Tempest and Sunshine

On Mr. Middleton's farm, and not far from the house, was a small yard

which had been enclosed as a burial place for the family. On this spot

Fanny had expended much time and labor. Roses and honeysuckles ever

bloomed there for a season, while the dark evergreen and weeping willow

waved their branches and beckoned the passer-by to rest beneath their

shadow. In one corner was a tall forest maple, where Julia and Fanny often

had played, and where Fanny once, when dangerously ill in childhood, had

asked to be laid. As yet no mound had rendered that spot dearer for the

sake of the lost one who slept there, but now in the scarcely frozen

ground the ringing of the spade was heard; shovelful after shovelful of

earth was thrown up, and into that cold, damp grave, as the sun was

setting, they lowered the remains of Julia, who once little thought that

she first of all would break the turf of the family graveyard.

That night was fast merging into the hours of morning ere the sound of

Uncle Joshua's footsteps ceased, as again and again he traversed the

length and breadth of his sleeping room, occasionally stopping before the

window and peering out in the darkness toward the spot where he knew lay

that newly-made grave. Memory was busily at work, and in the events which

marked Julia's short life, oh, how much he saw for which to blame himself.

Remorse mingled in the old man's cup of affliction, and while the hot

tears rolled down his cheeks he exclaimed, "If she could only come back

and I could do it over, I'd love her more, and maybe she'd be better. But

I treated her mean. I gin her only harsh words and cross looks." Then as

his wife's tears mingled with his, he took her hand, saying, "Don't take

on so, Nancy, you've nothin' to cry for. You's always good to her and kind

o' took up for her when I got sot ag'in her."

Mrs. Middleton could only answer by her tears to this touching attempt at

sympathy, but she finally succeeded in quieting her husband, and before

daybreak, he had forgotten in sleep the injustice done to Julia. All

thoughts of Fanny's marriage for the present were of course given up,

although Mr. Middleton promised that when the autumn came round again he

would surely give his treasure to the care of another.

Two weeks after Julia's burial, all of which time was passed at Mr.

Middleton's, Dr. Lacey went back to New Orleans, having first placed in

Mr. Middleton's care a sum of money for the benefit of Mrs. Dunn,

promising Fanny that with the spring he would come again. He bade her

adieu, praying that nothing might come between them again. Heavily now

dragged the days at Mr. Middleton's, until Uncle Joshua hit upon a plan

which would not only give pleasure to Fanny, but would also relieve the

tedium of his own life. It was nothing more nor less than the erection of

a new house on a grassy lawn, which Fanny had frequently pointed out as

being a good location. Long he revolved in his mind the for and against,

but the remembrance of Julia's wish to have the "old shell fixed up,"

finally decided him. "If 'twasn't good enough for her to be married in, it

surely wasn't good enough for Sunshine."