserve it. Wasn't it too bad, mamma? He did not hurt me at all; he only spoiled my flowers.” Her eyes were sparkling © with tears. She forgot her own misconduct in her childish indignation against her teacher. ‘You seem to think that I know part of the story. You will have to tell me what Clinton did, before I can understand it.” 2 «e 18 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ‘Tet me tell you about it, mother,’’ said Frank, who had been listening to the conversation. ‘‘ Mina seems to think it was a dreadful affair; though it was n’t much, after all.” He then explained to his mother his meeting the little girls, and Elmina’s grief and Dora’s anger. “Then,” he continued, “I was very angry 00, and told Miss Morris, and she punished him, as she had been threatening to do for a long time. I’m very sorry -I did, though, since Mina takes it so to heart.’ ‘“T scolded at Frank, too, when we came home, because he told the teacher,” said Elmina. ‘I know he did it because he loves me so, and don’t want me to be treated badly.” ‘QO, never mind that, sis!’”? said Frank, good- humoredly. “T should n’t know how to appreciate your sweetness, if you were not a — cross some- times.” ‘I do not wonder that you were ‘geleved, Mina,” ae Irs. Clement. ‘‘ But I am sorry that you should treat’ your teacher and brother unkindly. I am glad, though, that it is nothing worse. I feared, by your looks, that you had done something very wrong.” ‘OQ, mamma, that is not all!’’ Elmina turned her blushing and tearful face away from her mother’s anxious gaze. ‘' When I went out at recess — - “When you went out at recess!’ interrupted Frank. ‘O, mother, I wish you could have seen her! She went out like a queen, with her head thrown back so proudly! Then she gave Miss Mor- ris such a look—it would have annihilated a common person ina minute! I never knew that Mina had so much temper before. She didn’t come into school again all the afternoon. Where did you hide your~ self, sis ?”” HOME INFLUENCE. ’ 19 ‘¢T ran down to Happy Nook as quick as I could, so that Dora .or anybody else couldn’t see me. I did n’t mean to stay only a minute, but I felt so bad thinking about poor Clint, that I could n’t go back. I knew it was naughty to stay, but I could n’t bear to see Clint, for fear he would hate me.” Mrs. Clement listened with mingled emotions of pleasure and pain. She was grateful to know that her daughter was so tender to the poor and eppressed, but grieved that she should manifest so rebellious a spirit towards her teacher. It was something very new in Mina, and she was surprised as well as grieved. Hlmina argued, from her mother’s silence, that she was very much displeased with her, and she hid her face in the folds of her dress, and sobbed. ‘‘ Don’t cry, my love,” said Mrs. Clement. ‘I think your teacher will forgive you, if you tell her you are sorry. Iam willing to believe that you did. not mean te de very wrong; that you were so sorry for Clint that you forgot yourself.”’ ‘You are such a good mother not to say I was a bad girl!’ said Elmina, gratefully. ‘‘I did n’t mean to be naughty to Miss Morris. I want to be good, so everybedy will love me.’ ‘Try very hard to u good, my dear child, and ask God to help you every day.” “Twill, mamma; but I wish I was as good as you. I would never ask to be any better.”’ ‘‘My darling, there is a perfect example — Jesus Christ. If you take him for your guide, you may become much better and wiser than your mother.”’ ‘‘ Better than you, mamma! How can that be? I thought you were always good.” 5) 0, no, Mina; I am often wrong, and need to ask forgiveness of God. But let us talk about your teacher. You said you did not love her. You must 20 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. recollect that she is older and wiser than you. She punishes Clinton because she wishes to make him a good boy.” “0, do love my teacher, though I thought I didn’t then. But she don’t love Clint, I’m sure. She never says a word to him, only to tell him what to do, or scold him when he is naughty.” ‘“‘Of course she don’t love him!” cried Frank. ‘‘ But she loves me, Frank,’’ said Elmina. ‘‘ She kisses me, and calls me her little darling. And Dora she calls her fairy. Why should-n’t she love Me Clint?” ‘Why, Mina, if she didn’t love you and Dery T should think she hadn’t any heart! It is quite another thing to love that ugly Clint Forrest.”’ You shan’t call him ugly! I say he is hand- some.’ ‘‘ Handsome ! — what an idea of beauty !’’? — and Frank laughed immoderately. ‘‘ Why, he is always as. ragged “and dirty as any heathen need be. His head forever looks like an oven-broom! ‘Then he has such an ugly scowl that I can’t bear to look at him.” ‘“ Frank!’ said Elmina, reproachfully, ‘‘ you know Clint has no mother to keep him neat. His hair would be real curly if it was combed ; and his eyes are beau- tiful. Did you ever notice them, Frank, when he was good-natured? You would say they were handsome, if you did.” ‘‘ Well, to please you, sis, I'll say he’s a beauty; _ but you can’t make me say he isn’t a bad boy. Everybody says he is bad.”’ “That is it. Poor Clint!’ said’ Mrs. Clement. ‘Everybody says he is a bad boy, and I’m afraid there are but few that try to love him and make him better.” ‘No, mamma,” said Mina. ‘There isn’t anybody HOME INFLUENCE. rat ae that loves him. He said to-day that he hated every- body, and everybody hated him. I’m sure I could n’t be good at all, if I did not havea kind mother to show me how.” “‘T think Clinton never has had a fair chance,”’ said Mrs. Clement. ‘‘ He was always pushed about, and called wicked, before he knew what the word meant. I hope, dear Frank, that you will treat him kindly. If you are so disposed, you may be the means of doing him much good.” ‘“‘T believe you are right, mother,” said Frank. ‘‘ Clint has been neglected and abused. Ill try to help him to be good. I’m afraid, as Mina says, that Miss Morris does not try to get his love. I should think Mrs. Kent would dress him better, and take some pains with him.’ ‘We will not think of- Mrs. Kent’s duty, my son, but try to fulfil our own faithfully.” . Elmina was rejoiced that she had succeeded in enlisting the sympathies of her mother and Frank in behalf of poor Clint. With a happy heart she bade her brother ‘‘ good-night,’’ and followed her mother to her bed-chamber. ‘Mrs. Clement conversed a few minutes with her little girl, then listened to her evening prayer, and, with a kiss and a blessing, left her to her peaceful slumbers. When she’ returned to the parlor, a lady, sitting in the chair she had left, rose, and Mrs. Clement greeted her visitor with quiet politeness. “T thought I would run in just a minute,” said the visitor, as she reseated herself, ‘‘and see if it would n’t cheer me up a little. I have been so nerv- ous all day, that I could hardly contain myself.”’ “What ig the cause of your nervousness, Mrs. Kent? Are you not well?” “QO; yes, I’m well enough; but Bill keeps me ‘a BF THE HARVEST OF LOVE. worrying about him half the time. He goes into the water so much, that I am afraid he will have the cramp and get drowned. All I say to. him don’t do any good. ‘To-day he went off a-hunting with half a dozen wild fellows. He doesn’t know anything about a gun, and I’ve felt so anxious about him that I have n’t enjoyed myself in the least to-day.” ‘‘T don’t wonder you are anxious; but is his father willing to have him go?” ‘OQ, Mr. Kent always lets him do as he pleases. He thinks everything Bill says and does is right. He has spoiled him, that is sure! Now he is so old T can’t make him mind. I don’t know what will become of him !”’ “So old you can’t make him mind!” said Mrs. Clement, in surprise. ‘‘ Why, he isn’t more than thirteen, is he?” ‘No; just the age of your Frank. He has grown strangely wilful of late. Lam completely discouraged. The other day I told him I wished he would spend his evenings at home, as Frank’ does. He replied that ‘he didn’t want to be tied to’ his mother’s apron- string.’ Then he went and got one of his father’s eigars (he knows I hate to have him smoke), and— went off puffing like any man! But I can’t help being proud of him,” continued the weak mother, is so bold’and manly !” or Mrs. Clement thought that she should never be proud of such manliness in her boy, but rs | kept, the thought to herself. * It were scarce possible to find a character more opposite to Mrs. Clement’s than that of Mrs. Kent, who Was coarse and unrefined in manners, and pas- sionate, yet weak and irresolute. Her children she loved foolishly, for she spoiled them with indulgence, and then comforted herself by throwing all the blame Coe he es HOME INFLUENCE. - 93° upon her husband. Of course they neither loved nor feared her, and in consequence her maternal anxieties were often excited by their misconduct. ‘“‘T don’t understand,” said Mrs. Kent, ‘how you manage to keep Frank with you somuch. Why, my children never think of sitting down in theqhouse with me, for half an hour. They would think it was a dreadful thing, if I should make them.”’ “Tt requires no great exertions on my part, ”? re- plied Mrs. Clement, smiling. ‘ Frank may sates for himself if it is unpleasant for him.” Mrs. Kent never received such a glance from her son as that which now warmed Mrs. Clement’s heart. With an affectionate smile, and a beaming eye, Frank exclaimed, ue am never so happy as when neat my dear mother ! Mrs. Kent's eyes filled, and a pang shot through her heart, as she contrasted him with her own way- ward and ungrateful son. But she never thought of reproaching herself for the difference, —she only wondered it was so. ‘“‘T think you'are a remarkable person, Mrs. Clem- ent. Everybody seems to yield to your wishes, as _ though they were happier for so doing. Ann 38 con- tinually praising you up, and says she would not leave you for another mistress, for all.the world. She says, too, that you spend a great deal of time in talking to Mina about religious things, and telling her Bible stories. ‘That seems to me te be all nonsense! [ never tal to my children about such things; they ’il find ’em out themselves as they grow older.” | “‘T cannot agree with you there, Mrs. Kent. I think our children should very early be taught the difference between riglt and wrong, and then they - will be more apt to choose the right. 9 “Of course, Mrs. Clement, I ‘teach mine that. I 24 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. tell them it is dreadful wicked to lie and steal, and I should certainly whip them if I ever knew of their doing so. But I mean there’s no use in talking to children about religion and goodness half the time. It makes them too sober.” ‘“T thought you approved of religious instruction for children, as you send yours to the Sunday-school,” said Mrs. Clement. ‘“O, la! I send them because everybody else does, not because I’m so particular about their going. Pray, what good would going to Sunday-school, or all the good instructions in the world, do Clint Forrest ?” _ Mrs. Clement had been desirous of speaking of Clinton to Mrs. Kent. It was a delicate subject, and she knew not how to approach it, fearing to offend her neighbor, and thus do more harm than good. She said, gently, ‘Iam not sure but that it might im- prove him. You don’t believe he is wholly bad, do ou?” ‘ ‘““'Yes, indeed I do, Mrs. Clement! I’ve wasted all the breath I ever shall in talking to him and telling him how he ought to do. I do verily believe he’s the worst child in the world!’’ She grew elo- quent, as. she often did, when talking of Clint’s wick- edness. ‘‘He is the great trial of my life. I said last winter that he should not stay with fs; that I would not try to do anything with him. But Mr. Kent has taken him in hand lately, and has got him a little broken under. He don’t dare to show out his ugliness as he used to.”’ Mrs. Clement saw with pain how impossible it was to awaken right feelings in Mrs. Kent’s heart, and with great tact turned ‘the subject; still thinking in her own mind of ways and means of befriending poor, friendless Clinton. CHAPTER CLL. THE POWER OF KINDNESS. - Miss Morris sat at the table, in her pleasant school-room, writing letters. It was a quiet and con- venient place for study, and she often brought her books or writing thither. The morning was bright and fair; and the gentle breezes dallied with the maps upon the walls, or stole softly through the room, sigh- ing, as if mourning for the sweet presence of the little throng that daily gathered there. A light step ar- rested her attention, and, looking up, she beheld Mina by her side, with a peace-offering of flowers. ‘Here are some flowers for you, Miss Morris.” ‘Thank you, Mina; they are very sweet. I hope my darling will not deny me a kiss this mornipg ?”’ Elmina clasped her arms around her t s neck, and presented her cherry mouth for a kiss’ ‘‘ Mamma thinks I was very wrong yesterday, and says I should ask you to forgive me. I am very sorry indeed, dear teacher.”’ ‘Tt is easy for me to forgive you, little Mina, as you never were naughty before, and now ask pardon so sweetly.” And she sealed the forgiveness with another kiss. ‘' There, I hear Dora’s voice; run out and play till I ring the bell, for I wish to finish my letter.” She thought Mina had gone, and turned to her writing. A moment after, she was started with the sound of a sigh, and, turning her head, she per- (25) 26 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ceived the child still standing by her side, and regard- * ing her very wistfully. ‘‘ What is it you wish to say, little one?” Her beautiful eyes deepened with expression and feeling, as she met the lady’s gaze; and, with a voice pleadingly, touchingly earnest, she said, ‘‘ You will love poor Clint?’ Then, as if fearful she had offended, she glided quickly away. “You will love poor Clint ?”’ Like new, strange music, did these words fall on the heart of little Clin- ton ; for he heard them. He had followed Elmina as she entered the school-room, and, hidden behind the door, heard all. that passed. ‘‘ Could any one love him, a ragged, dirty, wicked boy? Could the beau- tiful Elmina, the pet and idol of the village, love him?” The thought of a thing so joyful, but strange, brought a gush of tears from his eyes. 9, blessed tears!—the first ever brought from that long- sealed fountain of tenderness and feeling. They be- | dewed the wild flowers which he held in his hand, and made them holy things. These selfsame flowers Mina found upon her desk when the school commenced. As she took them up, wonderingly, she glanced at Clinton, and immediately knew, by his looks, that he had placed them there. Their language was, ‘‘that Clint was very sorry for his unkindness.”” At least she read it so; and with a glad smile she held them up to him significantly, nod- - ding her thanks. Clinton had watched her eagerly; and when he saw that she understood him, and prized the flowers, he hid his face with his book, for another gush of tears flooded his eyes. “You will love poor Clint?” Reprovingly, re- proachfully, did the words and tone come to the ear of Miss Morris. They wakened her to a keen sense THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 44 of her error in her management of the wayward boy. They pointed out one path in which she had not tried to lead him, — the path of love. The duties of the day she performed mechanically, for she was. absent- minded and thoughtful ; questioning her own conduct, “talking with her past hours.’’ ‘‘ Had she performed ‘all her duty towards the poor orphan boy? She had not!” Harnestly, oft prayerfully, as she had striven to be worthy of her high calling, she was conscious that she had sadly failed in the first, great duty of obtaining the love of all her charges. Miss Morris was not heartless. She had only fallen mto the common error of considermg Clinton as being incapable of yielding to the influence of kindness, and naturally had adopted a course of severity. QO, sad it was for her, but sadder still for the much-wronged boy! She blessed in her heart the angel-child who had. - unconsciously taught her her duty. She spoke _ kindly to Clinton, and strove to win him to her side with love; but it was too late! The school term closed in'three weeks, and it would have taken a much longer time to turn his ill-will to confidence and love. : , A few months later, and she was a happy bride, loving and beloved. But never did she cease to regret the golden opportunity she had lost, of blessing a poor, friendless child with her own love and kindness. About ten years before the-opening of our story, a young man, by the name of Forrest, and his delicate, pensive bride, came and settled in Oakville. He engaged a neat tenement, and lived: very happily, though frugally, with his sweet wife. It was evident that they depended upon his daily earnings, for he labored constantly, and with a right good will. They 98 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. were from a distance, and strangers to all the vil- lagers. Those whose pleasure it was to visit them in their simple home spoke of the tender and beautiful love that existed between the young couple. The memory of some sorrow seemed to give.a look of quiet sadness to her pale, pensive countenance, which the husband seemed ever striving to remove by increasing affec- tion and tenderness. Perhaps he, in a measure, suc- ceeded, for she grew more cheerful, and they appeared happy as poor mortals can be. ; This pleasing state of things was not to last long. The spoiler entered their Eden. Death knocked at the portal, and went not away alone! . Mr. Forrest was violently seized with a fever, and in a few short days his lifeless body was laid beneath the green turf. The first outbreak of grief on the part of the young widow was overwhelming and terrible. But this soon subsided into a cold and stony apathy, that was even more distressing than her passionate sorrow. Her neighbors tried to arouse her by talking of her friends, and asking where they should send to find them. Her only reply was a mournful shake of the head, or a quivering sigh. They knew that they must soon lay her by her husband, for already the death-angel was hovermg near. After her fatherless babe was born, the dazzling brilliancy of her eye, with its expression of agony, told that she was fully conscious of her desolate and bereaved condition. She would lay for hours, regarding the tiny being by her side with a mournful tenderness that was indescribably touching. Good old Mrs. Wilkins, who took the care of Mrs. Forrest upon herself, did all in her power to restore her to life and health. But human aid was vain; the poor lady was hourly passing away, — ever with her THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 99 eyes upon her babe, — ever with that pleading expres- sion of love! The sun was setting; and Mrs. Wilkins feared her patient would never see it rise again. She was exceedingly anxious to learn of the relatives of the mother, that she might know where to send the babe, and with great delicacy she approached the subject. ‘‘ What shall we ar your baby, Mrs. Forrest?” she said to the dying woman. ‘‘ We must have his father’s name, Clinton Edward Forrest; it is all I can a him, poor thing!” was the low answer. “Mrs. Forrest,’’ said the nurse again, ‘‘ do you not feel that God has called you; that you will soon meet your dear husband ?”’ A faint, sweet smile parted the wan lips of the sufferer, as she raised her fading eyes heavenward. ‘She ’s most there, sure!’’ thought the old lady, as she wiped her tearful eyes. But she must be aroused from this torpor, else it would be too late ever to gain the so much desired information. “ Dear lady, you would not leave your babe alone in the world? Have you not strength to tell me where I may find his father’s friends ?”’ The words seemed to call her from the borders of the grave. With a look of sudden anguish she mur- mured, ‘OQ, no, no! but Clinton was an orphan — alone —”’ ‘‘ But your friends, dear lady, tell me of them,” said Mrs. Wilkins, bending low to catch the broken and almost inaudible answer. ‘Yes, send him to them; they will care — brothers will love my child —” ‘A spasm shook her frail form, and her eyes closed heavily. After a moment, seemingly of suspended life, the eyes opened with a 30 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. quick gleam of intelligence. As she moved her hand feebly towards her babe, she murmured, ‘ Poor Clint —”’ The fair hand dropped cold and lifeless upon her breast; the lids closed over those eyes never to open again; the pulsation of that burdened heart had ceased forever ! Mrs. Wilkins bent over the clay in speechless erief. The mournful death of the young creature before her had shocked her kind heart; and she was filled with apprehensions for the fate of the little orphan. The proceeds of the simple furniture, when sold, barely covered the expenses of the sickness and death of the young couple; there was nothing left for the little one. Everybody was full of wonder and curi- osity concerning. the strange silence of Mrs. Forrest in regard to her friends. Even death could not repress slanderous tales, or evil and suspicious whisperings. But what should be done with the baby? Ah, there were many to ask, but none to answer, the question! Mrs. Wilkins would gladly have taken him to her heart, and cherished him as her own, but she was poor and dependent herself. What should be done with the baby? Alas! there was not one heart, not one home open to receive it. It was carried to the poor-house. Sad fate it was for the tender germ of humanity ! The matron of the house was a busy, bustling woman, with a host of duties on her hands. She fed the baby when she did not forget it, and washed and dressed it when she had time. Sickly, and always pining for the want of proper care and nourishment, it was a peevish and fretful babe. The matron declared she despised the pale, cross thing, and every one in the establishment echoed the sentiment. ‘There were no loving arms to fold around the little one; no THE POWER OF KINDNESS. 