"But for all that Ridgeley is a lonely, desolate place to me," said

Mrs. Sutton, one early spring morning to her niece and crony, Mrs.

William Sutton. "A house without children is worse than a last

year's bird's nest. It is a riddle to me how Clara Aylett contrives

to occupy her time."

"She should have some of these socks to darn, if it hangs upon her

hands," replied Mrs. William, humorously, running her five fingers

through the toe of one she had just picked up from the great willow

basket set between the two upon the porch-floor.

"The Lord isn't very apt to make mothers out of that sort of

material," said the elder lady. "Nor fathers out of Winston Ayletts.

They are so wrapped up in their self-consequence as to have no

thought for others."

"Yet they say Mr. Aylett regrets that he has no heir. It is a great

pity Mabel lost her only child as she did. The family will become

extinct in another generation. It is such a noble estate, too!"

"Large families were never the rule among the Ayletts," responded

Aunt Rachel. "But I did hope my dear Mabel would be an exception to

the rest in this respect. She would adopt a little girl, but her

husband will not consent. Those Dorrances are a cold-hearted race.

He, too, is heaping up riches, without knowing who shall gather

them. Heigh-ho!"

Her darning-needle quilted the yawning heel of Tommy Sutton's sock

with precision and celerity, and she ruminated silently upon the

vicissitudes and failures of mortal life until she was interrupted

by Mrs. William's exclamation: "There is Mrs. Tazewell's carriage at the gate, and the driver has a

letter in his hand. I hope the old lady is not worse!"

Aunt Rachel met the man at the steps, with neighborly anxiety.

"How is your mistress, Jack?"

"'Bout the same, ma'am. But Miss Rosa--she came last night very

unexpected, and it kinder worsted Mistis to see her so poorly. This

note is from Miss Rosa, ma'am, and I am to take back an answer."

Mrs. Sutton read it standing in the porch--the scented leaflet that

had a look of the writer all over it, from the scarlet monogram at

the top of the sheet and upon the envelope, to the flourish of the

signature--"Rosa T. C."--the curl of the C carried around the rest

like a medallion frame: "DEAR, GOOD AUNT RACHEL,--I have come to Old Virginia to try and

shake off an uncomfortable cough which has haunted me all winter.

The Northern quacks can do nothing for me. One ray of this delicious

sunshine is worth all their nostrums. I was not prepared to find

mamma helpless, or I should not have descended upon her so

unceremoniously. Being here, I cannot retreat in good order or with

safety to my health, nor without wounding her. Frederic must return

to Philadelphia next week, by which time I hope to be quite

invigorated. Now for my audacious proposal. Can you come over and

tell me how to get well in the quickest and least troublesome way?

Dear Auntie! you loved me once. When you see what a poor, spiritless

shadow I have grown--or lessened--to be, you will care a little bit

for me again, for the sake of lang syne."




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