LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1342, 3 June 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

FROM JQY TO SORROW, [" Panbury News."] (Continued.) 'lt is a great place,' he says, with an odd expressfion upon his handsome face which I comprehend ; 'lt is the largest city in the world Somo day, perhaps, you will go there. It would me a long time to tell you of the wonderful things one can see there. $ doubt whether I could tell you oiie third; sol shall not make the attempt If you would like to read about London I have a pretty book I can lend you.' He speaks slowly as thouph he does not know how he will receive fcis offer | 'Thank you very much!' J, says ' I shall enjoy reading it, Hv*w will you give it to me ?' H 3 rests his head on the palm of his hand and thinks. I notice what a beautiful hand it is; and compare it with mine, much to my disadvantage, in truth. I Hush ; and secretly hide them under my water-proof cloak.

' Why do you conceal your hands ? : ' he asks, without lifting his head. ' 1 do not know how to tell you,' T reply, hotly ; ' 1 was thinking how—how much whiter and more beautiful yours were than mine.'

He laughs rather confusedly, and a warm color mounts to his face.

'You are frank,' he says, with embarrass ment.

Somehow I fanoy my frankness pleased him.

' And now about the book. I think the best place for me to put it so that you may find it easily is under the grass that grows about <he mile-stone by the brook where you saw me two days ago.' ' Very well,' I say, rising to go ; 'I shall look for it When I have finished reading it uhall I place it in the same spot V

' Yes, you may —if you do not aee me again.' 1 extended my hand for him to shake. * Good-bye,' I say, and then quit him hurriedly. Not once do I think of Fanny Barrow, at least not until I reach the mile-stone where the promised book is to be hidden, and of course it is then too late to Retrace the road to see her. Moreover, I do not care particularly to her now. She is a keen-witted, girl. She will guess about the stranger before I will have been in her presence twenty minutes. I arrive homo as Aunt Leah is laying the table for dinner. 'Come, do help me girl,' she cries on seeing me. 'I am very much hurried. What with the baking and cooking going on to-day I am ready to drop 09, the ttoor and give up the ghosij. Why your uncle should tako such a."dislike to the bread, I can't make out. H it was a little sour, what of it ? Why, I have known that man to eat bread which I could not eat many a time without a complaint. But look at him today. He gets it into his head that the bread is bad, and nothing will do him but fresh bread. Well, this time 113. cannot; grumble. The batch of bread has come out beautifully. And no wonder, for I made it after ti:e book, a thing I have not done . since you were four years old.' Aunt Leah is in a good humor. After sett'ng the table 1 take advantage of it and show my She holds it in her hand a minute, then lets it fall. She looks at me sternly. •This dress must have cosc fifteen shillings. Whore did you got the money V 1 Uncle Scth gave me a sovereign at breakfast.'

' Oh, ho did ! Weil, it's very pretty. What did you, pay v or ife f '.Seventeen shillings.' c - That is cheap, I think,' she says, goodnaturedly. ' I suppose you will make it up ricely. You have a knack that way. But don't you have a tail to it. I hate to have

them in my house. I cannot Bee why young girls want them so much.' I promised faithfully not to have a ' tail,' and ran up to my room, and would you believe it ? instead of commencing on the dress I fling myself on a chair and lean out of the casement to dream of the stranger.

I wonder who he is ? what his name is ? and who are his friends ? He comes from the largest city in tbe world. Ah, how I would enjoy seeing it. It will be a treat to read the book he is going to lend me. I hope it will tell me a good deal - things that will help me to understood his life. And so I fall into dreaming, and wander forth in the world of beauty and delight in which the handsome gentleman over Hhines grandly, gloriously as hero par excellence. It does not matter who is the heroine, does it ?

Chapter 11. In the sweet spring twilight—have I said that this simple story of mine opens in May, the most beautiful time of all the year ? after our quiet tea I managed to steal away and run to the mile-Btone. There I drop on my knees upon the dry sand of the road, and with eager handß part the thick grass ; and sure enough, I find a flat parcel wrapped in Btout brown paper. I jump up and hug the book to| my bosom. 1 ran home as fast as my feet will carry me. I hide my prize under the apron I wear, and go up to my room. Seating myself at the cisement as I always do, I untie the brown wrapper of the book, and before me is revealed a superbly bound volume. The first thing that strikes me on opening it is some bold, dashing penmanship upon the fly-leaf. I hold it up in the fading light, and read—'To Kennith Griffith, of Inglewild, from his true little friend Cicely Edgware.' I lay the book down in my lap 1 I have learned enough about the stranger to excite my curiosity. Kennith Griffith is his name, and he is of Inglewild, whatever that may mean. I murmured his name over and over, and arrived at the conclusion that I admired it very muoh indeed. Who is Cicely Edgware ? Is she some little girl he knows, or is she a beautiful young lady 1 She says she is his true little friend. I wish I knew what she was like ! Her penmanship is excellent, and I think I shall model mine after it to-morrow. I am about to look at the book again when Aunt Leah's voice c >mes singing through the house. lam to carry her my new dress. She will put her hand to it and assist me in the cutting and making. Next morning the sun's first beams came through the casement, and awoke me with a kiss. I sprang up and dressed. Igo to the casement and watch the Virginia creeper that grows about it, and press my cheeks to to the cool, dewy leaves. How cool is the dew ! I let the creeper go, and stand and gaze at the dear, familiar landscape stretching before my eyes—sloping meadows cut short by a boundary line of dark trees, last of a mighty family, and in the distance the mighty outline ot a low hill After lingering awhile I turn and take Mr Griffith's book and glance over the engravings. There are s-> many I hardly have time to observe half of them. I put it away again, though I long to read it, and bring out my new dress. If I wish it to wear on Sunday I must work diligently. # # * # *

Sunday is a beautiful day, as bright and sunshining aa one could wish it to be. We are all going to church—Aunt Leah, Uncle Seth, and myself. When I came down stairs arrayed in my new garb I find them awaiting me. ' Girl, you are fine !' exclaims my uncle ; ' isn't she, Leah ?'

My aunt's reply is something like a groan that might mean yes or no as one likes to takes it. I take it for yes, and am satisfied.

Fanny Barrow meets me at the entrance of the church, and says she wants to sit with me. ' When did you get your new dress V she asks, giving it a hard look. ' Three days ago.' ' Were you in the village then ? Why did you not come to see me ? I have a great deal to tell you, and beside —What do you imagine X have V ' l'am sure I cannot say ' • Nothing more or less than a necklace of coral beads. Brother Basil bought them for me when he went to Bristol last week. Can you guess whom they are for ?' ' No ; I cannot guess,' I say absently, watching the church door, and the people eiit ring. • Why, who are you expecting :' cried Fanny, following my gaze. ' Any friends coming to-day ? J I cannot lie outright, therefore I seek refuge in—- ' N ow, Fanny, who can I expect ? You krew I have very few friends. But you h*ve not told me to whom this coral necklace is to be given. Pray, who is the lucky person ?' ' You—of course ? I have not forgotten your birthday, and it is my gift to you.' I thank heif more by looks than words. The service commences. Every now and then, when Fanny is not observing me, I look back at the door. He has not come. I feel disappointed, for I had expected to see him. (To he continued*}