31 tender breast to pillow his weary head; no careful eyes to watch his infant steps; no kind voice to win his heart to love and goodness! When he became old enough to play out of doors he grew robust and strong. At the age of three years he was a sturdy little fellow, whose-striking charac- teristics were an obstinate spirit, and a passionate temper. Neglect and unkindness had not made him timid or fearful. All the evil passions of his nature were daily brought into active exercise, while good and noble emotions were never awakened. At school he early distinguished himself for wilful disobedience and impudence, and soon earned the reputation of being the worst boy in school.. He looked upon all the scholars as his enemies; and, consequently, he was insolent and quarrelsome. A year before the commencement of our tale he was placed in the family of Mr. Kent, who was to receive pay for his board until he arrived at the age of eleven years. Mr. Kent promised to give him the shoemaker’s trade, and set him up in business, if he did well and was a good boy. People thought he was perfectly safe in making this conditional promise, as there was small prospect of Clint’s ever becoming remarkably good. Clinton was little better off in his new home, though, being under stricter government, some of his evil habits were restrained. Had Mrs. Kent tried to gain his love she would easily have succeeded, -for his heart was nearly bursting with the desire for affec- tion. A kind word, a little forbearance on her part, would have soon secured respectful and grateful obe- dience. But she was ignorant of her duty to the orphan, and never addressed a word to him, except to command or reprove. Reader, do you know a child like Clinton, — way- ward, full of childish errors, yet needing, more than ow 32 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. all things else, sympathy and love? Do you know of a fatherless and motherless one, whom fortune seems ever to frown upon? Is there near you a little, throbbing, aching heart, growing cold and hard for a want of kindly counsel? 0, speak tenderly to him! A word may help him, a sentence may save him ! CHAPTER IV. THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. THANKSGIVING-DAY had arrived—that time-hon- ored New England festival—that “feast of good things ’’— that reunion of kindred and loving hearts — that home jubilee. What a busy, bustling, happy time! How the children hasten to join the “ old folks at home!’’ How the brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, and cousins, gather around the fes- tive board in the dear old farm-house ! Hard, indeed, it is for those whom fortune denies the privilege of visiting ‘‘the loved ones at home’’ on this the glad day of the year. What joyful greetings — what hearty hand-shakings — what laughter — what telling of news — what a destruction of edibles — O, what a host of pleasures crowd into this Thanksgiving-day ! Thanksgiving-day! The “dew of feeling” moist- ens the eye, as the memory of happy thanksgivings presses upon the heart. Perhaps the light of a beauti- ‘ful eye is quenched in night; perchance a beloved voice is hushed in death. ‘There are vacant seats at the table, there are desolate hearth-stones, and there are broken links in the chain of love. Perhaps the mourning heart says, in its sorrow, ‘‘ There are no more thanksgivings for me. I will go down to the grave sorrowing for,the loved afd lost.’’ Christian, count thy blessings, if thou canst. There are other aching hearts, other lacerated bosoms than 3 (83) 34 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. thine. Go, ‘visit the widow and fatherless in their affliction; ’’? go, ‘‘ speak comfort to the sorrowing,”’ and thy life shall be one long Thanksgiving. There was much running hither and thither in Mr. Kent’s household on this Thanksgiving morning. Extra preparations had been made on this occasion ; for a score of relatives were expected to celebrate the day with them. Mrs. Kent’s ample store-room was filled to overflowing with every variety of baked meats, rich pies and cakes, with innumerable nameless dainties. Mrs. Kent was here, and there, and every- Where, arranging this or that, and directing Betty, who was dressing the great turkey. Miss Jane was frettmg for fear her dress, which was still at the mantua-maker’s, would not be completed in time for her to dress for dinner. Master Bill was order- ing every one, and strutting about, full of importance. For once, Clint forgot to be either cross or unhappy. Everybody. was so cheerful and busy, that he was glad to be cheerful and busy too. He willingly went, for the third time that morning, to inquire if Jane’s dress was finished. It was just completed, and the mantua-maker was carefully wrapping it in paper. Jane received it with delight, and hastened away to array herself in it. ‘Here, Clint, you lazy dog, take my boots and black ’em!”’ cried Bill. Clint had gone to work with a right good will, when Jane returned to display herself to the admiring eyes of Betty. “OQ my! Miss Jane, you look fit for a queen,”’ cried Betty, to the great satisfaction of the vain girl. Jane was really looking finely. Her beautiful dark hair was arranged verg tastefully, and the new dress, which was of blue thibet, richly embroidered, set off her delicate complexion to advantage. : or THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. 3 “Do you think so, Betty?” said Jane, with sparkling eyes. ‘I wonder if cousin Fred will call me handsome, as he did last Thanksgiving, when we were at grandpa’s?” ‘“T dare say he will,” said Betty. ‘But you must n’t stay in this dirty kitchen, or you will spoil your fine dress.’’ As Jane swept by Clinton, she brushed his arm so rudely that a quantity of blacking, in the brush which he held in his hand, was spattered upon the ° skirt of her beloved dress. Though it was an acci- dent, and she the only one to blame, she fell into a violent rage with Clint. ‘You envious, hateful boy! you have spoiled my beautiful dress. I know you did it on purpose; you could n’t bear to see me looking so well, so you blacked my dress.”’ _ Clint was really sorry for the mischief he had done, but he wouldn’t say so; and continued his work very quietly. His apparent indifference exas-— perated her so much the more, and she cried, pas- sionately, ‘‘ You deserve to be half killed, Clint Forrest! Don’t care, do you? I should black your face for you!” ‘What is the matter, Jane?”’ said Mrs. Kent, advancing into the room. ‘Just look at my dress, mother,”’ said Jane, half crying. ‘‘Clint threw some blacking on it. He could n’t be satisfied with blacking Bill’s boots, so he must black my dress.”’ “Ts that true?” said Mrs. Kent, angrily. ‘Yes, indeed, it is, ma’m,’’ said Betty, who always joined with the rest in the cry against Clinton. “TI saw him doit myself.” ‘You wicked boy!” cried Mrs. Kent, seizing him by the arm, and shaking him violently. “ 1’ll see if OBO THE HARVEST OF LOVE. I can’t teach you better than that!. IfI didn’t ex- pect my company every minute, I’d get a stick and whip you till you couldn’t stand! But you an’t going unpunished. You shan’t have one mouthful of Thanksgiving dinner. Betty, you see that he has nothing but brown bread and milk.’’ Betty promised obedience, and Mrs. Kent turned to examine more particularly the injury her daugh- . ter’s dress had sustamed. “Tt isn’t quite spoiled, after all, Jane. It can be easily repaired ; for the spot is close to the seam. You can wear-your silk apron, and that will hide it, to-day.’’ The mother and daughter, went away to smooth their ruffled tempers before the arrival of their ex- pected guests. Clinton looked after them with a heart swelling, almost bursting with anger. He clinched his fist, and set his teeth tightly together, in a sort of suppressed fury. He would have flown after them, and torn them in pieces, so terrible was’ his passion. * His mind could not remain long in this state, and his wrath quickly subsided. He thought - of the delicious feast which he had been anticipating ; he thought of the expected company. He had fancied that he should enjoy seeing the children play, and perhaps, as they didn’t know how bad he was, they would ask him to join their games. He sobbed with grief as he thought that all his enjoyment for the day was spoiled. He had incurred the displeasure of Mrs. Kent, and he knew the consequences by sad experience. Soon he heard laughter and gay greetings in the parlor, and he knew that the visitors had arrived. “Why have n’t I any friends?” thought he. ‘‘ Why is there no one glad to see me? QO, I know Thanks- giving-days were not made for such boys as me; for i’ve nothing in the world to be thankful for !” THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. oe | When dinner was nearly ready, he crept into the hall, close to the dining-room door. The tinkling of glasses, the rattling of cups, and the clatter of knives and forks, were tantalizing to the poor hungry boy. A flurry of snow was whitening the ground; the outer door was ‘open, and the chilly wind swept through the hall, making him shiver with cold. Still _ he refhained there, listening, as if in fascination, to the conversat f the happy company gathering in the dining-room. ‘There was a momentary hush, and he heard a manly voice craving the blessing of God before they partook of his bounty. A scornful - gmile played over Clint’s features as he said to him- self, ‘‘O, yes, they can sit down to their grand dinner, and ask God to bless them, while they don’t care if Clint starves!”’ : After a short time the parlor-door opened, and a little boy, elegantly dressed, came and steod upon the door-step. He held out his fat, dimpled hap, and laughed a happy laugh, to see the snow-flakes melt upon it. Clint watched him eagerly, and wished that he was as beautiful and happy. Presently a lady appeared, and said, in a sweet voice, ‘‘ Willie, dear, 1’m afyaid you will take cold if you stand at the door. You had better come in with mamma.” She took his hand gently, and looked into his laugh- ing face with an expression of pride and love. This little scene affected Clinton strangely. He felt more keenly than before his desolate condition, and he began to weep. He feared some one would hear him, and he rushed out of the house, scarcely knowing what he did es: Dr. Clement’s family were gatltered in the cheerful parlor. The glowing grate and sperm candles filled the room with a brilliant light; the curtains were. oS THE HARVEST OF LOVE. drawn down early, that, as Frank said, it might seem like a real winter evening. Mrs. May and her little Dora were their only guests; for they had no rela- tives near who could come to keep Thanksgiving with them. Lhe elder people were conversing cheerfully to- gether, and the little folks were seated at a table, playing a game of ‘‘ Dr. Busby,” with lively iffferest. Altogether it was just such a cheerfulhappy group as you doubtless have often helped to form. Ann came in to ask if they would have tea in the dining-room, or whether it should be brought into the parlor. ‘‘O, bring it in here, if you please, Ann!” cried Elmina ; ‘it is so bright and pleasant here that we should like it much.” = “Ves, let’s have it in here,” said Frank. “Tt will be much pleasanter.”’ Dr. Clement laughed as he bade Ann do as the children desired. When she came in again to spread the crumb-cloth, she said, ‘‘ Clint Forrest is in the kitchen, looking as though he had cried himself half to death, and shivering and shaking like the ague. I’ve no idea that Mrs. Kent has given him a mouth- ful of Thanksgiving dinner.” “T don’t believe she has, either,’’ said Frank. ‘Tt would be just hke her not to.” ‘Hush, Frank,’”’ said his mother; ‘‘you are speaking ill of another, and of a lady: too.” | ‘‘T don’t think I was any too harsh, mother; but I will not speak so again if you think it wrong.”’ “T am unwilling to think so badly of any one,” said Mrs. Clinton. ‘‘ You know we should not judge others.” ‘Dora and I may go out and speak to Clint, may we not, mamma?’’ said Mina. ~ 4 i THE ORPHAN’S THANKSGIVING. 39 “ Certainly, my love ; and, if he is unhappy, try to make him feel better.”’ They found Clint crouching ever the kitchen fire. His hair hung wildly about his face, and his eyes were swollen and distended with crying. ‘Why, Clint,” said Mina, “how woful you look ! What is the matter ?”’ Clint turned his red eyes upon her, without saying a word. ‘You should look happy to-day, Clint, for it is Thanksgiving-day,’’ said Dora. ‘What’s Thanksgiving-day to me, I’d like to know?” said Clint, moodily. ‘‘I should think you’d know that I have n’t anything to be thankful for.” ‘Not anything, Clint? An’t you thankful that you are alive and well?” ‘No, not that! I wish I was dead, I do!” The little girls were shocked. ‘‘I’m very sorry for you,’’ said Mina, tearfully. ‘‘ Dora and I have been as happy as birds all day, playing, and laughing, and singing.” ‘‘ And I have been crying, and freezing, and starv- ing, all day,” said Clint, bitterly. “Starving!” cried Mina and Dora, with grief and terror. ‘‘ Starving, Clint!” ‘Don’t be frightened, girls,’ said Clint. ‘‘I an’t dead yet, for I had some supper last night.” ‘‘ But have n’t you had anything to eat to-day?” asked Dora, in great anxicty.- ‘No. I forgot to eat any breakfast, I was so busy doing errands; and Mrs. Kent said that, to punish me, [ should n’t have anything but brown bread and milk for my dinner. I would n’t eat that, when they had such a nice dinner, if I starved !”’ ‘ Neither would I, Clint, if I were you,” said Dora. **T would n’t live with such a mean woman.” 40 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ‘©Q dear, I can’t help myself!”’ said Clint, resum- ing his moody look and tone. “T will run and ask my mother to come out here,’ said Mina. ‘I know she will give you _ some supper.” Mrs. Clement soon appeared, and arranged, with her own hand, a tempting supper for Clint. But the poor boy was too sick and unhappy to eat. His long stay out of doors, together with crying, made him feel quite ill. He pushed the plate away, and sobbed out that “he was too sick to eat; that his head ached dreadfully.” “T do not doubt it, poor boy,’’ said Mrs. Clement, ‘for it feels very hot to my hand.” She gently bathed the aching head, and smoothed his tangled hair; meanwhile, talking so soothingly and kindly, that his sad heart was filled with gratitude. Dr, Clement said the boy would be ill with a’ fever unless he was doctored. He led him home, and bade Betty bathe his feet in warm water, and’ make him drink plentifully of ginger-tea. Betty was naturally kind-hearted, and, conscience telling her that Clint had been used too hardly, she obeyed the doctor’s orders to the very letter. os CHA PLE Ret V., SCHOOL SCENES. —— ‘* may prove, Though some may wonder at his weakness, The power that lurks in simple love, The might of meekness !”’ GENTLE, sunny, smiling spring had changed the frowns of winter into tears, which April poured upon the earth, bringing to life the sleeping flowers, to adorn’ the robe of*her sister May. ‘The children clapped their hands and shouted; the birds trilled their glad notes in ecstasy; the cascades and waterfalls bounded and dashed along, as if mad with delight ; the waving trees whispered to each other of their happiness, and all nature laughed in the sunny spring-time ! The old red school-house, which had ee closed for two months, was now opened, and troops of happy school children were hastening to make it echo again to the hum of their voices, and brighten in the light of their smiles. Elmina and Dora started early, that they might have time to go to “Happy Nook.” ‘They were rejoiced to find that spring had not forgotten to visit it before them; they thought the brook was wider than ever before, the grass greener, and the little star-flowers that ‘hid themselves at the foot of the rock were fairer and brighter. x . (41) a rns 49, THE HARVEST OF LOVE. Something splashing in the water started them, and they saw Clinton Forrest lying on the bank close to the brook. He smiled, and showed them his pockets full of pebbles. ‘What are you going to do with them, Clinton?” asked Mina. “OQ, I’m going to roll them round the school- house, to plague the ‘school-marm.’ Won't it be fun ?” ‘What do you want to plague her for, Clint? You don’t know but Miss Lee will be very kind.” ‘‘ But she won’t be kind to me, — teachers never are; they always hate me, and I like to plague ’em. And I am growing large,” he continued, stretching himself to hig full height. ‘‘I won’t be whipped by a woman many times more! O, I shall have glori- ous times this summer! {I shall tease the teacher till she “ll wish she had never come to Oakville.”’ Elmina looked at him sadly. ‘Clinton, had n’t you rather be a good boy, and try to please your teacher ? Perhaps. Miss Lee wants to love all her scholars, and she will feel sad to have you so naughty.” “Tt is of no use for me to try to be good, I’m so wicked. They all ay that I am the worst boy in school.” “Yes, there is use in it!” cried Elmina. ‘Do try, Clint, just to please me. Be a good boy all sum- mer, and we all shall love you. I don’t think you are the worst boy — do try and be the best.” Her words produced some effect on him, and he began to drop the pebbles one by one upon the grass. ‘‘ But I am so ragged and dirty, Elmina; I believe that is half what makes me so bad.” ‘You needn't be dirty,” said Dora; “you can wash your hands and face in the brook.” SCHOOL SCENES. 43 ‘So Ican. Inever thought of that.” So. saying, he threw the last stone into the water, and, kneeling on the bank, thoroughly washed himself. Mina took a comb from her pocket and smoothed his glossy black hair. “OQ, Clint, you look quite handsome!” cried Dora, gleefully. | ‘Yes, indeed, you do,” said Mina. ‘You may have this little comb for your own, and then you can always keep your hair smooth. Now you are going to be a real good boy, an’t you, Clint?” “Tl try, dear, sweet, little Mina; but 16 won’t do much good.’ ‘There goes the nine o'clock bell,” said Dora. ‘How late we have stayed! Come, Clint, you go with us.” As the three children came up the bank behind the school-house, Mr. Kent, who was passing by, cried out, “‘Ah, Clint! I’ve caught you. Trying to be tardy the first day, are you? It is past school-time, you lazy boy. Come along, and I’ll give you an introduction to the teacher. _ She needs a little warn- ing about such a precious fellow as you.” Mr. Kent took him by the arm, and pulled him into the house. ‘‘ Here, Miss Lee,” he said, addressing a beautiful young lady who stood near the door, ‘‘ here is Clinton Forrest. He is a promising youth, I tell you. He needs a flogging twice a day, to keep him Within bounds. I will uphold you in governing him; s0 you needn’t spare the rod.” ‘¢T will do the best I can for your son, sir.” ‘He is no son of mine, I’d have you understand, . miss. He has no relations ’round here; and we have concluded that he is a relative of the Evil One. He’s a trial, believe me. I thought it might save you some trouble if I warned you.” Ae it 2 44 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. Dora and Elmina threw after the retreating form of Mr. Kent most indignant glances. After such an introduction as that, they feared Clint would fulfil all his pleasant prophecies. They watched the counte- nance of Miss Lee, who, with a look of pity, placed her white hand on Clint’s finely-shaped head. ‘‘T think the gentleman said your name is Clinton. That is'a pretty name; and I am fond of pleasant names.”’ Clint was looking hard upon the ground. The cheerful light, which a few minutes before brightened his face, was now darkened, and the happy feeling in his heart was changed to resentment. Miss Lee saw how it was, and endeavored to remove these feelings. ‘‘T hope you are a good scholar, Clinton; for, if you are not one already, I know by the form of your head that you can learn readily. Look up, my boy, and see if you don’t agree with me, in thinking we shall be excellent friends.” Clint threw a sidelong Sauces at her, and hastened to his seat, while she turned with a winning smile to the other scholars. He eagerly studied the personal appearance of Miss Lee. The survey was very satis- ‘factory to him, for he pronounced her, in his own mind, an angel; there instantly sprung up in his heart a reverence that ‘he had never felt for any one before. . Josephine Lee was well worthy the love and admi- ration which she inspired in the hearts of her pupils. Her beautiful brown eye expressed the kindliest emo- tions. Her face was one of rare loveliness, whose greatest charm was.a_ mingled expression of intellect and sweetness. She had not lightly or carelessly assumed the holy and responsible duties of a teacher; an earnestness, a depth of purpose expressed itself i in every word and SCHOOL SCENES. 45 motion. She would not labor alone in the priceless mines of intellect, but would strive to mould aright ‘the moral natures, the affections of her pupils. Every look, every word of hers might influence some un- formed character, and her hourly endeavor was that this influence might be pure and good. Josephine was shocked at the unkind words of Mr. Kent, in introducing Clinton to her. She trembled at the thought of the responsibility resting upon her in the care of such a boy. ‘This she resolved, how- ever, that, as severity had hitherto failed to improve him, she would try the potency of love and kindness. There was something about the countenance of the boy that drew her irresistibly towards him. Once, when she observed him regarding her with a pleading look, a strange and sudden feeling brought the pearl- drop to her eye. From that moment she loved the little, friendless boy, and, with all the energy of her enthusiastic nature, she sought to lead him to the ‘‘oreen pastures’’ and beside the ‘living waters.” Clinton remembered what his teacher said about his capacity for learning, and he devoted himself in- cessantly to study the whole day. Those who had heard him boast of the fun he was going to have in vexing the teacher, laughed at him, and tried to get him into a quarrel at recess. ‘‘O, Clint is terrible good all at once!” said Jane Kent. ‘‘ Miss Lee flat- tered him up a little; but you wait a day or two, and see if he don’t commence his old pranks.” “Tf I were you, Jane,” said Frank Clement, ‘TI would encourage him to be good, instead of laughing at him.” ‘Wonder if Frank Clement has n’t taken sides against us?” cried Bill Kent. “If he has, we will pitch battle on him, instead 46 . THE HARVEST OF LOVE. of Clint. He’ll like that famously,’ shouted John Carter. | The two boys set up a derisive laugh, in which a | few others joined. But the majority of them waited for Frank’s reply; for he was a great favorite with them. — * Boys,” said Frank, taking off his hat, and step- ping upon a log, like ae‘stump-orator,” ‘boys, you know, and I know, that Clint Forrest has always been abused! He could n’t have been a decent boy if he had tried. I see our teacher thinks she can make something of him, and I am going to help her. Sister Mina and Dora May are already his friends, and I count myself one from this minute. And I’ll say this for you, boys, that he who tries to hinder him from becoming better and more respected, is meaner than I ever wish to be!” The tide of favor turned in behalf of Clinton. It. — was amazing to see how the scholars patronized him, and protected him from the assaults of the ‘‘ enemy,”’ as they styled the few who would not respond to Frank’s speech. When Clinton continued to. go to school with clean hands and face, and smooth hair, and still continued to be studious and obedient, the older and more thoughtful ones felt reproaches of conscience that they had not been kinder to him be- fore. He was like one in a happy dream, and, very unlike his former self, gentle and submissive. The winning kindness of Miss Lee, together with _ the good-will of his playfellows, acted like a charm upon Clinton. For weeks there was no better boy in school. But he lacked principle, and the influence of former good habits, to keep him in the right way. He gradually flagged in his study; grew indolent, -and often grieved his gentle teacher by his miscon- duct. Josephine was partly prepared for this reac- 7 ? SCHOOL SCENES. 