Jessie Graham

hen he was scarcely older than the little girl sitting on the broad doorstep and watching the su

here in the glorious sunset of that bright October day, and thinking of all which had come to him since the morning long ago, when, from the woods near

d cheek, as he remembered that in that yard there were more graves of his loved ones than there were chairs around his fireside, even though he counted the one which for years had not been used, but stood in the dark corner of the kitchen, just where it had been left that dreadful night when his only son was taken f

d few who looked into his calm, unruffled face, ever dreamed of the anguish he had suffered. Time will soften the keenest grief, and in all the town there was not apparently a happier man than the deacon; though as

s spirits as he sat beneath the maple, counting the distant graves, and then casting his eye down the long lane, through which a herd of cows was wending its homeward way. They were the deacon's cows, and he watched them as they came slowly on, now stopping to crop th

for his years, while about his slightly compressed lips there was an expression as if he were constantly seeking to force back some unpleasant memory, which had embitter

s that of the village bell tolling, as a funeral train wound slowly through the lane and across the field to the hillside, where the dead of the Marshall family were sleeping. He had lain in his grandmother's arms that day, but before a week went by, a stranger held him in her lap, whi

dead husband, and smiled upon a little pale-faced, blue-eyed girl,

en, was killed in the war of 1812. Not that she ever saw him, but her fortune had been told for fifty cents by one who pretended to read the future, and as she placed implicit confidence in the words of the seer, she shed a few tears to the memory of the widower who marched bravely to his

e thought, as she saw him make believe set the dog on Ellen, who had gone to meet him. "That's just the way Seth used to pester Mary," and she glanced at the meek-eyed woman, moulding biscuits on the pantry shelf. As was usual with Aunt Debby, when Seth was the burden of her t

postmark, and glancing at t

r and Aunt Debby drew nearer to him, waiting

lter turned away, saying to himself, "I'd thank him not to write if he can't tell us something we want to hear," wh

ter concerns you more than it does me. Richard's wife

ard her fathe

nd what will he do w

olous Mrs. Graham, worn out by a life of folly and dissipation, had died long before her time, and that the husband, warned by her example, wished to

n hay, or soil freshly plowed,-knew how bracing were the winter winds which howled around the farm-house,-how healthful the influences within, and when he decided to shut up his grand house and go to Europe for an indefinite length of time, his thoughts tu

to confess her faults, though very apt to do the same thing again. If you take her, Mrs. Howland, treat her as

exceedingly liberal, and would have tempted t

ished reading the letter. "It will send Ellen through the seminary, and m

th her city airs. Don't take her, Aunt Mary. We have suffered enough from the Grahams;" and Wal

ward Mr. Graham. He only did what he thought was right, and were you

ed "Seth allus was a good boy," while Walter, not caring

spell it s-y-sy, and be sensible? Of course she's as stuck up as she can be,-afraid of cows and sna

for don't you remember when you went to Boston with Mr. Smith to see the caravan, and stopped at the Tremont, and when they pounded that big

imson, and replie

ly ten years old. I'd never heard a gong bef

nd you were ten," was the reply of Ellen, whose heart bounded at the thoughts of a comp

en as well as country people, and this Jessie may be one of 'em. But the question now is, shall she come to Deerwood o

oss her face, answered: "I am willing," while A

one if he hadn't been killed," and with a sigh for the widower and his four motherless offspring, Aunt Debby also gave her assen

when my head aches too hard to go to school. I hope she'll bring a lot of dolls; and, Walter,

ter which had fallen at his grandfather's feet, and his clear

fellow! I hoped he would come back ere this

father, he was more favorably disposed toward the daughter's dolls, and to Ellen's question h

said the deacon, after everything had been

mment of the boy, whose animosity began to return t

the few brief lines which were to tell Mr. Graham that his daughter Jessie would be welcome at Deerwood. Great pains he took to

unt Debby don't spell her name b-i-e-by. She

s had tended to embitter Walter toward his mother's family, and judging all city people by them, it was hardly natural that he should be very favorably disposed toward little Jessie. Still, as the time for her arrival drew near, none watched for her more vigilantly or evinced a greater interest in her coming than himself, and on the day when she was expected, it was observed by his cousin Ellen that he took more than usual pains with his toilet, and even exchange

if I don't cut some of 'em off," and h

ed out of the west window, whistling indifferently, and was apparently quite oblivious of the people alighting at the gate, or of the chubby form trippin