47 tion. Young and inexperienced as she was, she understood human nature too well to think the heart, rendered cold and distrustful by long neglect and cruelty, could so easily be imbued with love and con- fidence. Habits of indolence and disobedience are hard to overcome, and Clinton had little to encourage him in well-doing. O, how earnestly did that youthful teacher strive to lead her wayward pupil into higher and brighter paths! Clinton loved the sweet girl who was so gentle and patient with him; but he did not under- stand her, he could not appreciate her. Sometimes he made feeble efforts to regain her good opinion ; but he was drawn backward by the power of his whole previous life. . One Monday morning, William and Jane Kent, and Clinton, were absent from school. Upon inquiry, Miss Lee found that William and Jane had gone to the city to spend a week. ‘But where is Clinton?” she asked of a bright-eyed boy near her. “QO, I guess Clint is going to try his old fashion of playing truant !”’ The little Yankee was right; for Clint was not seen in school that week. Saturday night, when the last busy little form had passed gayly over the threshold, when the last sweet ‘“‘ sood-night’’ had been said, Josephine sat alone in the hushed school-room. oF te t §2 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. table, and wished her ‘‘ Good-night,”’ in a tremulous voice. ‘There was an appealing, pleading expression on her countenance as she turned away. A true woman would have understood that mute appeal, and would have taken the motherless girl in her arms; ~ she would have caressed her tenderly, and kissed away her tears; she would have whispered loving words, and breathed an earnest prayer above her beautiful head. But Mrs. Clement understood not the meaning of that tearful glance, and replied ‘ Good-night’’ in a cold and indifferent manner. El- mina stood in the hall and struggled with her tears. She could not define her emotions; but wounded feel- ing, and a sense of disappointment, swelled in her ‘heaving breast. She had looked forward to the com- ing of her aunt with an unconscious hope that she would fill, in some degree, the aching void in her heart.. She had nursed sweet fancies concerning her, till the germs of affection were engendered, ready to expand luxuriantly at the first demonstration of love. But chilled and wounded was the upspringing affee- tion, and it fell back upon a heart yet quivering with the woe the death-angel had planted there. O, liow wild was the yearning for her mother then! It. required all her self-command to suppress a ery of anguish. O, it would have been a privilege could she have wept until that burning pain was dissolved in tears ! But tears are telltales, and she thought of her fath- er sitting sadly alone; so they were sent back: to their fountain. A moment longer she struggled with herself, and then, with composed features, she entered the parlor. The doctor was sitting at the table, lean- ing his head upon his hand; a look of settled melan- choly overspread his face, and his eyes were bent on the carpet with a vacant, ae gaze. He appeared ‘i, i * —“NEW-COMERS.” 83 unconscious of Elmina’s presence until she laid her hand upon his arm, and whispered, tenderly, ‘‘ Dear father ! ”’ Then he drew her towards him, and kissed her, but absently, as though his mind was far away. ‘¢ Father, ’? — and her voice was sweet and cheer- ful as though no painful feelings had ever thrilled the chords of her being, — ‘‘ shan’t I sing and play to to you? You never ask me to now-a-days.” “¢ Certainly, my dear; I should like much to have ou.” He did not alter his position when Elmina seated herself at the piano. She did not stop to consider that quick, loud music would jar painfully upon the sensitive mind of her listener, or that tender, plain- tive strains would augment his melancholy ; but with an instinctive sense of propriety, which was with El- mina a peculiar gift, she chose a graceful, airy ballad. Her voice was clear and musical, and she sung with her whole heart. When she finished the piece, he changed his seat to one near the piano, and begged for another song with a tone of interest. She sung on, till her smothered anguish seemed wafted away on ‘the wings of her own song. After a time she ceased playing, and commenced a cheerful conversation. No one who had looked upon her unruffled brow and subdued smile, would have dreamed that an hour before that sweet face was con- vulsed with agony; or of the struggle which had taken place in her young heart. Her generous efforts at self-command were not unre- warded; for her cheerful voice and smile quite charmed away the shadows from her father’s brow, and he called her his ‘‘ sweet comforter.”’- Suddenly he said, ‘ Mina, do you know that you are very like your mother ?’ e 84 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. She left the music-stool to sit upon his knee, and laid her face on his shoulder to hide the tears — half of pleasure, half of pain—which his words had started. ‘Iam glad you think me like her, father ; I hope I shall grow more like her every day.” ‘“T hope so, darling !” He held her tightly to his breast. In the silence that followed, each knew what was in the other’s ’ mind,— mournful, tender thoughts of the loved one who had sought a purer home. There was a holy hush in their hearts, for each felt that the spirit of the dear one was with them, breathing comfort on their wounded spirits. In that embrace the hed¥ts of the father and child were woven closer together in holier, tenderer ties. Such moments are blessed to to the mourning heart, where Christian faith and hope have made their altar; they bring a sweet peace, — such peace as the Saviour left his disciples, — ‘‘ the peace that passeth understanding.” The clock was on the stroke of ten, and Elmina made a movement to retire, when her father gently detained her. ‘‘ Waita moment, Mina. I have a favor to ask; won't you sing ‘When shall we all meet again,’ for me? ”’ | The hymn had been a great favorite of her mother’s, and she had heard her sing it many times in her sweet, mellow tones; it was blended with her mother’s name. She feared she could not sing it, for there was a sud- den swelling in her throat, and her lips quivered. Her father observed her agitation; ‘I was wrong,” he said, “‘ to ask you; you need not try.” 7 ‘Yes, I will try.” With her face turned a little away from his, she sang. Her voice was wavering and weak at first, but she gained strength and com- posure as she proceeded, and was enabled to sing the last verse with surpassing sweetness. There were ‘¢ NEW-COMERS.”’ 85 tears in the doctor’s eyes as she finished. ‘‘ Bless you, darling!” he whispered, pressing his lips to her brow, ‘‘ bless you! it seems as though her spirit were singing through your voice.” ‘Tt seemed so to me,” said Mina, softly; ‘‘ for I had no strength when I commenced.” Again her father kissed that pure brow; again he breathed a blessing upon her beautiful head, and then Elmina sought her pillow. O, lovely were the dreams which mingled with her rest that night! Sweet dreams of that land where the pastures are ever green, and the living waters flow in silver streams. ASG commendations of his teachers, while James remained in the same low place he had at first taken in his classes, and was often reprimanded for his idleness and inattention. Clint was a favorite with all the boys, who thought no game was complete unless he joined them; and James was daily left in the back- ground, gnawing his nails and sulkily looking at his unlearned lessons. Instead of emulating Clinton’s virtues, James hated him for being a better boy, a better scholar, and a greater favorite, than himself. He nursed his jealousy till it embittered his heart, and made him miserable. ‘The master sometimes in- judiciously compared the conduct of one with the other, and thus increased his hatred. He often taunted Clinton with his dependence upon his uncle, and called him pauper and beggar-boy. Clint bore all his coarse jests with the utmost good-humor, for a sense of su- periority and noble pride raised him above anger towards one for whom he had neither love nor respect. One bright afternoon Frank sat upon the piazza, reading, when James came and threw himself on the platform by his side. Frank perceived by his move- ments that he was in bad-humor ; but this so frequently occurred that it excited no alarm, and he read on, ap- parently unconscious of his presence. James moved uneasily about, evidently wishing to attract his cousin’s attention; but, failing in this, he at length exclaimed, as though he could no longer contain himself, “TI hate Clint Forrest! actually hate him! and I don’t believe he’s so mighty good either, as everybody seems to think he is.” ‘What now?” cried Frank, laying down his book. ‘ What terrible thing has Clint been doing?”’ ‘Doing? why, he’s always daing something to make me mad. Just now he refused to let me copy those ugly equations out of his note-book; he said 90 _ THE HARVEST OF LOVE. he’d explain ’em to me; but I didn’t want any of his explanations if he was so cross he wouldn’t lend me his book; it would have saved me three hours’ work if he had. Now, I shall miss to-morrow again, and the master ’Il scold.” , ‘‘T should think he’d be ashamed,” said Frank, gravely; ‘‘of course, he*did it only to get you down mm the class, and because he was afraid of cheating Mr. Hastings by showing you your lessons. I don’t wonder you hate him! ”’ ‘‘ And then,”’ said James, not perceiving the irony in Frank’s voice, ‘‘it makes me all out of patience to hear him praised all the time, while I am scolded till I am sick of my life.” . ‘“‘T think it is too bad,’’ rejommed Frank. ‘Clint ought to miss his lessons now and then, and get him- self into a scrape every little while, just to be even with you.” James looked up into his cousin’s face, and saw the roguery lurking round his mouth, and twinkling in his eyes. An angry flush mounted his forehead, and he leaned back against one of the vine-wreathed . pillars in silence. After a momentary pause, Frank spoke again. ‘‘ Now, in sober earnest, cousin James, I think you are a foolish boy to be so jealous of Clint. I advise you to follow his example, and you will find yourself a better favorite very soon.” ‘“‘T shall notjfollow his example, Mr. Frank, for your advice! I don’t see anything so mighty good about him, for all everybody praises him up to the skies; he tries to make folks think he’s wonderfully good-tempered, but it is all hypocrisy. Yesterday he was awful mad at what one of the boys said; his eyes flashed like sparks of fire, and his face was hot enough to light a candle; he went towards hima step or two, and then turned round and went away as fast as CHANGES. ‘ 91 he could. I-suppose he thought we should give him the credit of being good-natured; but I understood him too well for that.”’ ; “Clint ’s got a hot temper, I know; but he is trying to govern it, and it is much to his credit. He isa noble boy, and scorns a mean action, and I tell you again that you had better try and be more like hin, instead of telling how much you hate him.’’ ‘“T tell you,” cried Clement, ‘‘I shall never take a begear-boy for my pattern. Because you happen to be a little older than I, you think you are privi- leged to lecture me as much as you please !”’ “QO, don’t be angry, Jimmy! I was only giving you a little well-meant advice. And I tell you truly that, if you scold so much about Clint, you'll lose what few friends you have; for there never was a more. universal favorite than Clinton Forrest.” ‘Clinton Forrest,’ repeated James, snéeringly. ‘TI don’t see what right a pauper, a beggar-boy, has tossuch a fine name. I suppose some foolish old woman gave it to him because he had none of his own.” ‘You mistake, sir!”’ cried Frank, with rising. temper; “‘you mistake, —it was his father’s name, and his -by the best of right. And now I want you to understand, James Clement, that he is my dearest friend, and I will not hear him called beggar-boy by any one; the words are very displeasing to me, and [ desire you never to use them again in my presence.”’ ‘Indeed! ”’ sneered James; ‘‘and so I must choose. my words when addressing your honor! [ certainly shall not choose my friends as you do, who prefer a beggar-boy to your own cousin.” “Did I not tell you I wouldn’t hear Clint Forrest spoken of in that manner again?” cried Frank, now really angry. ‘ What constitutes him a beggar-boy ? 92 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. @ Is it because he sits at my father’s table, and because my father’s money pays for his schooling? If that makes him a beggar-boy, I’d like to know what you call yourself? Where’s the difference between you two? I7ll tell you the difference; Clint is grateful, and does all in his power to repay my father’s kind- _ ness, and you are jealous because another enjoys the same favors that you do yourself.” James started up in a towering passion, and con- fronted his cousin; but Frank’s flashing eye and erect figure intimidated the craven-spirited boy, and he turned away whimpering and muttering, ‘‘ You call me a beggar, do you? Very kind to your poor orphan cousin ;’’ and he passed round the corner of the house with the air of one grieved and offended beyond all endurance. Frank looked after him with mingled feelings of scorn and self-reproach. As his temper cooled, he felt lowered in his own esteem for yield- ing to passion in a discussion with one so childish and unreasonable. Presently he felt a light touch on, his arm, and a sweet, reproachful voice whispered, “‘ QO, how could you, Frank!” “Why, Mina, how you started me! ” said he, put- ting his arm about his sister. niga ais “Did I, Frank?” said Elmina. ‘‘I’m sure I did not mean to: but how could you speak such naughty words?” “Do what? say what? you little mystery.” ‘* Now, don’t be so ignorant, Frank, for I was sit- ting by the window, and heard it all. James thinks you have called him a beggar, and has gone away very angry.”’ ~ “I said nothing but what he deserved for his impudence.” “That is true,” said Elmina, ‘and I can’t blame | you for getting angry at his disagreeable sayings ; CHANGES. | 98 but don’t you see that it will make trouble? He will tell his mother, and she ’Il feel insulted, and, may be, will go to father with a complaint. At any rate she will feel as though we were so selfish as to wish her- self and James away 5 and perhaps she ’ll be so angry as to really leave us.’ ‘Why, Elmina,”’ said Frank, laughing, ‘‘ who ever heard you, our hopeful sunbeam, borrowing trouble before? I own I ought not to have said what I did to James; but I don’t believe it will hurt him, and though aunt Jane may take a fa it won’t last long, I dare say.” ‘*T didn’t mean to borrow trouble,” said Elmina, soberly; ‘‘ for there’s enough of it without borrowing. But, if she should tell. papa, you’d excuse it to her, so that he might not be angry with you, would n't you, Frank? ” ‘Ah! I see how it is. Mina, you are afraid father will be displeased with me; that is just like you. But don’t flatter yourself that I shall ever make any apologies to aunt Jane for anything I’ve said. I’m too proud for that.” ‘©Q, brother!” said Elmina, in a sorrowful tone, “it might save a great deal of trouble if you should only say you were sorry, or something like it.” ‘Never, Mina, if I were ever so sorry, would I acknowledge it to her. Id ask James’ pardon first |” ‘You were not always so proud, brother. I have often seen you with your arms around our mother’s neck, telling of some wrong thing ‘you had done; and, only a short time ago I “heard you begging ‘Josie Lee’s forgiveness for a hasty Word you had spoken, as though you thought her opinion was worth a great deal.”’ ? ‘‘ And so it is to me, and to any one who knows 94 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. and loves her as Ido. I should be a mean, sneaking fellow to wound her feelings, or those of any true woman, and not make all the reparation im my power. I am surprised you don’t understand me Elmina; that you don’t see the difference, the reason why I could never make apologies to aunt, J ane. You feel the reason, though I can’t tell you.” “Veg, Hy said she, with a sigh, ‘‘I think I under- stand you.” Elmina felt a sensation of relief when the tea hour arrived, and her father was still absent visiting his patients. It was not their custom to wait long for him, and the family soon gathered round the supper- table, over which aunt Jane presided with a most frigid and haughty manner. She was apparently speechless, never addressing a word to the group of young folks around the board. James looked at Frank, from under his scowling eyebrows, with an angry, menacing glance, and curled his lip insult- ingly at Clinton. Clinton, seeing something was wrong, tried to Ge . perse the ‘cloud “enveloping them by starting a con- - versation ; but Frank answered only in monosyllables, and Elmina could not answer at all, so sensitive was she to any coldness or discord in their family circle. It was an uncomfortable meal, eaten in silence and haste, for each one was desirous of leaving the chilling atmosphere which chained their tongues and saddened their spirits. In an hour the doctor returned, and Elmina hastened to the dining-room to pour his tea and chat with him as usual ; but her aunt intercepted her in the passage, saying that she, would attend upon the doctor. With flushed cheeks the young girl returned to the parlor, where her brother had resumed his book, CHANGES. 95 and was reading by the fast-fading light. He was unconcerned and indifferent ; she, trembling and appre- hensive. That twilight hour seemed interminable to her; she dreaded, yet desired, to have the moments pass. She wondered of what Frank was thinking when he laid his book aside and gazed, dreamily, upon the sweet landscape, over which the evening shadows fell with a softening grace. She felt that his revery was a pleasant one; so she did not disturb him, but softly drew her ottoman to his side, and sought to dissipate her anxieties by studying his placid face. She felt the blood flush to her brow when her father came into the room, followed by her aunt, and she bent her head so that she did not see the look of displeasure upon his face. Dr. Clement was of a generous, forbearing temper, and a frown upon his brow, or reproof from his lips, was of rare occurrence; but he was thoroughly angry now, for Mrs. Clement had talked to him until he was convinced that Frank had treated both herself and son with actual insult. ‘‘ Frank, what do [ hear?”’ he said, with an effort at self-command; ‘‘ what do I hear? Your aunt Jane tells me that you. have taunted James of his orphanage and poverty, twitted him of his dependence upon me; even called him ‘beggar’! I am filled with surprise, for this is so unlike what I expected from you, so unlike your generous nature. Perhaps even now you can make some explanation which will palliate your fault. * Iftso; speak, I pray you.” Frank raised his head with a deprecating glance, and commenced to speak, with the intention of reliev- ing himself from the disgraceful imputation, when one look from his aunt changed his resolution, and he dropped his head in silence. 96 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. “Have you nothing to say, no explanation to offer?’ repeated the doctor sternly. ‘““He ‘does not deny it?’’ cried Mrs. Clement pathetically; ‘‘he cannot deny it! O, I little thought, brother, that your children would be jealous of your kindness to me; but it is my fate, — poverty, dependence, and insult! I have borne all my troubles with fortitude; but this—O, this is too much even for me to bear!’’ and she threw herself*tragically upon the sofa, and buried.her face in her handkerchief. Frank’s eyes lighted with a scornful flash, and his lip curled disdainfully, as he replied: ‘‘ No, madam, I do not deny it! I deny nothing! ”’ ‘There, do you hear him!” cried the lady, rising energetically; ‘“‘he denies nothing; then this is no longer a home for me ;—TI will not eat the bread of dependence given grudgingly and with insult.” She fell back again upon the sofa with the air of one over- whelmed with grief. The doctor looked at her as if half-bewildered, then turned to his son and said, in a tone of less severity, ‘‘ There is something in all this that I cannot understand. I have asked an explana- tion, which you have not chosen to give, and, as you deny nothing, I am constrained to believe that you — have been guilty of ungenerous conduct, —of such con- duct as I had hoped my son never would confess to. There is but one way in which you can atone for thus wounding the feelings of your aunt, and I trust you have the manliness to make an acknowledgment immediately.”’ , If Frank had obeyed the first impulse, he would have told him all; for he yalued his father’s good opinion highly; but pride and a contempt of his aunt’s ridiculous conduct kept him silent. The doctor waited a moment, and then left the room. He had not time to leave the hall before CHANGES. 97 Elmina was by his side, saying, earnestly, ‘‘ Do not go away in anger, dear father; let me tell you how it was. Frank was not so very much to blame.” ‘‘My dear,”’ said the doctor kindly, ‘‘ you look as anxious and grieved as though it were yourself who had incurred my displeasure, instead of your high- spirited brother.’ : ‘‘Tisten to me papa, and [am sure you will for- give Frank.’’. In her earnest, truthful tones did Elmina repeat the conversation which had caused such a breeze in their usually quiet family. Gently excusing her brother, yet speaking kindly of James, she related the story without alteration or coloring. ‘Thank you, my dear little girl,”’ said her father when she had finished; ‘‘ you ought to be called our peacemaker. Frank was quite excusable for getting angry with the saucy James; indeed, I wonder at his forbearance. I blame him only for not explain- ing the affair to me, though I presume I should have ‘been too proud when I was of his age to say much for myself in the presence of a crying woman.”’ “Q, father,” cried Elmina, joyfully, ‘‘I am so glad you are not angry with him now! Won’t you go back and tell him? He must be miserable till you do.” ' ‘Yes, Mina, I will go back; and I must tell the news which aunt Jane’s doleful story quite put out — of my head.” She led her father back in triumph. Her aunt retained her disconsolate position upon the sofa, and Frank sat leaning his head sorrowfully upon his hand. He raised his eyes, humid with tears, to the doctor, as he approached, and exclaimed: ‘ Forgive me, father! my silly pride shall no longer permit you to think me so much worse than I really am. I will tell it all —” | 7 98 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ‘““There’s no need of that, my son; Mina has got the start of you, and led me back to make peace between us.”’ Frank looked gratefully upon his sister, and took his father’s hand with a swelling heart. ‘‘ Aunt Jane will be as glad as any of us when she hears the truth of the story,’’ said the doctor. ‘‘ James was so blinded with anger that he exaggerated greatly.” “What am I to understand by this?”’ asked Mrs. Clement, rising to a sitting posture, and fixing her piercing black eyes upon her brother-in-law. * “Why, Jane, ’tis nothing but a boyish quarrel which you have ‘afflicted yourself so much about, and has no connection with you.’ ‘Ah, I see, I understand,” she cried, resorting to her handkerchief again; ‘‘ you take sides with your son against me, and this is no longer a home for me and mine. QO, dear! 0, dear! I might have known this would have been the end of it!” She flung herself from the room in violent hysterics. The remaining party looked at each other in blank surprise. rank’s keen sense of the ludicrous over- came other sensations, and he burst into a laugh, saying, “It is as good as a play! I wish Cliné could have seen her.” ‘The doctor laughed good- humoredly at this sally, which he did not reprove; Elmina looked sober, — ‘‘ Tam sure she feels very unhappy, and I don’t think we oucht to laugh about her.”’ ‘‘Nor do I, Elmina,” said the doctor; ‘‘ we should be indulgent to infirmities of temper, as re: as those ~ of the body. She will see things more clearly in the morning, and, if we are all kind to her, will, I dare say, he quite reconciled. Now, F rank, I have some important news for you.” “Yes, father, I am all attention’? > CHANGES. | 99 ‘JT have received two letters, — one concerning yourself, and one about Clmton. You recollect Col. Whitney, my old college chum, who was here last summer? Well, he is going to spend two years in Kurope, principally engaged im important public busi- ness, but intends to spend some time in sight-seeing or ‘pleasure-hunting,’ as he terms it. He needs a secretary, and he does you the honer to say that he knows of no young man whom he should prefer for that office. He makes a most liberal offer, and desires an immediate reply. How does the project please ou?” ‘“T should be delighted to travel, father; but I shall be twenty in two years, and of course could not enter college until after my return, should I accept Col. Whitney’s kind offer. Would it not be a long time to put it off?” “True; yet I am not certain that it would be wise to reject this fine opportunity. Iam not of the Opinion of those who think that man in immature years is unfit for receiving benefit. from travelling. The mind is fresh and unprejudiced in youth, and recelves impressions more readily than at a later period of life. In two years’ travel you might learn what would be of incalculable benefit to you, and undoubtedly would acquire an ease and polish of manner which is very desirable. Indeed, I advise you to accept the colonel’s invitation. I have such confidence in my friend, that I should be happy in trusting you to his guardianship.”’ ‘‘Tf you approve, my father, I shall certainly go. I feared you would think it unwise, as my studies are unfinished; but, as you say, I shall be learning a great deal. I dare say I could learn more of the modern languages in travelling than in many years’ study. yrs : ou THE HARVEST OF LOVE. “You would, undoubtedly, Frank; and, if nothing occurs to- prevent, you would be ready to enter upon the duties of your profession at twenty-five, which is in better season than I commenced.”’ ‘Then shall not we consider the matter settled? I grow more pleased with the plan as we talk about it. But how soon does the colonel start ?” “In about a month. He will write more par- ticularly concerning it when he learns your decis- ion.’ ‘Then, pray, write immediately, father, and tell him I accept his proposals, and will endeavor to per- form my duties to his satisfaction. ‘T'wo whole years in Europe! It seems like a dream. I cannot realize it,” ‘Realize what?’ repeated Clinton, who had over- heard the last words as he entered the room. - Way, Clint, I’m going to Europe with Col. Whitney ! — actually going to Kurope!”’ ‘Going to Europe? ”’ “Don’t look 80 mystified, Clint,’’ said the for laughing at the surprise depicted upon his face; ‘it is — a fact. Col. Whitney has invited him to accompany him on a tour through Europe, as his secretary, a he has concluded to accept.” ‘* Accept! of course he’d accept such an offer,” said Clinton. ‘‘ Why, how do you feel, Frank? I should be crazy with joy had I sucha prospect. Why, boy, you don’t act as though you cared any thing about it!” “‘T am glad, Clint, very glad, though I don’t go Into ecstasies, as you would. I can be glad without taking the house- -top off with my antics.” ‘Of course; but I never can be so cool about any- thing. I have to act as well asfeel.” ‘‘Well, my boy, there’s a chdmce for your acting ; ee CHANGES. 101 for I have a second letter, which is as important for you as the first was for Frank.” "ase ‘For me?” said Clinton; ‘it is something good, I know, for good things never come singly.” ‘Tt is something pretty good, I think,” said the doctor, ‘‘and you will be right glad, I’m sure. It seems that Mr. Evans took a great fancy to you at the time of the school examination. He told me at that time that he should n’t lose sight of you. Well, he and his lady (who, by the way, is an old school teacher of yours) have been travelling through the Canadas ever since they were here, and are intending to visit the principal southern cities this coming au- tumn, before they return to St. Louis, their place of residence. He writes that if you will go with him and assist him, during the intervals of the journey, in copying business papers, etc., he will pledge him- self to place you in a situation, where, with industry and economy, you may make a fortune in the world. Mr. Evans is an-influential business man, and would, I doubt not, be able to keep his promise.” ‘“‘We is very kind,” said Clinton, modestly, ‘‘ to have so good an opinion of me; but I am surprised, sir, that he should take such notice of a poor orphan boy like me.” ; ‘¢ All people are lable to their fancies and whims, and it is very plain that this Mr. Evans fancies you. There ’s nothing very wonderful about it, either, my boy; have you not always been my favorite ?”’ “OQ, my kind benefactor!” cried Clinton, with grateful warmth, ‘‘do not imagine me so vain as to suppose myself the least deserving of all your favors to me. It was from the fulness of your benevolent heart that you cherished the fatherless boy. And wherever I may go, whatever path I may walk in, your name will be remembered with the tenderest /gratitude.” « ~ O27 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ‘“‘T understand you, Clinton ; I know all you would say; your grateful temper magnifies all that I have done for you. But we must talk of Mr. Evans’ pro- posals now.” “Tf you, sir, think best, I should be glad to go. Indeed, I think it would be wrong for me to neglect so good an opportunity of gaining my own livelihood.”’ ‘“‘T advise you to go, by all means; and my bless- ing go with you,” said the doctor, earnestly. ‘‘ Mr. Evans writes that he shall be in Oakville next week, and hopes to find you ready te accompany him. El- mina will be your little seamstress, so that you shall. be ready in time.” | ry “ Good luck. to you, Clinton!” said Frank. ‘Bes:¥> fore I have my first patient you will be a rich meré chant, without doubt.” ‘Thank you, Dr. Frank,” said Clinton, laughing; “But I guess your bright prophecy will be a, dong time in coming to pass. You will come home’from Europe a travelled gentleman, and I shall be a poor, plodding clerk.” : | ‘The two young friends chatted cheerily ef their pleasant prospects, without thinking of the long sepa- ration before them, and the doctor went to his study, to answer the two important communications. Pres- ently a quivering sigh startled our two castle-builders, and they both turned, with one impulse, to Elmina, whom they had forgotten. She stood looking mourn- fully at them, her dark eyes swimming in’ tears, and her lip trembhing. Then they realized that their httle band must be broken up; their loving hearts widely severed. . : | “Q, Frank! Clinton! how can I part with both my~ brothers at once?” exclaimed Elmina, in a broken voice. ee ‘Sweet sister, how can we leave you?” they cried together. They encircled her in their arms, they — é , De va ie ais el = & i ; Sa jb eg We” so ee ae . CHANGES. 103 “kissed her wet cheeks, and though each strove, with boyish pride, to drive back their tears, they would come, and fell upon her clustering hair. ‘ And Dora, she will cry, too,” said Elmina, remembering her sweet friend. 3 ‘One moment ago,”’ said Clinton, ‘‘ I was full of joy at the thought of going, and now it seems as though I cannot go.” “And I,” said Frank, “did not think how aba two years is to be from one’s home and friends.’ Some natures, weak and dependent, when there is a stronger heart to lean upon, grow brave and hopeful in proportion to the waning courage of those around : «them. Thus with Elmina. When she perceived the wainful struggles in the minds of her brothers, she for- tified her own heart to cheer and redssure those she loved. _ , How foolish we were,” she said, “to imagine that e should always live together in the same pleasant ay we have so long! Of course we must be sepa-y rated some time, and we must have brave hearts now the trial has come. What*a glad meeting we shall have some time! Why, my dear brothers, where would be' the delightful meetings we hear of, were there no partings?”’ ‘Mina hasn’t forgotten her old trick of finding silver in every cloud,” said Frank. ‘She is always a sunshiny, hopeful spirit,’ said Clinton. {It is Just like herself to conceal her own grief to cons@le us.’ “‘ Flatterers!”’ said Elmina, playfully. “I should scold you, were you not going away so soon. And don’t talk of my concealing grief, —as though I shall be completely forlorn when you are away! Not but that I shall miss you sadly,’’ she continued, in a changed voice, ‘ O, so sadly !”’ + CHA PTEHRsA 1. THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. ‘© How happy is he born and taught, — That serveth not another’s will ; ‘Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill !”’ THREE months after the incidents recorded in the previous chapter, Clinton Forrest visited for the second time, the City of Brotherly Love. Not as before did he tread those crowded, streets, with a bounding step and a heart throbbing with excitement and eager curi- osity, but soberly and thoughtfully ; a feeling of lone- iness pressed painfully upon him, for not one of the passing yaultitude had a thought or word for him. He entered a fashionable street, and passed along the line of elegant dwelling-houses, meanwhile pa- tiently comparing the names upon the door-plates with the superscription of a letter which he held in hishand. At length he paused before a door on which was engraved, in golden characters, ‘‘ Amos Gay;”’ and, after assuring himself that the names upon the etter and door- plate agreed, he ascended the steps and touched the silver bell-knob. His timid call was immediately answered, and, upon his inquiry for the master of the house, he was shown into a richly- furnished apartment. Here was assembled a chéerful group, consisting of an elderly gentleman, a fair, matronly lady, and two ee young girls. Una- (104) »- THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 105 ‘bashed by the stately elegance of everything about him, or by the haughty stare of the elder young lady, he advanced directly to the gentleman and presented his letter of introduction. Mr. Gay took the letter without a word, and then Clinton might have felt some embarrassment, had not Miss Fannie Gay handed him a seat, with a smile and a few sweet words, which made him quite at ease. ; After slowly reading the letter twice through, Mr. ° Gay arose and took Clinton by the hand, saying, ‘‘I am glad to see you, Clinton Forrest. Mrs. Gay, Marian, Fannie, this is Master Clinton Fofrest,” he continued, introducing him to the ladies. Clinton _ bowed gracefully, though with heightened color, and Fannie pronounced him, in her own mind, the hand- somest boy she had seen in all her hfe. “Tf all that my friend, Mr. Evans, states, is liter- ally true,”’ said Mr. Gay, r regarding our young hero with a pleasant smile, ‘‘ he certainly has done me a favor in introducing to my notice so enterprising and. talented a young man. But were you not here in the autumn, with Mr. Evans and his lady ?’ Clinton informed him that he had been for three months with Mr. Evans, acting as his secretary. ‘‘So he writes,’ replied Mr. Gay, referring to the letter; ‘‘and that fact is a standing certificate for yourself. I know Evans well as a business man. You have come just in time, for I need another salesman, and, though you are young, I think I will give you a trial. I dare say you will suit admirably. Come into a library, and we will settle all the pre- liminaries.” While Clinton is closeted with the merchant, we will take the opportunity to relate to the reader the principal events which had conspired to place Clinton in his present novel position. 106 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. Mr. and Mrs. Evans were delighted with the lad they had chosen for a travelling companion; indeed, his intelligence and vivacity, with his obliging and gentlemanly manners, made him a very desirable as- sociate. Philadelphia was their first stopping-place, and here they remained three weeks. In this great metropolis, the eager, inquiring mind of Clinton found a boundless source of interest. He labored faithfully to prove to his new friends that the confidence they reposed in him was not unfounded. Though novelty and excitement tempted him sorely, he passed the largest share of each day in copying and revising business papers, casting accounts, writing letters, etc. ; all of which he accomplished to the entire satis- faction of his employer. His first act, upon entering the city, was to write to Elmina, the loved companion of his childhood hours, the dear sister to whom he owed so much. His letter contained a sprightly account of the incidents of his journey, and was replete with brotherly affection. He eagerly waited for a reply, but the days came and went, and still no letter from Elmina. After a fort- night had passed, his impatient spirit could brook no longer delay, and he wrote again, desiring her to ad- dress him at Baltimore, where they were intending to pass some little time. But at Baltimore he was doomed to disappointment; for, though he haunted the post-office day after day, there was no missive for him. Much’ surprised and wounded at this unexpected neglect, he trjed to console himself by forming ex- cuses for Elmina; but he could think of none that seemed plausible. Hven if she were sick and unable to write herself, he felt that she should have answered his second earnest and importunate letter through some one else. Under a sudden impulse he com- # THE FORTUNES OE CLINTON. 107 menced to write again; but his proud spirit rose, and he tore the sheet in twain. Then he thought of writing to the doctor; but he put the thought quickly away, for, if Hlmina valued his friendship so lightly, he coule not expect the continued regard of her father. O, it was a sore trial for the poor boy! He pon- dered upon it, and each day felt the disappointment and mortification more keenly. By Elmina’s unmer- ited neglect of him he felt as if severed from all the friends who had made the few past years of his life so useful and happy. He concealed the cause of his grief from Mr. and Mrs. Evans; yet they were not unobservant of his abstracted manner and sober coun- tenance. When his appetite forsook him his kind friends became really anxious; and, fearing he had worked too hard for his health, they planned excur- sions of pleasure, and took every pains to restore him to his former cheerfulness. » Grateful for their kindness, Clinton tried to appear cheerful, and he succeeded so well as to relieve all their anxieties. Now the travellers resumed their journey, with the intention of going to New Orleans as quickly as consistent with comfort. Mr. Evans had decided to pass the winter in New Orleans, as he had two brothers resident there, one of whom was sick with consumption. Clinton began to reproach. himself for giving up his Oakville friends so easily. ‘‘I will write to dear Josephine Lee,” he thought; ‘‘she must be glad to hear from her brother, as she always called me; and Mina possibly had some reason for not writing before, and may now be wishing to know where to direct a letter. I will write a note to her, and inclose it in Josie’s letter.” No sooner was the resolve formed than acted upon, and then his spirits rose ten degrees, inspired with hope and pleasing expectation. He re- “ 108 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. quested Josephine to address him at a.town nearly a week from them in their journey, and where he knew his friends intended to stop a few days to rest. This arrangement, he felt sure, would give sufficient time for a letter to reach him, even if Josephine should be a little dilatory, which seemed’ to him would not be the case. He was so strong in hope, that, when he arrived at B , and found no letter waiting for him, he would not acknowledge to himself that he was any disappointed. But hope diminished every day, and when, on the sixth day (the last of his stay in B yf he heard the dreaded words, ‘‘ Nothing for you,” he could not restrain the tears of disappuintment which gushed from his eyes; and, when alone in his cham- ber, he gave unrestrained vent to his grief. “OQ, Josephine! Elmina!” he cried to himself in sorrow; ‘‘you have been very, very kind to me; too kind; for now [e@know that all your kind . acts were performed through goodness of heart, not friendship er affection. My heart is almost broken! I was wrong to expect that two such lovely and accomplished ladies would correspond with a poor orphan boy like me. I will trouble them no more with my letters; but some time in the years to come they may not be ashamed to own me as a friend. Ah! but Elmina must be changed! Could such a little angel as she was become a proud, scornful woman ? No, that could not be! Forgive me, dear Mina, for such a thought. And’ Josie Lee’s last words were so cordial, I thought they were sincere. If such as she grow cold so soon, friendship is little worth to me. , Q, father, mother, sisters, brothers —there are none for me—none on earth from whom I can claim affection! ”’ Thus did poor Clint mourn over his slighted friend- ship; and, indeed, it was.a trial of no small magni- tude for one situated like him. Josie and Mina had THE FORTUNES OE CLINTON. 109 stepped into his unoccupied affections, and, at their call, many friends had gathered around him; but of all, these two were the dearest. A resolve grew up in Clinton’s mind, strong and deep, that he would never force himself upon the no- tice of any, merely because they had befriended his unfortunate childhood. His proud spirit forbade another attempt to gain the attention of his former friends in Oakville. “I will bid a long ‘ good-by’ to Oakville,’ was his mental exclamation; ‘ but when I am a man,’’—and his head rose, while a half-exultant smile gleamed through the falling tears, — ‘fwhen I am a man, I will return, and then they shall not be ashamed to take me by the hand; for, God helping me, I will earn an honorable name among men. ‘Though Josie Lee may forget the poor boy to*whom she was so kind, I will never forget her , good instructions.” Thus did Clinton, in the midst of his sorrow, form high resolves for action; and the sequel will show to the reader how well he acted upon them. | Mr. Evans was greatly shocked, upon arriving at New Orleans, to see the ravages disease had made upon his invalid brother. Towards spring the sick man revived, and his physician declared that a trans- Atlantic voyage would be beneficial, and expressed a conviction that he might live several months in salu- brious and sunny Italy. Mr. Evans felt it his duty to accompany his brother, and with the kind offices of affection smooth his decline to the grave. It was soon arranged that they should go in March, and Mrs. ‘Evans was to go with them. Mr. Evans felt anxiety and regret on Clinton’s account. He had promised to place him in a lucrative situation under his own supervision; but, after the sudden turn affairs had taken, that would be impracticable. Clinton begged y 110 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. him to feel no anxiety for him, and said that if he would procure him a clerkship in some mercantile house, he would be satisfied. Mr. Evans felt confi- dent he could do that, and, after considering the mat- ter a little time, concluded to send him to his old friend, Mr. Amos Gay, a wealthy merchant of Phil- adelphia. Clinton bade an affectionate and regretful adieu to his friends. He stood gazing upon the ship which bore them away, until the white sails faded to a speck i the’ distance, and then turned away with an indescribable feeling of loneliness. At parting, Mr. Evans placed a letter in his hand, saying, ‘‘ Give this to Mr. Gay, and believe me, dear boy, I feel assured it will secure you the attention and respect of that gentleman. Serve him ag indus- triously and faithfully as you have me, and I have no fears for you. Good-by, and may God bless Yous Pay Saddened and somewhat bewildered by the chang- ing events of the past weeks, yet undiscouraged, our young friend turned towards Philadelphia. The reader is already acquainted with the manner of his reception by Mr. Gay. The merchant was greatly prepossessed in favor of the frank, handsome boy, and readily engaged him for a month on trial. Now behold Clint Forrest in a new and untried - position, yet one very congenial with his tastes and capacities. He studied to gain the approval of his employer, and succeeded beyond his highest hopes. . He boarded in Mr. Gay’s family, and sat at the same table. Miss Marion Gay remonstrated with her fa- ther upon the impropriety of treating a mere clerk with puch respect; but the old gentleman was determined it should be so, out of regard for Mr. Evans, and-the young lady was obliged to acquiesce. Clint was not long in winning the affection of the whole family. THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 111 Mr. Gay pronounced him a jewel of a clerk; the lady of the mansion thought him the most gentle- manly lad of her acquaintance; Fannie loved dearly to laugh and chat with him; and even Marion ac- knowledged that he was a very pleasant addition to the family circle. Clinton possessed a ready tact and a peculiarly pleas- ing manner, which made him a most successful sales- man. It was not long before it was acknowledged by all in the establishment that he was the quickest and most clever clerk among them. In fact, he created quite an interest in the hearts of the buyers of silks and ribbons. (Clint had grown rapidly of late, and appeared older than he really was.) The old ladies were charmed with his respectful attention to,them ; the middle-aged praised his polite and genteel man- ners, and the young girls thought him so handsome and witty : each and all were desirous of being waited upon by the black-eyed little clerk. At the end of a month Mr. Gay engaged him for a year at a liberal salary. When Clint modestly expressed his surprise at his geferosity, his kind patron assured him that, if he were always as faithful, the indebtedness would all be on his own part. Though Mr. Gay was a worthy man, he was some- what irritable, and often very angry at the merest trifle; but Clinton was avowedly his favorite, and ‘ every accident or short-coming on his part was over- looked with the utmost good nature. Clinton was in a dangerous position for one of his susceptible age; but without being at all elated by the smiles and praises lavished upon him, he performed his duties quietly and humbly. We have spoken of him as be- ing proud-spirited, yet it was not that kind of pride which is stimulated by flattery or preferment, but the principle belonging peculiarly to noble, self-reliant 112 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. minds. It was this very pride which lifted him above all feelings of vanity. ‘There was one who looked upon our successful hero with an envious eye. A young man named Jackson, who had been connected with the house from a boy, — first as errand-boy, then gradually rising to more important places till he had become one of the first clerks, —became extremely jealous of him. He had secretly looked for still greater preferment, and, through the agency of the junior partner, his uncle, he had flattered himself that, at a future period, his name would be added to the firm. Jackson considered Clinton as his rival, and, when he saw how he was beloved by Mr. Gay, he wickedly determined to injure him in the opinien of their employer. Though Clinton possessed the happy faculty of making the patrons of the store pleased with himself, and with the articles he vended, he was too conscien- tious to take advantage of the unsuspecting or igno- rant. Jackson, ever ready to find fault with him, scornfully called him ‘‘ Honest Clint,” and took every occasion to deride @his punctilious regard for truth. He would often hint to Mr. Sands, his uncle, that their wonderful little clerk was not such a genius after - all, for he missed many a good bargain. ‘You are more nice than wise,’’ Mr. Sands would say to Clint. ‘This silly whim of yours will spoil you after all, and it is too bad when you have such a fine faculty. There comes a country woman; now display your genius; you can sell her anything you please at your own price.”’ But Clinton was not to bé flattered or frightened away from the high standard which his native integ- rity declared was right. He was obstinate, so Mr. Sands said, and he complained to his elder partner, who, laughingly, declared that honesty was so rare a THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 113 a fault it was quite a novelty, and that Clint should have his own way. Jackson was in despair, and vented his jealousy by invidious fault-finding. ‘‘ You were a fool,’ he said to Clinton one day, ‘‘to sell that lawn for three shillings. The old woman thought it so fine that she would have taken it at four shillings.’” ‘“‘T presume so,’’ said Clinton; ‘‘ but she paid all it was worth, and only ten minutes ago I sold some off the same piece to the rich Miss Morton for three shillings. What reason can you give for making so much difference between the two?”’ ‘“‘Of course, if you had asked Miss Morton more than that, she would have laughed in your face, but that old woman would have thought it all right.” ‘* J should not have thought it right to cheat a poor old lady in that way!” cried Clinton, indignantly. ‘Hallo, boy! don’t be so waxy,” said Jackson, insultingly. ‘‘ No such thing as cheating about it. She would n’t have been obliged to take it unless she chose. So, where’s the harm?” ‘‘T shan’t stop to reason the matter with you, but while I stay here I shall not play with my con- science to please any one.”’ “While you stay here!” repeated Jackson, with emphasis; ‘‘ that’s well put in; for, mark my word, young sir, though you are up now, there’s a chance for you to come down.” Saying these malicious words, the young man turned away, and Clinton forgot his vexation in the pleasure of measuring off a yard of ribbon, and a half- minute’s chat with sweet Fanny Gay. Lovely spring had stepped aside for queenly sum- mer, and summer was now about to yield her sceptre to the glowing autumn. ‘The time had passed profit- 8 114 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ® ably and pleasantly with Clinton; and, in spite of his envious companion, he was steadily growing in the affections and respect of all around him. But there was a cloud in his horizon; yet he was happily uncon- scious of the rising storm. Late one afternoon several large bales of costly goods were received, and there was much running and confusion in getting them arranged for evening sale. On opening a package of rich silks, they were dis- covered to be considerably damaged. Mr. Sands was much vexed at this circumstance; for the silks were of a new style, and he had hoped to make quick sale of them. He stood musingly a few moments, and then said to his nephew, ‘‘ We can dispose of these if we only take the right way. The store will be thronged to-night; and we must make the best of it. Clint Forrest can, if he is not too wilful, dispose of every damaged piece; he is such a favorite with the ladies that none would mistrust the possibility of his palming off bad silk upon them.” _ “Ta, uncle,” replied Jackson, ‘‘ you can’t coax ‘honest Clint’ to carry on any such game, he’s such a mighty pious chap! ’ “T shan’t coax him, but order!” said Mr. Sands, impatiently. ‘‘ You go call him to me, and I’ll give him his directions.”’ On a settee, at a little distanee from the scene of this colloquy, sat a gentleman apparently engrossed m reading; but a close observer could have seen, from the keen glances which he now and then threw over his paper, that he understood the state of affairs, and was interested in the result. He was of a portly figure, and possessed a countenance strikingly intel- ligent. His broad: white brow overshadowed a pair of eyes of the clearest, darkest blue. There was a pleasant light in them when he smiled; but, when \ THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 115 fixed earnestly upon one, they seemed capable of reading the inmost thought. .The timid or guilty would have shrunk abashed from a glance of those keen, searching eyes. His mouth was large, but the snowy teeth, and the benevolent, genial smile which hovered round it, relieved it of all unpleasantness. He appeared easy and self-possessed, and was evi- dently a leisurely gentleman. When Clinton appeared, saying that he was ready to receive Mr. Sands’ instructions, the gentleman’s face lighted up with a new interest, and, though the conversation was carried on in an under tone, he looked as if he understood it _all by intuition. ‘‘T want you to take your station here, Clinton,”’ said Mr. Sands. ‘‘ Arrange everything in’ the most favorable position, and make it your business to sell these silks. Sell every piece to-night, if possible! ’ “But these silks are all more or less injured, sir.” “ Some of the pieces are not quite perfect, I know,”.” replied the merchant, a little uneasily; ‘ but that’s” nothing to you; your duty is to sell them.” There was a flush on Clinton’s brow as he said, deprecatingly, ‘‘ Will you be so kind, sir, as to let me work somewhere else? I think Mr. Jackson would succeed better in selling the silk than I should.” ‘‘There is no one who could succeed better than you, if you only use your wits to the best advantage ; so don’t make any excuses, but do just as I tell you.” ‘* But, sir,” pleaded the boy. , ‘“No ‘but sirs’ to me!’ shouted Mr. Sands, entirely thrown off his guard; ‘‘obey me!” The clerks looked up from their writing at the outbreak, to see the subject of this imperative command; and some of the customers turned round in surprise. Blushing and mortified, Clinton passed behind the counter, and commenced arranging the multitudinous “ Tie? THE HARVEST OF LOVE. articles with which it was strewed. Mr. Sands looked — at him sternly for a moment, then said, in a low voice, as he turned away, ‘‘As you value your position in this house, oe Forrest, you will obey my direc- tions.’ Clinton Vaninted his work with burning checks and downeast eyes. His mind was in such a tumult that his actions were confused, and he stood bewildered at his own awkwardness. Though Jackson was busy, he watched him with one eye, and chuckled over his discomfort. The gentleman on the settee threw down his paper and leaned carelessly back with half-closed ‘eyes, yet he could see Clinton’s face, and, from its” expressive features, read the workings of his soul. When the lamps were hghted Clint drew a sup- pressed sigh, and clasped his hands convulsively, as if that moment his fate was sealed. The keen eyes watching him opened suddenly, and their possessor started as if he had a mind to leave his seat; but, after a momentary hesitation, he leaned back again in the same dreamy attitude as before. A little girl now asked for some gingham, and Clinton, blessing her in his heart that it was not silk ~ she desired, waited upon her politely. A lady called for satin, another for delaine, cambric, &c., &c. The ladies were very obliging, for they seemed to demand everything but silk. He began to breathe more — freely, when an elderly lady, with a stately air, approached. A nervous fear possessed him that she would ask for silk, —.yes, he knew she would want silk! Though the lady spoke quietly, he fancied her tone startlingly loud as she said, ‘I wish to look at your nice silks.”’ ; The dreaded moment had come! With a great effort at self-control, he displayed the shining fabrics, and, with composure that surprised himself, com- THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. aig mented upon their richness of style and coloring. The fair purchaser turned over pattern after pattern, with a dissatisfied air. ‘‘ Have you no other greens than these?” she asked. ‘That piece under your hand is very beautiful, madam.’’ ‘‘ Very true; but I want something darker. There is a piece which I think will be just the thing,” she added, pointing to a pile of dark patterns upon a shelf. With a feeling of infinite relief, he threw down a piece of dark green, which he knew to be of excellent ‘quality. The lady pronounced it to be ‘just thé thing,” and bargained for the whole of it. Then two young ladies wished to look at black silk. With a trembling hand, Clinten displayed the article. in demand. ‘The piece which appeared to please them best, though fine and glossy, was so much injured as to be nearly worthless. He tried to turn their atten- tion te some other pattern, but they seemed quite set upon that one. The girls were dressed in deep mourning; and, though genteel in appearance, it was iden they were far from being wealthy. The tenes of their voices, as they conversed softly with each other, were «sad and touching. There was something very inter- - esting about them. ' 6 “Tam afraid we can’t afford it, sister,’’ said one, gently. ‘‘T know it is high,” said the other; ‘‘but it ap- pears to be an excellent piece, and you know ’tis always economy to purchase a good article.” Clinton drew back respectfully while they discussed . the question. Presently the elder one, turning a pale, sad countenance towards him, desired him to measure off two dress patterns. The gentleman on the settee leaned breathlessly ¢ 4a co 118 THE HARVESE OF LOVE. forward, while Clinton, ignorant of the keen scrutiny to which he was subject, hesitatingly balanced the yard-stick in his hand. ‘‘ Young ladies,’’ said Clin- ton, with sudden resolution, ‘‘{ am sure that silk would not suit you. I cannot deceive you; the most of it is badly damaged. I will show you some which I know is perfect, and, though it is better in quality, you shall have it at the same price.”” So saying, he took from the shelf a piece of excellent quality, which had been on hand several weeks. ‘The ladies expressed themselves satisfied, and, thanking him for his candor, departed with their purchase. Jackson, who had watched Clinton exultingly, now went to Mr. Sands, and told him that Clinton had lost: half a dozen good chances for disposing of the injured silk; that he was selling old silk instead of the new, and telling everybody that the goods were damaged. Glowing with passion, Mr. Sands called the boy aside. “You are an impudent, audacious fellow !”’ he cried. ‘‘ You have most insultingly disregarded my commands! I wish Mr. Gay were here. I think this would’open his eyes.a little.” “I, too, wish he were here,” said Clinton, calmly. ‘TY am certain he would stand my friend in this in- stance.’”” ‘ ‘ “This is intolerable ! ”’ dxclaimen the merchant, _ with an assumption of imsulted dignity. ‘In Mr. Gay’s absence, you consider yourself at the head of the establishment; but you will find that there are other wills here besides yours. or the present you must change places with Jackson, and to-morrow you will hear more upon the subject. Without a word, Clinton passed to the lower end of the store, as Sands directed, His head was erect with manly dignity, and his eye burned with scornful indignation. ‘The gentleman who had watched him THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 119 with so much interest, noted his appearance with a triumphant smile, and, nodding his head emphatically, as if to express his approbation, he folded his paper and leisurely left the store. Mr. Gay had been absent from the city on a short pleasure-excursion; and when he returned, on ‘the morrow, his partner gave him an exaggerated and misrepresented account of Clinton’s conduct. The persecuted boy was called into his private counting- room for a conference with him. ‘The old gentleman was very angry, and, like all persons in that state, exacting and unreasonable. Clinton readily perceived from his countenance that an explanation, at that time, would be worse than useless. ‘‘ Well, young man,’’ were the words that saluted his ear, ‘‘ you have gone to work strangely during my absence ; you have been guilty of most reprehensible conduct; you have meanly taken advantage of my favoritism; you have insulted my partner, and attempted to take the order- ing of affairs into your own hands; you have under- valued my goods, and shown yourself very careless of my interests.’’ | The angry man paced the narrow apartment, as waiting for a reply; but the poor boy was almost breathless at such unexpected and undeserved charges. ‘J don’t wonder you are silent; silent with shame! I did think. you were worthy of my affection; but I now say that you are ungrateful — unworthy of my patronage.” “QO, my dear sir, do let me explain it to you —” ‘¢ Explain!’ interrupted Mr. Gay; ‘‘ I don’t want any explanation. Hasn’t Mr. Sands told me the whole story, and isn’t his word to be believed? But, Clinton,” he continued, more calmly, for his dis- tressed countenance softened him somewhat, ‘if you 120 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. will promise to make amends, and comply with Mr. Sands’ orders, perhaps we can overlook this.” ‘7 will comply with all reasonable commands; but T can’t sell goods that I know to be damaged.” ‘Not a word about damaged goods. Damaged goods in my store, sir!’’ cried the merchant, hotly. ‘You shan’t stay in my employ a day longer, unless you promise to obey implicitly all my directions and those of my partner. I’m determined on that! So, will you promise ?”’ Though greatly agitated, Clinton answered, respect- fully, ‘‘I am sure I ought not to make such a prom- ise; will you please to let me go away now,. for I know you would not wish me to make the promise, if you knew just how it was.” . ‘“No; I shan’t let you creep round me. I want your word now. Will you promise ?”’ Nose? . “Then I discharge you from this moment! You are no longer my clerk. I command you to leave my premises immediately.” Half-astounded by these words, Clinton advanced, with an imploring look, towards Mr. Gay. “Go!” cried the enraged man, poimting to the door; ‘‘go! I care not if I never see you again.”’ Clinton needed no further command, and, vainly striving to compose his outraged feelings, he turnéd his steps towards the mansion that, fer five happy months, he had called home. He ascended to his chamber, unobserved by any of the family, and hast- ily placed his clothes in his trunk. Then he hailed a passing coachman, and desired him to carry it to J ’s Hotel. Now he tried to collect his disor- dered thoughts, and arrange some plan of” action. For a moment he was tempted to remain in the house until Mr. Gay returned, as he imagined he might — THE FORTUNES OF CLINTON. 121 relent towards him when his temper had cooled; but he felt too much injured and outraged to harbor the thought of suing for favor; and, even should Mr. Gay voluntarily restore him to his former position, he knew that both Sands and Jackson were his ene- mies; and, such being the fact, he felt little desire to remain. ‘‘ Yes,” he said to himself, ‘‘he bade me go, and I will go; but first I must say good-by to Mrs. Gay and the young ladies.” Though he tried to ap- pear calm and self-possessed as he entered the parlor, where the ladies were seated, Fannie instantly noticed his altered looks. . ‘“* Are you sick, Clinton?’ she asked, kindly. ‘No, dear Fannie; I have come to bid you and your mother and Miss Marion good-by.”’ ‘“ How does that happen??? said Mrs. Gay. “I hope you are not going to:leave us.’’’ “Yes, madam, "T must leave immediately. IT am | no longer in your husband’s employ.” 0, you mustn’t go off!’ said Fannie. ‘‘ What makes you dissatisfied? Something has vexed you, I know, for I see ,you are angry now, though you try to speak calmly.” ‘‘T have no choice,” said Clinton. ‘ Your father is very angry with me, ‘and has discharged me.’ ‘‘ Discharged you!’’ cried Fannie, incredulously. Mrs. Gay looked surprised. ‘‘ You had better stay till Mr. Gay returns. He is very hasty sometimes, . and I dare say you will remain with us yet.” ““T thank you, dear Mrs. Gay; but circumstances have occurred which make it impossible for me to stay. So I must say ‘ good-by’ to you.’ ‘hen you are really going?” said Fannie, with starting tears. “Yes, I must,” said Clinton, resolutely. ‘‘ You will think of me, sometimes, Fannie? ”’ in me ¢ 122 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ‘Yes, yes, very often.” ‘Q, you will be back again in less than a week,” said Marion, cheerfully ; “father will search Phila- delphia through before he’d go without you, even if he does send you off ina passion. Good-by, Clint!” and she gave him her hand, with a pleasant smile. He shook hands with Mrs. Gay, and once more with Fannie, and hastened away, before they had time to detain him longer. ‘‘T wonder what Clinton has done to anger father so much?” said Mrs: Gay. ““T don’t believe he has done anything wrong,” said Fannie, decidedly; ‘‘and I say it is too bad in papa to send him away without a minute’s warning!” The young girl buried her face in her a to hide her streaming tears. Marion looked at her weeping sister, ite a pecu- liar smile played round her lips. If she had spoken her thoughts aloud, she would have said, ‘‘ If they were not such mere children, I should say it was a lucky accident which separates my little sis and this handsome, black-eyed boy so soon.”’ CHAP UDE R: XoL Eb. NEW DEVELOPMENTS. WEARIED and disheartened, Clinton leaned against a jutting window, where varied autumn fruits were temptingly displayed to allure the passer-by. It was a rare, golden September day, whose very bright- ness mocked the sad one. He took off his hat, and the soft breeze and glittering sunbeams played with his jetty locks, as he sighingly thought of the vexa- tions and disappointments of the past two weeks. How many streets had he traversed and retraversed ; how many curt replies, cold rebuffs, and insulting denials, he had received; how often had his heart sunk with despondency, or throbbed with indignation and wounded feeling, in his vain search for employ- ment ! Kyen the smallest merchant insisted upon good references; and if poor Clint acknowledged that he had been the clerk of the rich Amos Gay, then came a long series of questions, with the invariable conclu- sion that he would ‘‘ not suit.’”’ Then he sought for other kinds of employment; and when his small stock of money.was nigh spent (Mr. Gay, in his passion, had forgotten to pay him), his humble in- quiry was for ‘‘anything to do.”’ By chance jobs he now and then earned a few pennies; but the finger of ; (128) 124 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. fate seemed pointing sternly at him, and hurting all hearts from him in coldness. ‘‘T will leave the city immediately,”’ he said to to himself; ‘‘it 1s of no use for me to stay here longer; fate is against me. I will go to Oakville, and see if all have changed as have Josie and Mina. The doctor’s last words were, ‘Clinton, remember I am your true friend. In any trouble or emergency, do not fear to apply to me.’ I will not accept anything from him, but his influence will certainly secure mea place where I can obtain an honest livelihood.” ° But Clinton could not put his resolution into im- mediate effect, as he had not sufficient money to earry him to his former home. Disagreeable as was the task, he must renew his search for work, and earn the requisite sum. ‘Sir, I am very anxious to get some work; could you employ me, even for a few days?” he said toa gentleman he was passing. The gentleman stopped short, and stared at him as if something in his appearance or his petition sur- prised him greatly. ‘‘T am in search of some honest employment, ‘i Clinton said, a little abashed by the keen, questioning glance which followed the first look of wonderment. ‘“Q, you.want employment, honest employment? That ’s well. But what do you prefer to do?”’ ‘‘T should prefer to perform the duties of clerk or secretary ; but I am ready and willing to do any-- thing.” ‘What have you been doing, and who has em- ployed you?” Clinton hesitated; then, remembering he had no cause to be ashamed to confess that he had been dis- charged from Mr. Gay’s establishment, he answered — NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 125 candidly, ‘‘I have been clerk in Mr. Amos Gay’s store during the spring and summer months.” ‘“‘ But you have left him, and are now seeking some ‘honest employment’ ?”’ said the gentleman, with a tone of irony, and an insinuating smile, which brought a flash to Clinton’s eye, and’ dyed his face with crim- son. Clinton looked up questioningly into the gentle- man’s face, but he could read nothing there; he was evidently playing with him ‘1 -see you have nothing for me to do, so I will not trouble you longer,’ said the boy, with-the air of one who does not choose to have his honor trifled with. ‘Wait, my boy,” cried the gentleman, his manner suddenly changing, and a genial smile breaking like a sunbeam over his noble countenance; ‘“ wait @ mo- ment. I have really taken a great liking to you, and must talk with you. I will be serious now, for I have found out what stuff you are made of. Will you ex- plain to me why you left Mr. Gay. Trust me, for I am disposed to be your friend.” Clinton could not withstand his friendly manner, and he briefly but explicitly related the circumstances occasioning his rupture with Mr. Gay. The gentleman was charmed alike by the integrity and modesty manifest in his simple narrative, and indignant because of Mr. Gay’s hasty and unjust conduct. Clinton begged him not to speak harshly of his former friend and patron. ‘Though I felt wronged by his passionate treatment,” said he, ‘‘ his previous kindnesses to me demand my gratitude and respect.’ “Well, well, my boy; glad to see you thus dis- posed to remember favors. But I’m going to tell you something that will surprise you a little, I fancy. Twas in the store when Mr. Sands gave you your orders for selling the silks; I saw your reluctance to 126. THE HARVEST OF LOVE. comply with -his command, and watched with great interest all your proceedings. I read the struggles in your mind, and saw your triumph over temptation. I knew you when you spoke to me,—should have known you in France! There was something about your face that struck me at first; and now, as your black eyes grow big with wonder, it seems as though Thad known you before. Strangely familiar those eyes, and that firmly-set mouth!’ continued the gentleman, as if talking to himself; ‘‘ who, who, does he remind me of ?”” — ‘Clint Forrest! as I live! O, I’ve found you at last, you young scamp!”’ cried Mr. Gay, seizing Clinton by the shoulder with a hearty shake. ‘‘ What did you hide yourself for? Gritty, were you? Well, I can’t blame you for that, I suppose, when I’ve got so much of the real grit myself; but come right home with me before I lose you. They will all be glad to see you. Fannie has half cried her eyes out because you ran away.” ‘Indeed, Mr. Gay, this is very unexpected,” said Clinton. ‘‘ Do you really wish to receive me again as your clerk? ”’ ‘Wish it! I insist upon it! Didn’t I engage you for a year, and you ran off without giving any warning? But I’ll forgive that,” said Mr. Gay, with a good-natured laugh, ‘“‘and engage you for another year, dating from to-day, with this express stipulation, that, even if I discharge you three times a week, in a passion, you are to stay till I tell you, soberly and calmly, to go.” ‘¢ Before I accept your conditions, sir, I must know whether or not you fully understand the cause of the trouble between Mr. Sands and myself? ”’ ** Yes, dear Clinton,” replied Mr. Gay, dropping his playful tone. ‘‘ After inquiring into the affair, I NEW DEVELOPMENTS. Bree 4 found that you were in the right. Sands did not mean I should know anything about the injured goods; for he was aware that it was against my prin- ciples to have any such underhanded work as he wished you to engage in. He and I have parted lots, and, as I now am sole proprietor, I can’t possibly get along without you.” Clinton’s face beamed with pleasure as-he tried to express his thanks. ‘‘ Don’t stand here stammering,”’ laughed the kind old merchant; ‘‘come along, quick; I want to show you to Fannie.”’ ‘Stay, sir,” cried the gentleman to whom Clinton had confided his grievances ; ‘‘I question your right to hurry this lad away so unceremoniously. We were conversing, and you interrupted us.’ He presented his card, which Mr. Gay accepted with an apologetic bow. ‘ Ah, Iam happy to make your acquaintance. Though I never have had the pleasure of meeting with you before, your name is familiar to me. You must excuse my interruption, but I had quite given up finding Clinton Forrest, and was consequent- ly much gratified to discover him.’’ ‘Clinton Forrest,’’ repeated the gentleman, ‘‘ that is an uncommon name, — Clinton Forrest! I must gave a half hour’s talk with him in private. My hotel is near; we will go there, and, after our con- versation, with your permission I will accompany him to your house.” ‘‘ Certainly, sir, most happy to see you; shall ex- pect you to remain to tea. Clint,” he continued, moving off, ‘‘I shall confidently expect you to make no engagements with any persons except myself.’’ Clinton’s companion took him by the arm, and hurried him along as though he were a refractory child; then ushered him, without ceremony, into the 128 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. most luxurious apartment of a fashionable hotel. ‘Sit down, Clinton Forrest,’ he said to the bewil- dered boy, ,‘‘and answer all my questions without reserve, I beseech you. Who were you named after ?”’ ‘¢ My father, sir.” ‘¢ And what was your mother’s name, —her maiden - Nameen gi iy “T only know that it was Annie; for she died at my birth, and my father died a few days before.”’ “Annie!” ‘The questioner’s voice was choked; and, pale with agitation, he placed his chair close to Clinton’s, and took his hand in his. ‘But don’t you know her last name ?”’ ‘No, sir; I never could find it out, and I never have seen a single relative in all my life.” “This is all very singular,” said the gentleman, in a low, musing voice, while Clinton’s surprise gave place to vague, half-formed, yet delightful hopes, — “very strange. ‘Tell me all you know about your parents.”’ « ‘YT know nothing about them, except what my acquaintances in Oakville (my native place) have told me since I was old enough to feel curiosity about the matter. My parents went to Oakville about a year before I was born. ‘They were entire strangers, andg seemed to avoid becoming acquainted with any of their neighbors, so that no one in the place ever found out where they came from, or the names of any of their friends. People said they seemed devoted to each other, though my mother was very melancholy, and callers often found her crying. She was so reserved that some folks called her proud, and others said they guessed she wasn’t ‘any too good.’ But I know that was all tattle,’’ continued the boy, becom- ing warm in the defence of his mother, whom he had ’ NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 129 never known; “‘ for something in my heart tells me that she was good and true. My father’s death was a terrible blow to her. They say she never appeared rational after that.” ‘‘ But she did n’t die without speaking of any of her friends, without telling who she was?” eagerly asked the attentive listener. ‘‘Yes; though the kind lady who tock care of her tried to make her comprehend that she was leaving me, her baby, “without a protecter or friend in the world, she only murmured something about her husband being an orphan, and that her brothers would care for the poor baby.” “Were there no papers to be found, which could give any Clue to the whereabouts of her friends?” ‘‘Strange as it may appear, there could be found no family record, or letters, except.a few on busi- ness, which threw no light on the mysterious subject. They had but very little furniture or clothing, which, when sold, could only pay the expenses of their sick- ness and funerals. I lived seven years in the alms- house, a neglected, wretched child; but at last God raised me up kind friends, who taught me self-respect, and gave me the means of attaining a respectable education. My mether were two rings, which the lady whe nursed her saved for me. I always carry them with me as precious mementos of my mether.”’ ‘Show them to me!”’ was the eager exclamation. Clinton drew from his pocket a small morocco case, which he unclasped, and took therefrom a plain gold ring, and one set with hair of three shades, with the name ‘‘ Annie”’ engraved on the inner side. The gentleman seized the latter, while his face grew pallid with contending emotions. His eyes were fastened upon the ring as if in fascination. He mournfully 9 130 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. — turned it in his hand, kissed it, and placed it upon bis little finger. ‘Tt was as I feared,”’ he said, in a low, tremulous voice. ‘QO, Annie, you died alone, without a friend to hear your last prayer, — our pet bird, our beauti- ful one! ‘ Brothers would care for your babe’? OQ, how gladly would they have cherished it had Provi- dence only permitted!” Tears streamed down his cheeks; his head sank upon the table, and his whole frame shook with con- vulsive sobs. ute with amazement, Clinton gazed upon him, while tears of compassion filled his eyes. ‘You look wonderingly upon me,”’ said the gentle- man, after a momentary indulgence of his emotion. ‘God grant that you may never shed such tears of sorrow. O, my boy, this rmg assures me without doubt that you are the son of my only and dearly- beloved sister! I gave it to her on her eighteenth birthday, with her hair, my own, and our brotheyr’s, woven init. I little thought then that it would ever come back to me with such a melancholy tale. You have never known a mother’s love or a father’s care; have never seen a relative in all your life! Poor boy! poor boy! Come, my nephew, lay your head upon my breast; let me fold my arms about you. I will be father and mother to you, sister and brother, —all that your desolate heart can ask !”’ With a joyful cry and a tumultuous burst of tears, Clinton sprang into his uncle’s outstretched arms. He had proved friendship fickle, and now, with a blissful feeling of confidence and security, he pillowed his head upon the breast of his new-found relative. CHAPTER XIII. EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. A LETTER! it has a magician-like power! Beneath its seal lies an invisible spirit, ready to spring forth with art to awaken any or every emotion of which ° the heart is capable. A letter! now the reader’s eye dances with joy, and pleasure wreathes the lip with smiles. ~Affection’s flame burns brighter as thie glowing words daguerreotype themselves upon the tablet. of the soul. Anon, a stroke of wit calls forth a mirthful laugh, or a reminiscence fills the heart with tender memories. Perchance the tale it tells is of sorrow. Then tears rain on the speaking paper ; or the breast may heave with slighted love, and swell with angry resentment, as words of coldness or rebuke pierce their arrows in the soul. Joy, sorrow, love, hate, hope, fear, anger, and jealousy — each and every passion of the human soul is subject to the sway of that little, mystic thing —a letter ! | Methinks written words coming from the handof a beloved friend have greater weight than those that are spoken; they assume.a palpable form that brings conviction to the mind. We read the lines again and again, imagining the look and tones of the writer, while the subtle, invisible, still existing chain, linking kindred minds, though mountains, seas, and mighty countries intervene, is woven more closely round the heart. . But to our story. (181) 132 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. Elmina was very lonely after the departure of her two dear brothers; and, as her father had accompanied Frank to Boston, she had no one at home to appreciate her feelings. During the excitement of preparation she did not realize how hard the parting would be to her affectionate nature; but when the ‘ Good-by’ was said, and they were really gone, she felt inexpressibly lonely, and yielded to what she then thought her inconsolable sorrow. Under these circumstances, the companionship of the cheerful, energetic Josie Lee was invaluable. By- her judicious conversation and advice, Klmina resumed her former studies and occupations; and soon the quiet, placid smile, so peculiar to her lovely face, played upon the features and sent its healing influence down into her heart. If inward peace produces out- ward cheerfulness, it is equally true that placidity, of manner and determined cheerfulness, even if assumed, will soften and make more endurable the concealed sorrow. cae: . When she received two letters, — one from her father, telling all the circumstances of Frank’s embarkation, and stating his own intention of remaining in the’ city several weeks, and the other from Clinton, — she joyously sprang up the stairs into her own room, where she might enjoy their perusal undisturbed. With all her efforts at self-control, she could not restrain the tears which flooded her eyes, or her eager impatience to receive at once the whole import of those welcome missives. ‘“‘T must answer Clint’s letter directly,” she said to herself. ‘‘ As he is journeying about, I shall lose track of him unless I do.”’ She seated herself at her little writing-desk, drew forth a sheet, and soon her pen was flying nimbly over the snowy page, embodying, in fit- ting words, the warm outgushings of her heart. When EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 133 she had nearly finished her pleasant task, her aunt Jane came in, and seated herself near the desk. With a bright smile, Elmina tossed the letters into her aunt’s lap, saying, ‘‘ I suppose you wish to hear from father and Clinton.” While Mrs. Clement read, she now and then paused to look upon Elmina’s animated countenance, as she plied her pen more assiduously than before. ‘‘ You are writing to your father, are you not?”’ “No, aunt; [am answering Clinton’s letter, and I want. to put it into the office to-night, for he may leave Philadelphia very soon. I shall write to my father to-morrow.”’ ‘““Tt seems to me that you are neglecting your father in your haste to correspond with this young gentleman,” said Mrs. Clement with a disagreeable intonation. Elmina made no reply, but wrote the last line, and affixed her name at the end. ‘‘It is a very unusual thing, and highly improper, in my opinion,” continued her aunt, in the cautious manner which some persons assume when they have a hidden object to gain, ‘‘for a boy and girl of your ages to hold a correspondence. J am sure your father would not approve of it.” Elmina looked up with innocent surprise, exclaim- ing, ‘‘ Where can be the impropriety, aunt Jane? Clint is just like a brother to me; almost as dear as my own Frank!” ; ‘‘ Of course, child, you can’t see any impropriety in it. Girls néver do in any of the silly and improper notions they get into their heads. Clint isn’t your brother, nor any relation at all; so your-calling him brother don’t alter the matter in the least.” Though unused to question the opinions of her superiors, Elmina could not blindly yield her will to what she felt to be unsound reasoning. She said. 1384 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. gently,. ‘‘ Don’t you remember, aunt, that father often called Clint his son, and was pleased to have Frank and me consider him as a brother ?”’ ‘QO, yes,’ interrupted her aunt, ‘“‘ I remember that he was petted and praised till he fancied himself equal to the best in the house; and it is none of my affair, of course, whether you write to him or not. I have given my opinion, however; so my conscience will be clear if you do make yourself ridiculous.” The young girl revolved the question in her mind ; there seemed but one conclusion, —that it would be ex- tremely unkind to neglect the affectionate epistle she had just received. As she folded and directed her letter, she said, ‘‘ Please excuse me, aunt Jane, if I do not take up with your advice. I cannot bear to grieve Clinton by silence and neglect.” ° She expected Mrs. Clement would be angry with her, and was agreeably surprised, when she rose, say- ing, quietly, ‘‘ Well, I dare say ’t will do no harm, for the boy will find new friends, and soon forget all the favors he has received in this house. It is late for you to go out, so I will take your letter and send James with it to the office.” Elmina thanked her, and, when left alone, fell to wondering if it were possible that Clint could ever forget her. She judged him by her own true heart, and answered the mental question with a decided, ‘¢ No!” One day, when she was ill with a nervous head- ache, James brought Clinton’s second letter. It affectionately chided her for not replying to his _ previous epistle, and ended with an earnest petition for her to write immediately. The unsuspecting girl ‘dreamed of no fraud, and, though surprised and .an- noyed that her letter had been miscarried, she had not a thought of blaming any one. She rose from EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 135 her pillow, and wrote a few words, assuring Clinton of her unaltered friendship and regard, and apologized for her short note on account of her headache. She then called her cousin, and asked him to take it to the post-office. James, who really loved Klmina, willingly ‘accepted the little commission. As he passed his mother’s room, she called him in, and, after closing the door, inquired in a low voice if Elmina had had not given him a letter for Clinton. “You give it to me, James,’’ she said, after he had answered in the affirmative; ‘‘ give it tome; you need n’t carry it.”’ ‘Why, mother, I promised Mina that I would; and she will think it very strange if I do not.” ‘Leave the letter with me, and go down the street so that she will have no suspicions. If she asks you about it, tell her you gave it to the post- master.”’ . James looked at his mother inquiringly. This was not the first lesson in deception which she had taught him, but he could not understand her motive in this instance. _“T will explain my plan to you, James, or you will defeat my object by some blunder. I am de- termined to break off all communication between your uncle’s family and Clint Forrest. If burned Mina’s first letter, and, if I take care of this, I don’t think Clint will trouble us with any more letters; for you know he is sensitive and high-spirited. If we don’t hear from him, your uncle will feel himself neglected, and say the boy is ungrateful. That is just what I want; for the doctor thinks so much of him now, that like as not he will give him some of his proper- ty, and I think he has spent enough already on that _ beggar-boy. Just get him out of hearing, and you will have a better chance to gain the doctor’s favor. 136 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. You see that a mother is always ready to do anything to advance the interests of her children, and im this case you will be glad to help me, for we have neither of us a very particular affection for Clint.’” As may be supposed, James made no opposition to the scheme of his unprincipled ‘mother, and left the letter with her, though he informed ee cousin, at ° night, that he had given it to the postmaster, and had no doubt it would go safely. Thus was Elmina, as well as Clinton, made the victim of a selfish, jealous woman. When the doctor returned from the city, one of his first mquiries was for his young protege. He read the letters his daughter had received with much pleas- ure, and expressed impatience to hear from_him again, as he wished to write to him himself. Week after week passed away, and they wondered, and made all possible and impossible conjectures as to. why Clinton did not. write. ‘They heard regularly from Frank, who wrote in fine spirits; but still the good doctor felt disappointed and dissatisfied, and Elmina extremely grieved, at the neglect of one whom they had treated with so much affection and consideration. Mrs. Clement often expatiated upon Chnton’s ap- parent ingratitude, and assured her brother-in-law that lie might always expect to be thus rewarded for conferring favors on those out of his own family. When Clinton’s letter to Josephine Lee reached its destination it was in vacation time, and Josie was ab- sent on a.journey; hence the reason of its being unanswered. ‘This train of circumstances severed: Clinton for many years from the place of his nativity and the friends of his childhood. About a year after the incidents above recorded, Elmina discovered, by mere accident, the cause of the OT EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 13T before inexplicable silence of Clinton. One day, in altering the arrangement of her drawers, Mrs. Clem- ent threw a quantity of old papers upon the carpet, and desired Elmina to take them away. She gath- ered them up in her apron, but let them suddenly drop with an exclamation of surprise, as she caught sight of a sealed letter. Mrs. Clement endeavored to snatch it away, with a look of apprehension; but El- mina held it firmly. It was directed to ‘Clinton For- rest, Baltimore.”’ For a moment the young girl was motionless with®surprise, and then unsealed the letter. There could be no mistake; it was the second letter that she wrote to her dear, wandering brother. “What is it, child, that strikes you so?” said Mrs. Clement, with feigned composure. “Why, ’tis one of the letters I wrote to Clint; how could it possibly get there?” The miserable woman tried to laugh it of. “ It is rather strange, but probably it got into my drawer by accident.” “By accident!’ A shameful suspicion rose in Elmina’s mind, and she spoke with unusual vehe- mence. “Aunt J ane, how could this letter get into your drawer by accident, when James agsured mo that he delivered it safe to the postmaster? I can’t understand it.”’ ‘‘T hope’you don’t accuse me of knowing anything about it.’’ ‘‘T don’t accuse any one, aunt; but I must have an explanation, for I know it could n . all happen by accident.”’ ‘‘ Must have an explanation !”’ cried Mrs. Clement, losing all self-control: ‘‘ You demand it, do you? Well, then, listen, and much good may it do you. I took that letter away from James, and threw it inte 138 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. my drawer. I was a fool for not burning it, and then it would never have been discovered.” Elmina: stood transfixed with astonishment. ‘‘Don’t look at me in that way, child! Isay I wish I had burned this, as I did the other! You little thought I could punish you so handsomely for scorning my advice.” She clasped her«hands upon her heaving breast. Anger, scorn, withering contempt, gleamed from those . eyes, usually emitting so tender a light. She could not speak, but her look was more *€xpressive than words, even than the strongest words of passion and reproach. | Her aunt was almost beside herself. ‘‘ Elmina Clement,’’ she screamed, ‘I know now that all your pretended sweetness and gentleness is mere sham, for you look like a perfect fury! Are you speechless ! if so, leave my presence, for I will not be looked through and through by such a. minx.” Without a word, and with the bearing of a princess, Elmina left the chamber and entered her own apart- ment. Here the unnatural tension of the nerves gave way; her lip quivered, and her heart heaved wildly. Resentment gave place to-grief, and she wept bitterly. ‘‘O, dear Clint,” she murmured, ‘‘ how neglectful, how unkind, you must think me! Poor, poor boy, while [ was blaming you unjustly, you were wondering and grieving that Mina could treat you so ill.” Soon her tears ceased to flow, and she thought of her aunt’s wicked conduct, which, to her pure, truth- ful mind, assumed the darkest hue. She had tried to love her; she had daily prayed for meekness and patience; but now her heart swelled with a bitterness that had ever before been ‘a stranger to her gentle breast. The angel in her heart, called conscience, EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 139 whispered words of admonition. She fell upon her knees by the bedside, and prayed for the spirit of love and forgiveness. With tears and sobs, she called upon her sainted mother {o help and bless her. Her prayer seemed answered, for the quick sobs gradually subsided, and, at last, she arose from her knees, with a face calm as the summersky. A gentle tranquillity sat upon her brow, and softened to indescribable sweet- ness the expression of sorrow around her mouth. She opened her Bible, her mother’s Bible, and read. The holy words were, truly, to her wounded spirits, like ‘‘apples of gold in pictures of silver.’’ The door was opened, and the kind-hearted Ann stepped in. Elmina turned her transparent face towards her, and smiled a welcome. ‘‘ Bless me! ”’ exclaimed the girl, with a look of affectionate admi- ration, ‘‘ how like an angel you do look! Any way, you look like the only angel I ever saw, your mother. She was always an. angel—dear, sweet lady! I did n’t expect to find you sitting here so ctlmly, con- sidering with what an ‘air’ you came in, an hour ago.” a It would be very dreadful for me to feel as I did then, for a whole hour,” said Elmina. “‘T don’t think so,” replied Ann; “when I am abused, it does me good to rave about it. O, Mina, if you only knew how I hate that woman! I never . have called her Mrs. Clement, and never will. I’ve called your dear, blessed mother so too many times to give the name to such a disgraceful woman. I was dusting the shelves in the closet, and heard what she said, and I saw you, Mina. O, I wish you could have seen how handsome you looked, with your eyes flashing so, and your face so full of scorn! You would n’t have known yourself, though, but I love 140 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. you better for it; it shows that you have too much spirit to be always trampled under foot.” ‘‘ Don’t try to make me better pleased with myself, because I was so very angry,’’ said Elmina, seriously. ‘‘ Of course, no one could help feeling indignant at such wicked conduct; but I was wrong to get into such a passion.” ‘No, no, I shan’t let you blame yourself, when you have borne so much and so long with such sweet- ness and patience. I have wondered how you could do it, many a time.” i Ah, Anii, you forget how often I am irritated by: aunt’s trying ways. Sometimes I despair of ever doing as my mother would have me. I can’t a i be patient. i The kind-hearted but undisciplined girl looked at Elmina as if she loved and admired her, but could not quite understand her. ‘‘ Well, my dear,” she said, ‘‘ I guess good will come out of this trouble, for your father will be terrible angry. I don’t think he will let your aunt Jane, as you call her (1’d never call her aunt, though), stay another day under his roof.” Elmina’s countenance changed. ‘I have not thought of ghat. Papa is most always ready to ex- cuse people’s faults; but anything like this which aunt has done I know he would not overlook.” ~“T am so glad!” cried Ann. ‘‘ She will surely have to go away. O, I will keep the house just like a new pin, and you will make such a darling little mistress ! ’’ “T am afraid I ought not to tell my father,” Elmina said, thoughtfully. ‘‘It would be such a dis- grace to aunt, to be turned out of the house; and then, you know, she ’d have to work very hard to earn EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 141 her own living. We must try and bear with her longer.”’ ‘‘T don’t care if she does have to earn her own living. I should be glad if she was obliged to go out washing ! ”’ ‘Now, Ann, don’t talk so,”’ said, Elmina, persua- sively. “I must think about it; and don’t, I beg of you, tell the affair to any one, at present. Please go away now, and, if you love me, you will be silent on the subject.” ‘Tf I love you? You know I do, Elmina,” said Ann, kissing the fair, upturned brow; ‘‘so I will go about my work, and hold my peace.” When Mrs. Clement’s passion had a little subsided, she became alarmed for the consequences of her un- guarded confession. She was fully aware that the doctor would not tolerate her longer in his family, when informed of the unworthy part she had played. She concluded to unbend her haughty temper, and conciliate her injured niece, if possible, so that she might retain her pleasant and easy home. With a face wreathed in counterfeit smiles, and her voice tuned to its softest cadence, she sought Elmina, who had already generously determined to ao her from the anger of the doctor. ; sak “hope you will excuse my harsh words, dear Elmina, for you know that I am naturally hasty.” Elmina bowed her reply. There *was neither haughtiness nor anger in her manner, but a reserved dignity, as though the two had suddenly changed places, and the conscious superiority of virtue had made an impassable gulf between them. Mrs. Clement was secretly irritated, still she spoke in the same bland tone. ‘‘It was regard for you, child, that induced me to destroy your letters. I thought it was improper for you to hold a correspond- 142 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ence with one of the other sex; and, if I mistook - my duty, I hope you will believe that my motive was BOM e att I believe that I fully appreciate your motive.’ Mrs. Clement looked puzzled. She was entirely unprepared for such a dignified reception, and these words of irony made her sit very uncomfortably. She suddenly changed her tactics, and appealed to the compassion of her young companion. ‘¢ Klmina, I am a poor widow, without a friend to help me, except your father, and, if he should set me adrift on thé world, I know not what would -become of me. If you should tell him your story, I fear he will be very angry with me.” ‘‘We would be, undoubtedly. I don’t think he would retain you in the family a day longer.” ‘¢Then you will tell him?” cried Mrs. Clement, resorting to her handkerchief. ‘‘O, dear! how can you be so cruel? What will become of me and my poor, fatherless boy? O, that I had never come here, to be sent away in disgrace, and to starve !”’ Elmina could not help smiling at the tragic air of her aunt. ‘‘ You distress yourself unnecessarily,” she said; ‘‘I had resolved, before you came in, not to tell my father anything about it, unless it became my duty to do so in Clinton’s defence, and thus save your wicked conduct from exposure.” She winced at this bold speech, but the promise it contained made it endurable. ‘‘Then you promise not to tell him,” she said, eagerly. ‘‘ You will keep your word? ”’ ‘‘T give you my word,” said Elmina, in a meaning tone, ‘‘and you can trust me.” Elmina rose, as though she wished to put an end to the interview. Her aunt looked upon her with in- voluntary respect. ‘hough her form was girlish, it EXPLANATIONS AND DISCOVERIES. 1438 enshrined a woman’s heart and mind. Mrs. Clement felt this, and never addressed her as ‘ child’’ again. Completely awed and humbled in the presence of her whom she had tried to govern and bend to her own will, she hurried away, thanking her stars that, for a time, at least, she was to be saved from enduring the just penalty of her sin. CHAPTER XIV. SORROW. — NEW PLANS. YEARS have come and gone, bringing sad changes to our friends in Oakville. Dr. Clement’s mansion wears a lonely aspect. The blinds are closed; the garden walks unswept, and the luxuriant vines un- trained. No footstep echoes through the deserted rooms, no voices break the strange stillness there. He who was once owner of the place, has pass over the threshold, never to return, and his sorrowing children have left their desolate home for a season. But three months ago Dr. Clement bade his daugh- ter an affectionate adieu, as he left home for Charles- ton, on business. Ah, little thought they it was the last farewell! The steamer in which he sailed was burned, and Dr. Clement was among the lost. Frank Clement, who was at that time in Boston practising medicine with a distinguished physician, immediately went to Elmina, to weep with her, and comfort her with brotherly love. Dr. Clement was loved and esteemed by all about him, and the intelligence of his sudden death sent a thrill of grief and horror through the community. The most respectful and delicate attentions were show- ered upon the bereaved son and daughter, and often repeated was the kindly inquiry, ‘‘ Can I do anything for you?’’ Alas, there was nothing to be done! This fact added weight to their anguish. They could — (144) Se digg ‘e SORROW — NEW PLANS. _ 145 not look upon the still form of their departed father ; they could not lay his loved remains beside the sacred dust of their’ mother; no flowers could they plant above his resting-place, for he slept beneath the ocean wave ! - They walked about the grounds which his taste had beautified ; they gazed upon the trees he had planted, upon the pretty arbors and trellises his hands had made; and felt, with breaking hearts, that his loved . presence never more would make glad the spot. Mrs. James Clement had continued to be a member of the family, and her son, though always talking of choosing a profession, still idled away his time, freely spending the money of his indulgent uncle. Now the scene was changed. Mrs. Clement was really shocked at the death of her brother-in-law, and, for a few. days, appeared inconsolable. But when she learned that he had left his property in a bad state, and that, when all debts were settled, only the house and adjoining grounds would remain to the heirs, she speedily laid aside her grief and accepted proposals of marriage from a rich old miser. Mr. Wells was a selfish, ignordnt old man, who had spent his life in hoarding wealth ; and only for his golden charms did Mrs. Clement marry him. A few weeks before Frank returned to his profes- sional duties in Boston, Elmina declared her intention of teaching school. Frank strongly objected to such a plan, saying that he should esteem it a privilege to provide for all her wants. “But you are young,” persisted Elmina, ‘‘and probably can earn only enough for yourself, for sev- eral years to come. I am determined to do some- thing for my own support, and I think I should like teaching very much.” ‘* Indeed, tice I shall not consent to any such ) * 146 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. . thing,” said Frank, ‘“‘ while I have health my dear and only sister shall not wear out her life in teaching school. It is harder work than you think for, and you are not very strong.”’ ‘You make me out a useless thing, Frank. Now let me reason with you.” ‘“Nay, Mina, let me reason with you,” said Frank, drawing a letter from his pocket. ‘“‘ Here is a letter from aunt Lucy Lincoln, which may influence you a little.”’ Elmina read the affectionate epistle of her aunt with glistening eyes. Mrs. Lincoln was the half- sister of Dr. Clement, and twenty years his junior. She had not visited Oakville since she was a young girl, and consequently was a stranger to her brother's: family. She expressed the kindest sympathy for the grief of her nephew and niece, and spoke with regret of the very limited intercourse which had existed between her deceased brother and herself. She begged Elmina to come to her, and make her house — her home. She needed ‘‘a companion, a younger sister ;’’ and her husband joimed in her earnest re- quest. There was sincerity breathing through the whole of the epistle, and the brother and sister felt that every word was from the heart. ‘‘T know I shall love aunt Lucy,” said Elmina, smiling through her tears; ‘I know P’shall love her. She seems to possess as kindly a heart as did our father.”’ ‘'Yes,’’ said Frank. ‘TJ like her very much, as she appears in her letter. There is a girlish simplicity about it that makes me think her heart is fresh and ) true; though I suppose her husband is very wealthy, and she a fashionable lady. Then how kind her Invitation for you to come and be her ‘ companion and younger sister’! ”’ SORROW. — NEW PLANS. 147 ‘But I cannot accept of the invitation unless she permits me to teach her children, or do something which will take away all feelings of dependence.” “That’s right, Elmina; I am glad you are so independent. I should like to have you teach our little cousins ; for I have ‘no fear that you would be called upon to exert yourself beyond your strength in the house of our father’s gister. You had better write to her now, telling her that you will visit her, at least, and express the conditions upon which you, will become a member of her family.” An extract from Mrs. Lincoln’s reply will show how Hlmina’s communication was received by her New York friends. “Though I am sorry that you will not accept our ‘hospitality,’ as you term it, without the con- ditions you mention, still 1 love you for the inde- pendent spirit you manifest. George (he is my husband) was delighted with your letter, and says that, if you wish to teach our children, he should entrust them to you with perfect confidence. Helen and Grace say: ‘Do let our cousin teach us, for we are tired of cross old governesses.’ Grace and Bertie, my little twins, have picked out the pleasantest apartment in the house for cousin El- mina. Don’t lament the loss of your fortune, for we have enough for ourselves and eae too.”’ Elmina was now nineteen years of age, and the promise of her childhood was more than fulfilled. In her character was united the cheerful energy of her father with the sweet Christian temper which had made her mother’s life so beautiful. Though death had long divided them, the influence of the mother over her child had beer wonderful, for Elmina had _never forgotten her precepts or example. hare THE HARVEST « OF LOVE. 7, 0, who he express the worth of a true ‘Chats 7 mother ? ? Living or dying, her influence is most precious. She rears her monument in the characters _ of her sons and daughters, and her memorial is written on the tablets of loving hearts ! CHAPTER XV. NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. BEFORE leaving Oakville, Elmina promised Dora May that she would write her long letters, in the form of a diary, in order to lessen the loneliness of separation. The first of these letters continue our story so naturally, that we copy from them, prefer- ring their conversational style to the common mode of story-telling. ‘*New Yorx, Sept. 5, 18—. ~ ‘My pEAREST Dora: Though scarcely rested from the fatigue of my journey, I cannot let another night pass over my head without writing to you. With Frank for my escort, you will readily believe me when I tell you that I had a very pleasant jour- ney, which was happily free from all disaster. ‘We found uncle George Lincoln at the landing with his carriage. He received us with cordiality ; and, while we were waiting for the crowd to disperse, I had leisure to study his personal appearance. ‘The survey was very gratifying to me, and I felt acquainted with him from the moment he took my hand in his. His features are quite regular and pleasing, and it is only his projecting brows and deep-set eyes that save him from the charge of effeminacy. His abundant brown hair looked as if he were too busy to spend much time upon its cultivation, and his dress, though fine in texture, was somewhat negligent ; he his ae (149) i, tit 150 THE HARVEST OF LOYE. bearing was so easy and courteous that I insiingtively pronounced him a true gentleman. “The carriage drew. up before a lordly mansion, and uncle ushered us in without ceremony. The drawing-room was vacant, but he requested us to be seated, and sent a servant-girl in search of her mistress. ‘‘Scarce three minutes had elapsed when aunt Lucy came tripping down stairs with an eagerness that was almost childish, but very charming in her. She shook hands with Frank, and then flew to me, and embraced me most affectionately. She called a servant to remove my bonnet and cape, and then insisted upon doing everything for me herself. All this time she chatted to me with great vivacity, and in the sweetest voice in the world. She had a white muslin wrapper; her shining hair had been hastily drawn into a knot and fastened with a gold pin, while half a dozen stray tresses danced like threaded sunlight over her shoulders; and, when she stepped ‘away “from me, I perceived that one foot was encased in a congress boot, and the other in a white slipper. rier hnghind looked upon her with a tender, but roguish, smile, and playfully remarked upon the strangeness of her attire. She blushed slightly as she looked down upon her ah, and passed one hand over her hair, saying, ‘Ah! you must excuse me; I really didn’t expect you for an hour yet, and I had such a delightful story that I delayed dressing too long. Maggie had just taken down my hair when -you sent for me, and of course I couldn’t keep the dear children of my brother waiting while I com- pleted my toilet; so I twisted up my hair, slipped on the first shoes I could find, and hastened to. welcome them.’ I expressed my pleasure in her unaffected cordiality. She smiled, and, glancing £ for cen) iy sees Bee ~ Aas ‘We NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 151 bewitchingly backward to her husband, excused her- self, and glided away. “f Ah!? thought I, ‘here is a “‘child-wife’” in real life,’ as charmmg as Dickens’ Dora, though with more character, and not a bit more lovely than the dear Dora to whom I'am writing. “Am I too exuberant, too minute in my descrip- tion? I hope I do not weary you; for I wish you to become acquainted with my relatives here, as fast as I do, by my pen-and-ink introduction. I was then shown into my apartment by a neat little maid, where I exchanged my travel-soiled garments for those more suitable to the parlor. ‘¢ After I had finished my toilet I returned to the drawing-room. Aunt Lucy was there before me, dressed with such elegance and taste as assured me that she was far from being indifferent to the adorn- ments of dress. Uncle Lincoln and Frank were engaged in a pleasant conversation, and aunt Lucy half-reclined upon a sofa. There was an air of languor in her attitude, which I fancied was the re- action of her former enthusiasm.. She pointed to a vo- luptuously-cushioned chair, apologizing for not rising, _as she was ‘so very weary.’ ‘Then she began to tell me how happy she was because I had come, and how much she knew she should love me. Her manners were so ingenuous that I could not accuse her of flattery; so I responded warmly. If she remembered rightly, I resembled my father very much, though my hai and eyes were darker. And when she saw the tears that would come at the mention of that dear name, she looked half-shocked, and tried to turn my thoughts to other subjects, with such earnestness that, for her sake, I resolutely banished every trace of emotion. She seemed relieved when I smiled again, 152 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. and rung the bell, saying she would send for her children, and present them to me. ‘‘My three little cousins embraced me with every demonstration of pleasure. Helen is. seven, and Grace and Herbert, the twins, are five years old. O, Dora, I have seen beautiful children, but never before such perfect gems of childish loveliness! Grace and Bertie are exceedingly small, and dazzlingly fair. Their features are so much alike, so exact in their re- semblance, that, were they of the same sex, and dressed alike, I think it would be impossible to distin- guish one from the other. Hair like their mother’s, only more golden, softer and more glossy, ripples in shining curls over their snowy, dimpled shoulders. Every feature is chiselled after the purest model, and their eyes are as clear and blue as a June sky. Even now, dear Dora, till you have seen them, you can have no idea of the cherubic loveliness of these little ones. / ‘‘T turned from the children to their girlish-looking mamma (who has counted only twenty-five years), and half repented that I had called her a ‘child-wife ;’ but, an hour afterwards, I involuntarily pronounced her a ‘child-mother.’ She yielded herself to. their simplest wish, and joined their play with such per- fect abandon, that she seemed a very child among ‘them. Though each character was so becoming to’ her, and she appeared as happy as a bird, my heart feared for her something which even my. own thoughts could not define. ‘‘ At dinner I was introduced to the other mem- bers of the family, Mr. Ike Lincoln, brother to aunt Lucy’s husband, and Lauretta Fay, the gentleman’s ward. Mr. Ike Lincoln is a very benevolent-looking, portly bachelor of thirty-eight. He studied my face all dinner-time; at last I grew nervous under his © NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. £83 sharp glances (he has the keenest eyes I ever saw); and, when he perceived it, he devoted himself to his dessert, but with a peculiar smile upon his lips, which [ tried in vain to read. ‘‘Miss Fay is handsome, and haughty, and cold. I have hardly heard her speak yet. She seems to look down upen my humble self as though I were unworthy of her notice; still I may hike her much - upon acquaintance. * Sept. 8.—I1 begin to feel quite at home now, and think I shall be happy here. I wanted to com- mence teaching my little cousins at once, but aunt Lucy declared I should net while brother Frank remains with us, which is to be but a few days. “T like Mr. Ike Lincoln extremely well; he is rather eccentric in hig ways; some people would call it originality. I have almost forgotten the piercing glances which so disconcerted me when I first met him, for his eyes now beam with a friendly light. Aunt Lucy says it is his peculiarity to look through everybody until he ig satisfied in regard to’ their character. He is a physiognomist, and says that never, upon acquaintance with any one person, has he had reason to change the first estimate he made of his or he® character. Aunt Lucy laughingly tells him that this is the very reason why he never has been married, and why, she fears, he never will be; for, if he can discover every defect of character at first sight, he will be in little danger of losing his heart.. For my own part, I might be embarrassed in. the presence of such a skilful reader of human hearts, were it not for his genial manners, which throw a perfect charm around him. ‘He wishes me to call him ‘uncle Ike,’ as the children do. I was much amused at the idea of * 154 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. calling so young a man, who could not claim the title, ‘uncle;’ but he insists upon it so earnestly, that I am forced to yield. In fact, he is ‘uncle Ike’ to the whole family; aunt Lucy and Lauretta both call him so, therefore I shall be in the fashion. ‘‘To-night there are several visitors in the draw- ing-room. I grew weary of being among strangers, and have stolen away to my own chamber to write to thee, my dear Dora. There is a gentle knocking at my door; it is my little cousins asking for admittance ; so I must lay down my pen and chat a while with them. ‘‘They have gone, the dear little ones, and I re- sume my talk with you. They begin to call me ‘dear cousin Mina,’ and I love them dearly, though T’ve not known them a week. ‘‘ Helen said, to-night, ‘I am glad you have come to be our dear cousin and teacher, for I don’t think we shall be lonesome any more.’ ‘‘ T expressed my surprise that children, in such a beautiful home, with so many books and costly play- things, should complain of being lonesome. ‘I am often lonesome, though,’ persisted Helen, ‘for, since “our governess went away, I have only my music les- sons to attend to. Mamma has company every day, and visits somuch, that she hasn’t much tgne to talk or play with us; but we have a nice frolic now and then with her, and sometimes uncle Ike takes us out to ride.’ ‘‘* But you know we don’t go out often, Nellie,’ said little Grace, ‘and then it seems as though the | long days never would let night come; and Maggie is cross, and Lauretta don’t love to have children around her. 1am glad you are not such a great lady, cousin Mina.’ (Here the little one showered kisses on my forehead, lips and cheeks.) ‘O, I do love you so NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 155 much! I shan’t ever call you governess; for goy- ernesses are cross sometimes, and I know you never will be. I shall call you ‘‘ cousin Mina;” and O, we’ve got a “cousin Ned,” too! Did you ever see him ?’ ‘‘ How the little girls pitied me because I did n’t - know ‘cousin Ned’! Cousin Ned was so handsome, and so good, and funny, too! When he jas at home they never thought of being lonesome, he told such droll stories, and frolicked with them, and made them lots of presents. Q, they wished he had stayed with them, instead of going off to Hurope! ‘ Bertie raised his ringleted head from my lap, where it had lain quietly during his sister’s rhapsodies upon cousin Ned, saying, ‘ You have n’t told the best thing he does; he tries to make us good, and teaches us little songs about Jesus and the shepherds. Every story he tells isn’t funny. Don’t you remember, Grace, that one about little Moses in the basket, and how his mother hid him in the rushes close to the river? I like such stories best.’ ‘“¢¢But, you have n’t told me who cousin Ned is?’ said I. ‘“*Q, I forgot that!’ cried Helen, laughing ; ‘ why, ' he is papa’s and uncle Ike’s nephew, and this is hig home, only she has been gone to Hurope ever so long.’ ‘¢¢ Uncle Ike calls him his boy,’ said Grace; ‘ but he an’t a boy — he is a tall man, and uncle says he is his ‘‘sole heir.’ What does “sole heir’ mean, cousin Mina?’ ‘‘' When I explained it to her, she laughed glee- fully. ‘O, Iam glad, for then I shall have a cun- ning little pony! Ned said he would get me one when he had money enough. How rich he will be! Don’t you know Uncle Ike is dreadful rich, even richer than papa, and papa has got plenty of money ?’ 156 . THE HARVEST OF LOVE. ‘¢¢ Are there any flowers about your home in the ‘country?’ asked Bertie. “CQO, yes, a great many.’ ‘¢¢ How I should love to live there!’ cried the little fellow, a glow of delight overspreading his beau- tiful features. ‘ We all went to the country in July, and Gracie and I picked our hats full of the pretty flowers every day.’ ‘“¢< You are a beautiful flower, yourself,’ I thought, as I kissed his blue-veined forehead. Their nurse called them to go to bed, and they went away, saying, ‘good-night, good-night.’ ‘Dear Dora, I have learned to-night that these lovely children, though possessing affectionate and amiable parents, and surrounded by every luxury wealth can command, are hungry for that food which nourisheth the soul. Every intellectual and physical want is supplied, but chance is suffered to mould their infant spirits. How unlike my own richly- blessed childhood! That sainted mother, whose memory is ever vernal in my heart, knew and under- stood every want, every impulseeof my childish soul. . While she lived, my spirit seemed to grow into hers, so complete and beautiful was her influence over me. Even now I feel her presence near me, prompting me to teach these little ones those things which will germ- inate heavenly plants in the garden of the heart. May her spirit guide me, that I may do my duty well! * ‘Sept. 12. — All of aunt Lucy’s children are much petted and beloved, but little Bertie is the ido} of the mansion. He is never chided, whatever he © may do, or wherever he may go. There is a charm about the child ; his voice and smile seem to throw a spell round every heart. 1 fecl it already myself. é aed NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME... 157 Though I love Helen and Grace dearly, I have un- consciously given Bertie the largest share of my heart. ‘¢ At first, I fancied that Grace and Bertie were as much alike, in character and disposition, as they are in form and feature; but I find it is not so. Grace is like her mother, affectionate, impulsive, volatile. Over Bertie’s face, and beaming from his eyes, there is a spiritual light, never reflected from the countenance of his gay little sister. He is a dreamy, earnest, thoughtful child. Iam often startled by his quaint , conceits, or by the holy expression of his face when he sits quietly thinking. There is a heavenly pres- ence about him; sometimes I think the angels are communing with him. ‘ He is passionately fond of flowers, and often his papa buys a choice bouquet for his darling. «It is really affecting to see the joyful tenderness with which he will examine the little floral gems. I must tell him their names; and those which he has seen growing, he regards with peculiar pleasure. The vases in aunt Lucy’s chamber are always filled with Bertie’s flowers. He often trims my hair with them, _ or twines them among his own fair curls. . ‘* Bertie loves everybody, but Grace better than all others. She seems to be the sunbeam, the joy of his life; and the buoyant Grace regards her more del- icate brother with a strange mixture of tengerness _and admiration. She will lead him about with a patronizing air, and, when he is weary, lay his head in her lap and sing to him, until the canary joins in a wild chorus. ‘Uncle Ike will take him into the library, and spend hours in turning over books of plates, and listen with delight to his unanswerable questions. The servants almost worship him; and was there one 158 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. particle less of the angelic in his composition, they would spoil him with indulgence. Even Lauretta’s haughty. smile is softened when he is by, and her tones, in addressing him, are love-tones. ‘“‘ Dora, do you think my description of little Bertie is too glowing to be actually true? Believe me, my sweet friend, I have written with the pen of truth, not imagination. Bertie is an angel ‘strayed from Paradise,’ and I fear that earth cannot keep him long. ‘‘T hope you are not tired of my juvenile stories, for I must tell you one more. Last night the chil- dren called me into the nursery, where they were un- dressing, and begged* me to tell them .a story while they went to sleep. ‘ Please come in, cousin Mina,’ pleaded Bertie, ‘and hear us say our prayers. Mag- gie is in such a hurry, we have to say them by our- selves, only when mamma has time to come to us.’ ‘“‘ T could not resist their entreaties; so I dismissed Maggie, and put the snowy night-dresses on their fairy forms, and tied over each little head a tiny ruf- fled cap. ‘Then I sat down, and the darlings knelt around me. A sweet solemnity rested down upon my heart. I fancied the air vibrated with the rush of angels’ pinions. Think you not itwas so? For, if celestial guardians ever attend children, as I believe they do, might not a bright band encircle them when they knelt to pray? I felt they were there, holy and glorious, but scarcely more pure than the sinless ones bowed at their evening orisons. : ‘¢ Hirst, Helen repeated her prayer, slowly and rev- erently, with her head bowed, and her hands folded meekly upon her breast. | ‘ Bertie commenced, ‘Our Father,’ with his head thrown back, and his clasped hands upraised. A rapt smile played round his mouth, and his eyes seemed to pierce the veil hiding heavenly things from our mor- NEW FRIENDS AND A NEW HOME. 159 tal gaze. His tones were exultant, as though his soul rose upward on the holy words. A little child, pray- ing thus! My heart stood still with awe. I feared, in that ecstatic trance, his spirit, too beautiful, too strong for his fragile body, would soar heavenward, and leave untenanted the lovely clay. When the ‘amen’ was breathed, his head dropped slowly till it rested in my lap, as if the strugglings of his spirit had ex- hausted his tender frame. ‘hen Grace lisped her prayer in sweet accents, with a roguish gleam in her blue eyes, which were upturned to mine. With the last word upon her lips, she sprang forward, and threw her arms about my neck, telling me, ’mid a shower of kisses, ‘how very much ° she loved me’! © ~—# ‘‘ After they were in bed, I told stories to the coax- ing girls until slumber kissed their white eyelids. Bertie had lain quietly in his crib, but, when I rose to go, he spoke out, suddenly, ‘ Cousin Mina, if I should die, should I be an angel?’ ‘“‘ = OH ACP PERK A VDL LAURETTA. ** Wealth often killeth, where want but hindereth the budding ”* In order to alleviate her disappointment and cha- grin, Lauretta Fay plunged into the dizziest round of fashionable amusement. She dressed more expens- ively than ever befere; the costliest jewels and finest fabrics were scarce worthy to deck her queenly person. But all the blandishments of wealth and ~ fashion could not steal away the inward regret; her laugh echoed over a heart weary and dissatisfied. A. leisure hour was unbearable to her who had | suffered her mind to remain vacant, while she merely sipped the bright foam of superficial accomplishments. She lived out of herself as much as possible. She grew more exclusive, more fastidious in her dress, more aristocratic and heartless, every day. f In the height of her giddy career, when the rich sought her favor, and even the good ‘and gifted were dazzled by her beauty, the bubble of fortune burst. Horrified at this unexpected revolution in the wheel of fate, poor Lauretta felt as if wrecked on a dismal shore, with a wild and stormy sea rolling between her and the gay world she so loved. Ike Lincoln could no longer conceal from his ward the fact that she was lavishing an imaginary fortune, for the real wealth had taken itself wings and flown ey. He placed three thousand dollars in eo a (250) LAURETTA. PAGS with the information that it was all she possessed except her wardrobe and jewels. The kind-hearted man refrained from telling her that he took the three thousand dollars from his own property, after settling her unpaid bills. Lauretta spread the money before her, gazing upon it with distended eyes. Her fortune, which she had imagined to be almost inexhaustible, was suddenly contracted within the compass of anut-shell. O, what was the world to her now—her world of summer friends? Often had she passed slightingly by those ‘whom fortune had deserted; and now it was her turn to shrink from the coldly-averted eye, the contempt- uous smile, and, worse than all, the utter neglect of those whom she had called friends. O, it was a hard lesson for the proud girl! She could not endure to remain in the city, now that she could no longer appear to advantage in the gay circles where she had shone preéminent ; there- fore she resolved to retire to the country. Her health and spirits were at the lowest ebb. At this moment of her need she received a letter from Clinton and Elmina, with a cordial and pressing invitation to visit them. She hesitated but for a moment, for she was humbled, and felt that she needed just such kind at- tentions and advice as she knew she should receive under their roof. Our friends received her.with open arms, for they were filled with compassion for the unfortunate girl. No reference was ever made to aught unpleasant in the past, while they treated her as a beloved friend. The mighty power of kindness overcame the pride and selfishness in Lauretta’s heart, and she acknowl- édged, with penitential tears, that she had received good for evil. At first Lauretta suffered in the daily presence of 252 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. Clinton, and in beholding his tenderness for his bride ; but in time this feeling wore away, and a better and © wiser one took its place. She began to feel pleasure in the joy of others. Hre long she was fully domes- ticated in this happy home, which seemed an ark of peace to her worn spirit. Lauretta was not entirely heartless. There was a spring of womanly worth in her bosom, which was hidden by the rubbish of false education, and the glit- ter of outward display. Now the force of circum- stances turned her thoughts within, and the slumbering good was found; warm and true feelings bubbled forth, refreshing withered virtues, and reviving forgot- ten resolves. Tie Elmina perceived with pleasure this radical change in Lauretta, and, by her advice and example, assisted her much. Lauretta was surprised that she could be so happy in a quiet country:-home; she sang over her sewing; and the cool grove and singing birds oft wooed her out to learn a lesson of nature. Nature is a sacred teacher; its influence was most blessed on the gay. belle, whose perceptions of the pure and beautiful were just springing into life. When six months had passed, she acknowledged that, in the height of her gay city career, she had never been as happy as now. She ceased to regret the loss of wealth, since she had gained what was more desirable, health and quiet happiness. She now had time to cultivate her mind, and she soon found a new occupa- tion and delight; the fountains of knowledge were unsealed to her. In time Lauretta Fay became very unlike herself of old. The haughty expression of her face was ex- changed for one of cheerfulness, and she was affec- tionate.and companionable. This transformation was not effected without many struggles and prayers. LAURETTA. 958 She would sometimes repine and despond ; sometimes speak scornfully ‘to her dearest friends; and often her proud ways would send away in disgust those who would gladly have loved her. But she viewed life from a new platform; she perceived her moral obligations, and had a sincere desire to elevate her character. She persevered. Preconceived prejudices gradually loosened their hold upon her mind, and, ’mid all-ennobling influences, she became gentle and loving. She persevered, and the victory was hers —a glorious victory, even the conquering of self. CHA PTE Rr, Rex 2 Xs CONCLUSION. THE lights and shadows of twelve years have thrown their changeful web over human life, and we lift the curtain again to bid adieu to the characters of our tale. A country farm-house is now the home of Mrs. Wells. A comfortable room is allotted to her use, and the farmer’s kind wife attends faithfully to all her wants. Yet she is lonely. No love-tone makes music through the untuned strings of her heart, and no touch of affection smooths the wrinkles on her brow. Alone and unloved, she is passing down the declivity of life. Premature age bows her form and streaks her dark locks with gray. She is dependent upon the bounty of Clinton Forrest. His generosity provides her a comfortable home. Yes, he, who when a boy she ill-treated and despised, came to her in her poverty, and saved her from the almshouse. She feels the galling weight of dependence, but no grati- tude softens her heart. Sometimes Elmina comes ‘like a sunbeam, with her sweet words and smile, but Mrs. Wells is too wretched, too much absorbed in her deserved calamities, to reply only with peevish com- plaints. James Clement is a drunkard; and his wretched mother sadly contrasts his fate with that of his favored cousin Frank, but is all unconscious that her (254) CONCLUSION. 255 own weakness and folly sowed in childhood the seeds of the harvest she is reaping now. In a fair southern home, where every breeze is redolent with perfume, and wealth and taste combine to beautify, dwell the happy Arlington and sweet Fannie Gay, now his wife and the mother of two blooming children. And would you hear a word of Lauretta Fay? She is the queen of an humble, but happy home. A worthy man has won her to himself, and she reigns more proudly in his heart than ever in the gay circles of fashion. A fair and stately young matron, dignified, yet cordial. Her cottage-home is sought bythe gifted and true. Little children offer her flowers and look wonderingly upon her beauty. The suffering and needy rejoice in her gentle charities, and many an invalid’s eye brightens at the tones of her voice. Her husband folds her to his heart and blesses her and the tiny one blossoming by her side, clings fohdly to her. _ Can this be Lauretta Fay ? - Ay. The proud belle is metamorphosed into the tender wife and mother; the fashionable lady into a true woman. It is a beautiful change. Once happi- ness was as a gilded air-bubble to her vision ; now it has a tangible hold on all the springs of life. Uncle Ike’s prophecy is now fulfilled: Frank Clement and Clinton Forrest are the leading men in the place. The present high moral and intellectual tone of the community is owing very much to the united labors of these energetic young men. Frank has followed in the footsteps of his excellent father, and he wears high honors in his profession. And his home,—O, it is a happy one! Dora’s smaile is as bright as in her girlish days, and her spirit 256 THE HARVEST OF LOVE. as blithe and gay as ever. Is her husband’s brow clouded? how quickly her voice dispels the shadows ! Is he weary and depressed? how she charms him into forgetfulness of all save her love! Clinton Forrest does not look upon his iioteaaien merely as a road to wealth and eminence, but he regards it as a responsible office, which, if honorably filled, will elevate himself and those for whom he labors. Right and Truth are his motto. He adjusts petty quarrels with his kindly advice as a Christian — man. But when the poor, the wronged and oppressed, need him, his heart is fired with zeal and his tongue with eloquence. Hlmina is the light of his home, the star of his heart. Her voice is still dearer to him than the world’s praises, and her love more treasured than the wreath of fame. Some tears have they shed. Flowers blossom on the grave of a loved one; their beautiful first-born is given back into the keeping of a Holy Father. But their little Bertie still smiles upon them, and makes music for their hearts. Despite the clouds which drift across the sunniest summer’s sky, — despite the thorns which will spring where roses grow, — our friends are walking joyfully the path of life. Honor and peace dwell with them, and love, unaltered and undimmed, burns brightly in each heart. Hea paatipnestat MRSS Ea) ILLINOIS-URBANA eS o > = wm ead ty = =z = Terafutyteerre ts erste Mseitaries 33 ipa Crévepert nitetrereters teeaye cote trots: