GIFT OF 
 M ti 
 
 
 
LOUISIANA 
 
LOUISIANA 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT 
 
 AUTHOK OF "HAWORTH S" "THAT LASS o LOWRIE S," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS 
 
 743 AND 745 BROADWAY 
 l88o 
 

 
 , 
 
 COPYRIGHT BY 
 FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, 
 
 1880. 
 (All rights reserved.) 
 
 TROW S 
 
 PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING Co., 
 201-213 I last izt/t St,, 
 
 NKW YORK. 
 

 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 LOUISIANA, i 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 WORTH, 16 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 "HE is DIFFERENT," 27 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 A NEW TYPE. 35 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 "I HAVE HURT You," 41 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT, . . ... ci 
 
 436917 
 
vi CONTEXTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGft 
 
 " SHE AIN-T YERE," 58 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 " NOTHING HAS HURT You," ..... 76 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 DON T YE, LOUISIANNY ?" 85 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE GREAT WORLD, . . . ... . 91 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 A RUSTY NAIL, 98 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 44 MEBBE," . 103 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 A NEW PLAN, 112 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 CONFESSIONS, 121 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 " IANTHY ! " . ....... 133 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 DON T DO NO ONE A ONJESTICE," .... 140 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 LEAK, 145 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 HE KNEW THAT I LOVED You," . . . . 157 
 
LOUISIANA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LOUISIANA. 
 
 OLIVIA FERROL leaned back in her chair, her 
 hands folded upon her lap. People passed and 
 repassed her as they promenaded the long " gal 
 lery," as it was called ; they passed in couples, in 
 trios ; they talked with unnecessary loudness, 
 they laughed at their own and each other s jokes ; 
 they flirted, they sentimentalized, they criticised 
 each other, but none of them showed any special 
 interest in Olivia Ferrol, nor did Miss Ferrol, on 
 her part, show much interest in them. 
 
 She had been at Oakvale Springs for two weeks. 
 She was alone, out of her element, and knew no 
 body. The fact that she was a New Yorker, and 
 had never before been so far South, was rather 
 against her. On her arrival she had been glanced 
 over and commented upon with candor. 
 i 
 
LOUISIANA. 
 
 " She is a Yankee/ said the pretty and re 
 markably youthful-looking mother of an apparent 
 ly grown-up family from New Orleans. "You 
 can see it." 
 
 And though the remark was not meant to be 
 exactly severe, Olivia felt that it was very severe, 
 indeed, under existing circumstances. She heard 
 it as she was giving her orders for breakfast to 
 her own particular jet-black and highly excitable 
 waiter, and she felt guilty at once and blushed, 
 hastily taking a sip of ice-water to conceal her 
 confusion. When she went upstairs afterward she 
 wrote a very interesting letter to her brother in 
 New York, and tried to make an analysis of her 
 sentiments for his edification. 
 
 " You advised me to come here because it 
 would be novel as well as beneficial," she wrote. 
 " And it certainly is novel. I think I feel like a 
 Pariah a little. I am aware that even the best 
 bred and most intelligent of them, hearing that I 
 have always lived in New York, will privately re 
 gret it if they like me and remember it if they 
 dislike me. Good-natured and warm-hearted as 
 they seem among themselves, I am sure it will be 
 I who will have to make the advances if ad 
 vances are made and I must be very amiable, 
 indeed, if I intend that they shall like me." 
 
LOUISIANA. 3 
 
 But she had not been well enough at first to be 
 in the humor to make the advances, and conse 
 quently had not found her position an exciting 
 one. She had looked on until she had been able 
 to rouse herself to some pretty active likes and 
 dislikes, but she knew no one. 
 
 She felt this afternoon as if this mild recreation 
 of looking on had begun rather to pall upon her, 
 and she drew out her watch, glancing at it with a 
 little yawn. 
 
 " It is five o clock," she said. " Very soon the 
 band will make its appearance, and it will bray 
 until the stages come in. Yes, there it is ! " 
 
 The musical combination to which she referred 
 was composed of six or seven gentlemen of color 
 who played upon brazen instruments, each in dif 
 ferent keys and different time. Three times a 
 day they collected on a rustic kiosk upon the lawn 
 and played divers popular airs with an intensity, 
 fervor, and muscular power worthy of a better 
 cause. They straggled up as she spoke, took their 
 places and began, and before they had played 
 many minutes the most exciting event of the day 
 occurred, as it always did somewhere about this 
 hour. In the midst of the gem of their collection 
 was heard the rattle of wheels and the crack of 
 whips, and through the rapturous shouts of the 
 
4 LOUISIANA. 
 
 juvenile guests, the two venerable, rickety stages 
 dashed up with a lumbering flourish, and a spas 
 modic pretense of excitement, calculated to de 
 ceive only the feeblest mind. 
 
 At the end of the gallery they checked them 
 selves in their mad career, the drivers making 
 strenuous efforts to restrain the impetuosity of the 
 four steeds whose harness rattled against their 
 ribs with an unpleasant bony sound. Half a 
 dozen waiters rushed forward, the doors were 
 flung open, the steps let down with a bang, the 
 band brayed insanely, and the passengers alighted. 
 " One, two, three, four," counted Olivia Ferrol, 
 mechanically, as the first vehicle unburdened it 
 self. And then, as the door of the second was 
 opened : " One only one : and a very young 
 one, too. Dear me ! Poor girl ! " 
 
 This exclamation might naturally have fallen 
 from any quick-sighted and sympathetic person. 
 The solitary passenger of the second stage stood 
 among the crowd, hesitating, and plainly over 
 whelmed with timorousness. Three waiters were 
 wrestling with an ugly shawl, a dreadful shining 
 valise, and a painted wooden trunk, such as is 
 seen in country stores. In their enthusiastic de 
 sire to dispose creditably of these articles they 
 temporarily forgot the owner, who, after one des- 
 
LOUISIANA. 5 
 
 perate, timid glance at them, looked round her in 
 vain for succor. She was very pretty and very 
 young and very ill-dressed her costume a bucolic 
 travesty on prevailing modes. She did not know 
 where to go, and no one thought of showing her ; 
 the loungers about the office stared at her ; she 
 began to turn pale with embarrassment and timid 
 ity. Olivia Ferrol left her chair and crossed the 
 gallery. She spoke to a servant a little sharply : 
 
 " Why not show the young lady into the par 
 lor ? " she said. 
 
 The girl heard, and looked at her helplessly, 
 but with gratitude. The waiter darted forward 
 with hospitable rapture. 
 
 . " Dis yeah s de way, miss," he said, " right 
 inter de ception-room. Foller me, ma am." 
 
 Olivia returned to her seat. People were re 
 garding her with curiosity, but she was entirely 
 oblivious of the fact. 
 
 " That is one of them," she was saying, men 
 tally. " That is one of them, and a very interest 
 ing type it is, too." 
 
 To render the peculiarities of this young wo 
 man clearer, it may be well to reveal here some 
 thing of her past life and surroundings. Her 
 father had been a literary man, her mother an il 
 lustrator of books and magazine articles. From 
 
6 LOUISIANA. 
 
 her earliest childhood she had been surrounded 
 by men and women of artistic or literary occupa 
 tions, some who were drudges, some who were 
 geniuses, some who balanced between the two 
 extremes, and she had unconsciously learned the 
 tricks of the trade. She had been used to people 
 who continually had their eyes open to anything 
 peculiar and interesting in human nature, who 
 were enraptured by the discovery of new types of 
 men, women, and emotions. Since she had been 
 left an orphan she had lived with her brother, 
 who had been reporter, editor, contributor, critic, 
 one after the other, until at last he had estab 
 lished a very enviable reputation as a brilliant, 
 practical young fellow, who knew his business, 
 and had a fine career open to him. So it was 
 natural that, having become interested in the gen 
 eral friendly fashion of dissecting and studying 
 every scrap of human nature within reach, she 
 had followed more illustrious examples, and had 
 become very critical upon the subject of " types " 
 herself. During her sojourn at Oakvale she had 
 studied the North Carolinian mountaineer " type v 
 with the enthusiasm of an amateur. She had 
 talked to the women in sunbonnets who brought 
 fruit to the hotel, and sat on the steps and floor 
 of the galleries awaiting the advent of customers 
 
LOUISIANA. 7 
 
 with a composure only to be equaled by the calm 
 ness of the noble savage ; she had walked and 
 driven over the mountain roads, stopping at way 
 side houses and entering into conversation with 
 the owners until she had become comparatively 
 well known, even in the space of a fortnight, and 
 she hfd taken notes for her brother until she had 
 roused him to sharing her own interest in her dis 
 coveries. 
 
 " I am sure you will find a great deal of mate 
 rial here," she wrote to him. " You see how I have 
 fallen a victim to that dreadful habit of looking 
 at everything in the light of material. A man is 
 no longer a man he is material ; sorrow is not 
 sorrow, joy is not joy it is material." There is 
 something rather ghoulish in it. I wonder if 
 anatomists look at people s bodies as we do at 
 their minds, and if to them every one is a sub 
 ject. At present I am interested in a species of 
 girl I have discovered. Sometimes she belongs 
 to the better class the farmers, who have a great 
 deal of land and who are the rich men of the com 
 munity, sometimes she lives in a log cabin with 
 a mother who smokes and chews tobacco, but in 
 either case she is a surprise and a mystery. She 
 is always pretty, she is occasionally beautiful, and 
 in spite of her house, her people, her education or 
 
8 LOUISIANA. 
 
 want of it, she is instinctively a refined and deli 
 cately susceptible young person. She has always 
 been to some common school, where she has writ 
 ten compositions on sentimental or touching sub 
 jects, and when she belongs to the better class she 
 takes a fashion magazine and tries to make her 
 dresses like those of the ladies in the colored 
 plates, and, I may add, frequently fails. I could 
 write a volume about her, but I wont. When 
 your vacation arrives, come and see for yourself." 
 It was of this class Miss Ferrol was thinking when 
 she said : " That is one of them, and a very inter- 
 ing type it is, too." 
 
 When she went in to the dining-room to par 
 take of the six o clock supper, she glanced about 
 her in search of the new arrival, but she had not 
 yet appeared. A few minutes later, however, she 
 entered. She came in slowly, looking straight 
 before her, and trying very hard to appear at 
 ease. She was prettier than before, and worse 
 dressed. She wore a blue, much-ruffled muslin 
 and a wide collar made of imitation lace. She 
 had tucked her sleeves up to her elbow with a 
 band and bow of black velvet, and her round, 
 smooth young arms were adorable. She looked 
 for a vacant place, and, seeing none, stopped 
 short, as if she did not know what to do. Then 
 
LOUISIANA. 9 
 
 some magnetic attraction drew her eye to Olivia 
 Ferrol s. After a moment s pause, she moved 
 timidly toward her. 
 
 " I I wish a waiter would come," she faltered. 
 
 At that moment one on the wing stopped in 
 obedience to a gesture of Miss Ferrol s a deli 
 cate, authoritative movement of the head. 
 
 " Give this young lady that chair opposite me," 
 she said. 
 
 The chair was drawn out with a flourish, the 
 girl was seated, and the bill of fare was placed in 
 her hands. 
 
 " Thank you," she said, in a low, astonished 
 voice. 
 
 Olivia smiled. 
 
 " That waiter is my own special and peculiar 
 property," she said, "and I rather pride myself 
 on him." 
 
 But her guest scarcely seemed to comprehend 
 her pleasantry. She looked somewhat awkward. 
 
 " I don t know much about waiters," she 
 ventured. " I m not used to them, and I sup 
 pose they know it. I never was at a hotel be 
 fore." 
 
 " You will soon get used to them," returned 
 Miss Ferrol. 
 
 The girl fixed her eyes upon her with a ques- 
 
10 LOUISIANA. 
 
 tioning appeal. They were the loveliest eyes she 
 had ever seen, Miss Ferrol thought large-irised, 
 and with wonderful long lashes fringing them and 
 curling upward, giving/ them a tender, very wide- 
 open look. She seemed suddenly to gain cour 
 age, and also to feel it her duty to account for 
 herself. 
 
 " I shouldn t have come here alone if I could 
 have got father to come with me," she revealed. 
 " But he wouldn t come. He said it wasn t the 
 place for him. I haven t been very well since 
 mother died, and he thought I d better try the 
 Springs awhile. I don t think I shall like it." 
 
 " I don t like it," replied Miss Ferrol, candidly, 
 " but I dare say you will when you know people." 
 
 The girl glanced rapidly and furtively over the 
 crowded room, and then her eyes fell. 
 
 " I shall never know them," she said, in a de 
 pressed undertone. 
 
 In secret Miss Ferrol felt a conviction that she 
 was right; she had not been presented under the 
 right auspices. 
 
 " It is rather clever and sensitive in her to find 
 it out so quickly," she thought. " Some girls 
 would be more sanguine, and be led into blun 
 ders." 
 
 They progressed pretty well during the meal. 
 
LOUISIANA. II 
 
 When it was over, and Miss Ferrol rose, she be 
 came conscious that her companion was troubled 
 by some new difficulty, and a second thought sug 
 gested to her what its nature was. 
 
 "Are you going to your room ? " she asked. 
 
 " I don t know," said the girl, with the look of 
 helpless appeal again. " I don t know where else 
 to go. I don t like to go out there " (signifying 
 the gallery) " alone." 
 
 " Why not come with me ? " said Miss Ferrol. 
 " Then we can promenade together." 
 
 " Ah ! " she said, with a little gasp of relief and 
 gratitude. " Don t you mind ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, I shall be very glad of your 
 society," Miss Ferrol answered. " I am alone, 
 too." 
 
 So they went out together and wandered slowly 
 from one end of the starlit gallery to the other, 
 winding their way through the crowd that prom 
 enaded, and, upon the whole, finding it rather 
 pleasant. 
 
 " I shall have to take care of her," Miss Ferrol 
 was deciding ; " but I do not think I shall mind 
 the trouble." 
 
 The thing that touched her most was the girl s 
 innocent trust in her sincerity her taking for 
 granted that this stranger, who had been polite to 
 
12 LOUISIANA. 
 
 her, had been so not for worldly good breeding s 
 sake, but from true friendliness and extreme gen 
 erosity of nature. Her first shyness conquered, 
 she related her whole history with the unreserve 
 of a child. Her father was a farmer, and she had 
 always lived with him on his farm. He had been 
 too fond of her to allow her to leave home, and 
 she had never been " away to school." 
 
 " He has made a pet of me at home," she said. 
 " I was the only one that lived to be over eight 
 years old. I am the eleventh. Ten died before I 
 was born, and it made father and mother worry a 
 good deal over me and father was worse than 
 mother. He said the time never seemed to come 
 when he could spare me. He is very good and kind 
 is father," she added, in a hurried, soft-voiced 
 way. " He s rough, but he s very good and kind." 
 
 Before they parted for the night Miss Ferrol had 
 the whole genealogical tree by heart. They were 
 an amazingly prolific family, it seemed. There 
 was Uncle Josiah, who had ten children, Uncle 
 Leander, who had fifteen, Aunt Amanda, who 
 had twelve, and Aunt Nervy, whose belongings 
 comprised three sets of twins and an unlimited 
 supply of odd numbers. They went upstairs to 
 gether and parted at Miss Ferrol s door, their 
 rooms being near each other. 
 
LOUISIANA. 13 
 
 The girl held out her hand. 
 
 "Good-night!" she said. "I m so thankful 
 I ve got to know you." 
 
 Her eyes looked bigger and wider-open than 
 ever ; she smiled, showing her even, sound, little 
 white teeth. Under the bright light of the lamp 
 the freckles the day betrayed on her smooth skin 
 were not to be seen. 
 
 "Deai me!" thought Miss Ferrol. "How 
 startlingly pretty, in spite of the cotton lace and 
 the dreadful polonaise ! " 
 
 She touched her lightly on the shoulder. 
 
 " Why, you are as tall as I am ! " she said. 
 
 <c Yes," the girl replied, depressedly ; " but I m 
 twice as broad." 
 
 11 Oh no no such thing." And then, with a 
 delicate glance down over her, she said " It is 
 your dress that makes you fancy so. Perhaps 
 your dressmaker does not understand your fig 
 ure," as if such a failing was the most natural 
 and simple thing in the world, and needed only 
 the slightest rectifying. 
 
 " I have no dressmaker," the girl answered. 
 " I make my things myself. Perhaps that is it." 
 
 " It is a little dangerous, it is true," replied 
 Miss Ferrol. " I have been bold enough to try 
 it myself, and I never succeeded. I could give 
 
14 LOUISIANA. 
 
 *> 
 
 you the address of a very thorough woman if you 
 lived in New York." 
 
 " But I don t live there, you see. I wish I did. 
 I never shall, though. Father could never spare 
 me." 
 
 Another slight pause ensued, during which she 
 looked admiringly at Miss Ferrol. Then she said 
 " good-night" again, and turned away. 
 
 But before she had crossed the corridor she 
 stopped. 
 
 " I never told you my name," she said. 
 
 Miss Ferrol naturally expected she would an 
 nounce it at once, but she did not. An air of 
 embarrassment fell upon her. She seemed almost 
 averse to speaking. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Ferrol, smiling, " what is 
 it?" 
 
 She did not raise her eyes from the carpet as 
 she replied, unsteadily : 
 
 " It s Louisiana." 
 
 Miss Ferrol answered her very composedly : 
 
 " The name of the state ? " 
 
 " Yes. Father came from there." 
 
 " But you did not tell me your surname." 
 
 "Oh! that is Rogers. You you didn t laugh. 
 I thought you would." 
 
 "At the first name?" replied Miss Ferrol. 
 
LOUISIANA. 15 
 
 " Oh no. It is unusual but names often are. 
 And Louise is pretty." 
 
 "So it is," she said, brightening. "I never 
 thought of that. I hate Louisa. They will call 
 it Lowizy, or Lousyanny. I could sign my 
 self Louise, couldn t I ? " 
 
 " Yes," Miss P errol replied. 
 
 And then her prottgte said " good-night " for 
 the third time, and disappeared. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 WORTH. 
 
 SHE presented herself at the bed-room door 
 with a timid knock the next morning before break 
 fast, evidently expecting to be taken charge of. 
 Miss Ferrol felt sure she would appear, and had, 
 indeed, dressed herself in momentary expectation 
 of hearing the knock. 
 
 When she heard it she opened the door at once. 
 
 "I am glad to see you," she said. " I thought 
 you might come." 
 
 A slight expression of surprise showed itself in 
 the girl s eyes. It had never occurred to her that 
 she might not come. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied. " I never could go 
 down alone when there was any one who would 
 go with me." 
 
 There was something on her mind, Miss Ferrol 
 fancied, and presently it burst forth in a confiden 
 tial inquiry. 
 
WORTH. 17 
 
 " Is this dress very short-waisted ? " she asked, 
 with great earnestness. 
 
 Merciful delicacy stood in the way of Miss 
 Ferrol s telling her how short-waisted it was, and 
 how it maltreated her beautiful young body. 
 
 " It is rather short-waisted, it is true." 
 
 " Perhaps," the girl went on, with a touch of 
 guileless melancholy, " I am naturally this shape." 
 
 Here, it must be confessed, Miss Ferrol forgot 
 herself for the moment, and expressed her indig 
 nation with undue fervor. 
 
 " Perish the thought ! " she exclaimed. " Why, 
 child ! your figure is a hundred times better than 
 mine." 
 
 Louisiana wore for a moment a look of absolute 
 fright. 
 
 "Oh, no!" she cried. "Oh, no. Your fig 
 ure is magnificent." 
 
 "Magnificent!" echoed Miss Ferrol, giving 
 way to her enthusiasm, and indulging in figures 
 of speech. " Don t you see that I am thin ab 
 solutely thin. But my things fit me, and my 
 dressmaker understands me. If you were dressed 
 as I am," pausing to look her over from head to 
 foot " Ah ! " she exclaimed, pathetically, " how 
 I should like to see you in some of my clothes ! " 
 
 A tender chord was touched. A gentle sad- 
 
1 3 LOUISIANA. 
 
 ness, aroused by this instance of wasted opportu 
 nities, rested upon her. But instantaneously she 
 brightened, seemingly without any particular 
 cause. A brilliant idea had occurred to her. 
 But she did not reveal it. 
 
 " I will wait," she thought, " until she is more 
 at her ease with me." 
 
 She really was more at her ease already. Just 
 this one little scrap of conversation had done that. 
 She became almost affectionate in a shy way be 
 fore they reached the dining-room. 
 
 " I want to ask you something," she said, as 
 they nearcd the door. 
 
 " What is.it?" 
 
 She held Miss Ferrol back with a light clasp on 
 her arm. Her air was quite tragic in a small way. 
 
 " Please say Louise, when you speak to me," 
 she said. "Never say Miss Louisiana never 
 never! " 
 
 * No, I shall never say Miss Louisiana, " her 
 companion answered. " How would you like 
 Miss Rogers ? 
 
 " I would rather have Louise, " she said, dis 
 appointedly. 
 
 "Well," returned Miss Ferrol, " Louise let 
 it be." 
 
 And "Louise" it was thenceforward. If she 
 
WORTH. 19 
 
 had not been so pretty, so innocent, and so affec 
 tionate and humble a young creature, she might 
 have been troublesome at times (it occurred to 
 Olivia Ferrol), she clung so pertinaciously to 
 their chance acquaintanceship ; she was so help 
 less and desolate if left to herself, and so inordi 
 nately glad to be taken in hand again. She made 
 no new friends, which was perhaps natural 
 enough, after all. She had nothing in common 
 with the young women who played ten-pins and 
 croquet and rode out in parties with their cav 
 aliers. She was not of them, and understood 
 them as little as they understood her. She knew 
 very well that they regarded her with scornful tol 
 erance when they were of the ill-natured class, 
 and with ill-subdued wonder when they were 
 amiable. She could not play ten-pins or croquet, 
 nor could she dance. 
 
 " What are the men kneeling down for, and 
 why do they keep stopping to put on those queer 
 little caps and things ? " she whispered to Miss 
 Ferrol one night. 
 
 44 They are trying to dance a German," replied 
 Miss Ferrol, "and the man who is leading them 
 only knows one figure." 
 
 As for the riding, she had been used to riding 
 all her life ; but no one asked her to join them, 
 
20 LOUISIANA. 
 
 and if they had done so she would have been too 
 wise, unsophisticated as she was, to accept the 
 invitation. So where Miss Ferrol was seen she 
 was seen also, and she was never so happy as 
 when she was invited into her protector s room 
 and allowed to spend the morning or evening 
 there. She would have been content to sit there 
 forever and listen to Miss Ferrol s graphic de 
 scription of life in the great world; The names of 
 celebrated personages made small impression upon 
 her. It was revealed gradually to Miss Ferrol 
 that she had private doubts as to the actual exist 
 ence of some of them, and the rest she had never 
 heard of before. 
 
 " You never read * The Scarlet Letter ? " asked 
 her instructress upon one occasion. 
 
 She flushed guiltily. 
 
 "No," she answered. "Nor nor any of the 
 others." 
 
 Miss Ferrol gazed at her silently for a few mo 
 ments. Then she asked her a question in a low 
 voice, specially mellowed, so that it might not 
 alarm her. 
 
 " Do you know who John Stuart Mill is ? " she 
 said. 
 
 " No," she replied from the dust of humilia 
 tion. 
 
WORTH. 1 
 
 " Have you never heard just heard of Rus- 
 in " 
 
 " Nor of Michael Angelo ? " 
 
 N-no ye-es, I think so perhaps, but I don t 
 know what he did." 
 
 " Do you," she continued, very slowly, " do 
 you know anything about Worth ? " 
 
 " No, nothing." 
 
 Her questioner clasped her hands with repressed 
 emotion. 
 
 "Oh," she cried, how how you have been 
 neglected ! " 
 
 She was really depressed, but her protegee was 
 so much more deeply so that she felt it her duty 
 to contain herself and return to cheerfulness. 
 
 " Never mind," she said. " I will tell you 
 all I know about them, and," after a pause for 
 speculative thought upon the subject, "by-the- 
 by, it isn t much, and I will lend you some 
 books to read, and give you a list of some you 
 must persuade your father to buy for you, and 
 you will be all right. It is rather dreadful not 
 to know the names of people and things ; but, 
 after all, I think there are very few people who 
 ahem ! " 
 
 She was checked here by rigid conscientious 
 
LOUISIANA 
 
 scruples. If she was to train this young mind in 
 the path of learning and literature, she must place 
 before her a higher standard of merit than the 
 somewhat shady and slipshod one her eagerness 
 had almost betrayed her into upholding. She had 
 heard people talk of "standards" and "ideals," 
 and when she was kept to the point and in regu 
 lation working order, she could be very eloquent 
 upon these subjects herself. 
 
 "You will have to work very seriously," she 
 remarked, rather incongruously and with a rapid 
 change of position. " If you wish to to acquire 
 anything, you must read conscientiously and and 
 with a purpose." She was rather proud of that 
 last clause. 
 
 "Must I?" inquired Louise, humbly. "I 
 should like to if I knew where to begin. Who 
 was Worth ? Was he a poet ? " 
 
 Miss Ferrol acquired a fine, high color very 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Oh," she answered, with some uneasiness, 
 "you you have no need to begin with Worth. 
 He doesn t matter so much really." 
 
 "I thought," Miss Rogers said meekly, "that 
 you were more troubled about my not having read 
 what he wrote, than about my not knowing any 
 of the others." 
 
WORTH. 23 
 
 " Oh, no. You see the fact is, he he never 
 wrote anything." 
 
 " What did he do ? " she asked, anxious for in 
 formation. 
 
 "He it isn t did/ it is does. He makes 
 dresses." 
 
 " Dresses!" 
 
 Tliis single word, but no exclamation point 
 could express its tone of wild amazement. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "A man!" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 There was a dead silence. It was embarrass 
 ing at first. Then the amazement of the unso 
 phisticated one began to calm itself; it gradually 
 died down, and became another emotion, merging 
 itself into interest. 
 
 "Does" guilelessly she inquired "he make 
 nice ones^ " 
 
 "Nice!" echoed Miss Ferrol. "They are 
 works of art ! I have got three in my trunk." 
 
 44 O-o-h ! " sighed Louisiana. " Oh, dear ! " 
 
 Miss Ferrol rose from her chair. 
 
 "I will show them to you," she said. "I I 
 should like you to try them on." 
 
 "To try them on ! " ejaculated the child in an 
 awe-stricken tone. " Me ? " 
 
24 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Ferrol, unlocking the trunk 
 and throwing back the lid. " I have been want 
 ing to see you in them since the first day you 
 came." 
 
 She took them out and laid them upon the bed 
 on their trays. Louise got up from the floor and 
 approaching, reverently stood near them. There 
 was a cream-colored evening-dress of soft, thick, 
 close-clinging silk of some antique-modern sort; 
 it had golden fringe, and golden flowers embroid 
 ered upon it. 
 
 " Look at that," said Miss Ferrol, softly even 
 religiously. 
 
 She made a mysterious, majestic gesture. 
 
 "Come here," she said. "You must put it 
 on." 
 
 Louise shrank back a pace. 
 
 "I oh! I daren t," she cried. " It is too 
 beautiful ! " 
 
 " Come here," repeated Miss Ferrol. 
 
 She obeyed timorously, and gave herself into 
 the hands of her controller. She was so timid 
 and excited that she trembled all the time her toi 
 lette was being performed for her. Miss Ferrol 
 went through this service with the manner of a 
 priestess officiating at an altar. She laced up the 
 back of the dress with the slender, golden cords ; 
 
WORTH. 25 
 
 she arranged the antique drapery which wound 
 itself around in close swathing folds. There was 
 not the shadow of a wrinkle from shoulder to 
 hem : the lovely young figure was revealed in all 
 its beauty of outline. There were no sleeves at 
 all, there was not very much bodice, but there 
 was a great deal of effect, and this, it is to be sup 
 posed, was the object. 
 
 * Walk across the floor," commanded Miss 
 Ferrol. 
 
 Louisiana obeyed her. 
 
 " Do it again," said Miss Ferrol. 
 
 Having been obeyed for the second time, 
 her hands fell together. Her attitude and ex 
 pression could be said to be significant only of 
 rapture. 
 
 "I said so!" she cried. "I said so! You 
 might have been born in New York ! " 
 
 It was a grand climax. Louisiana felt it to the 
 depths of her reverent young heart. But she 
 could not believe it. She was sure that it was too 
 sublime to be true. She shook her head in depre 
 cation. 
 
 "It is no exaggeration," said Miss Ferrol, with 
 renewed fervor. "Laurence himself, if he were 
 not told that you had lived here, would never 
 guess it. I should like to try you on him." 
 
26 LOUISIANA. 
 
 "Who is he?" inquired Louisiana. "Is he 
 a writer, too ? " 
 
 "Well, yes, but not exactly like the others. 
 He is my brother." 
 
 It was two hours before this episode ended. 
 Only at the sounding of the second bell did Lou 
 isiana escape to her room to prepare for dinner. 
 
 Miss Ferrol began to replace the dresses in her 
 trunk. She performed her task in an abstracted 
 mood. When she had completed it she stood up 
 right and paused a moment, with quite a startled 
 air. 
 
 "Dear me!" she exclaimed. "I actually 
 forgot about Ruskin ! " 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " HE IS DIFFERENT." 
 
 THE same evening , as they sat on one of the 
 seats upon the lawn, Miss Ferrol became aware 
 several times that Louisiana was regarding her 
 with more than ordinary interest. She sat with 
 her hands folded upon her lap, her eyes fixed on her 
 face, and her pretty mouth actually a little open. 
 
 " What are you thinking of? " Olivia asked, 
 at length. 
 
 The girl started, and recovered herself with an 
 effort. 
 
 "I well, I was thinking about authors," she 
 stammered. 
 
 " Any particular author ? " inquired Olivia, " or 
 authors as a class ? " 
 
 " About your brother being one. I never 
 thought I should see anyone who knew an author 
 and you are related to one ! " 
 
 Her companion s smile was significant of im- 
 
28 LOUISIANA. 
 
 mense experience. It was plain that she was so 
 accustomed to living on terms of intimacy with 
 any number of authors that she could afford to feel 
 indifferent about them. 
 
 " My dear," she said, amiably, " they are not 
 in the least different from other people." 
 
 It sounded something like blasphemy. 
 
 "Not different!" cried Louisiana. "Oh, 
 surely, they must be ! Isn t isn t your brother 
 different? " 
 
 Miss Ferrol stopped to think. She was very 
 fond of her brother. Privately she considered him 
 the literary man of his day. She was simply dis 
 gusted when she heard experienced critics only 
 calling him " clever " and "brilliant" instead of 
 " great " and " world-moving." 
 
 " Yes," she replied at length, " he is different." 
 
 " I thought he must be," said Louisiana, with a 
 sigh of relief. " You are, you know." 
 
 "Am I?" returned Olivia. "Thank you. 
 But I am not an author at least," she added, 
 guiltily, " nothing I have written has ever been 
 published." 
 
 " Oh, why not ? " exclaimed Louisiana. 
 
 "Why not?" she repeated, dubiously and 
 thoughtfully. And then, knitting her brows, she 
 said, " I don t know why not." 
 
"HE is DIFFERENT:^ 29 
 
 " I am sure if you have ever^ written anything, 
 it ought to have been published," protested her 
 adorer. 
 
 "/thought so," said Miss Ferrol. " But but 
 they didn t." 
 
 "They?" echoed Louisiana. Who are 
 they ? " 
 
 " The editors," she replied, in a rather gloomy 
 manner. u There is a great deal of wire-pull 
 ing, and favoritism, and even envy and malice, 
 of which those outside know nothing. You 
 wouldn t understand it if I should tell you about 
 it." 
 
 For a few moments she wore quite a fell ex 
 pression, and gloom reigned. She gave her head 
 a little shake. 
 
 " They regret it afterward," she remarked, 
 " frequently." 
 
 From which Louisiana gathered that it was the 
 editors who were so overwhelmed, and she could 
 not help sympathizing with them in secret. There 
 was something in the picture of their unavailing 
 remorse which touched her, despite her knowledge 
 of the patent fact that they deserved it and could 
 expect nothing better. She was quite glad when 
 Olivia brightened up, as she did presently. 
 
 " Laurence is handsomer than most of them, 
 
30 LOUISIANA. 
 
 and has a more distinguished air," she said. 
 " He is very charming. People always say so." 
 
 " I wish I could see him," ventured Louisiana. 
 
 " You will see him if you stay here much long 
 er," replied Miss Ferrol. " It is quite likely he will 
 come to Oakvale." 
 
 For a moment Louisiana fluttered and turned 
 pale with pleasure, but as suddenly she drooped. 
 
 " I forgot," she faltered. " You will have to 
 be with him always, and I shall have no one. He 
 won t want me." 
 
 Olivia sat and looked at her with deepening in 
 terest. She was thinking again of a certain whim 
 sical idea which had beset her several times since 
 she had attired her protegee in the cream-colored 
 robe. 
 
 " Louise," she said, in a low, mysterious tone, 
 " how would you like to wear dresses like mine 
 all the rest of the time you are here ? " 
 
 The child stared at her blankly. 
 
 " I haven t got any," she gasped. 
 
 "No," said Miss Ferrol, with deliberation, 
 " but / have." 
 
 She rose from her seat, dropping her mysteri 
 ous air and smiling encouragingly. 
 
 " Come with me to my room," she said. " I 
 want to ta.k to you." 
 
"// IS DIFFERENT." 3 1 
 
 If she had ordered her to follow her to the 
 stake it is not at all unlikely that Louisiana would 
 have obeyed. She got up meekly, smiling, too, and 
 feeling sure something very interesting was going 
 to happen. She did not understand in the least, 
 but she was quite tractable. And after they had 
 reached the room and shut themselves in, she 
 found that it was something very interesting which 
 was to happen. 
 
 " You remember what I said to you this morn 
 ing ? " Miss Ferrol suggested. 
 
 " You said so many things." 
 
 " Oh, but you cannot have forgotten this partic 
 ular thing. I said you looked as if you had been 
 born in New York." 
 
 Louisiana remembered with a glow of rapture. 
 
 * Oh, yes," she answered. 
 
 " And I said Laurence himself would not know, 
 if he was not told, that you had lived all your life 
 here. " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And I said I should like to try you on him." 
 
 -Yes." 
 
 Miss Ferrol kept her eyes fixed on her and 
 watched her closely. 
 
 " I have been thinking of it all the morning," 
 she added. " I should like to try you on him." 
 
32 LOUISIANA. 
 
 Louisiana was silent a moment. Then she 
 spoke, hesitatingly : 
 
 " Do you mean that I should pretend ," she 
 
 began. 
 
 44 Oh, no," interrupted Miss Ferrol. "Not 
 pretend either one thing or the other. Only let 
 me dress you as I choose, and then take care that 
 you say nothing whatever about your past life. 
 You will have to be rather quiet, perhaps, and let 
 him talk. He will like that, of course men always 
 do and then you will learn a great many things 
 from him." 
 
 " It will be a very strange thing to do," said 
 Louisiana. 
 
 <4 It will be a very interesting thing," answered 
 Olivia, her enthusiasm increasing. How he will 
 admire you ! " 
 
 Louisiana indulged in one of her blushes. 
 
 " Have you a picture of him ? " 
 
 " Yes. Why? " she asked, in some surprise. 
 
 " Because I should like to see his face." 
 
 " Do you think," Miss Ferrol said, in further 
 bewilderment, " that you might not like him ? " 
 
 " I think he might not like me." 
 
 " Not like you ! " cried Miss Ferrol. " You ! 
 He will think you are divine when you are 
 dressed as I shall dress you." 
 
"HE IS DIFFERENT." 33 
 
 She went to her trunk and produced the pic 
 ture. It. was not a photograph, but a little crayon 
 head the head of a handsome man, whose ex 
 pression was a singular combination of dreami 
 ness and alertness. It was a fascinating face. 
 
 " One of his friends did it," said Miss Ferrol. 
 " His friends are very fond of him and admire his 
 good looks very much. They protest against his 
 being photographed. They like to sketch him. 
 They are always making studies of his head. 
 What do you think of him ? " 
 
 Louisiana hesitated. 
 
 " He is different," she said at last. " I thought 
 he would be." 
 
 She gave the picture back to Miss Ferrol, who 
 replaced it in her trunk. She sat for a few sec 
 onds looking down at the carpet and apparently 
 seeing very little. Then she looked up at her 
 companion, who was suddenly a little embarrassed 
 at finding her receive her whimsical planning so 
 seriously. She herself had not thought of it as 
 being serious at all. It would be interesting and 
 amusing, and would prove her theory. 
 
 " I will do what you want me to do," s:-id 
 Louisiana. 
 . * Then," said Miss Ferrol, wondering at an un- 
 
34 LOUISIANA. 
 
 expected sense of discomfort in herself, " I will 
 dress you for supper now. You must begin to 
 wear the things, so that you may get used to 
 them." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A NEW TYPE. 
 
 WHEN the two entered the supper-room to 
 gether a little commotion was caused by their ar 
 rival. At first the supple young figure in violet 
 and gray was not recognized. It was not the 
 figure people had been used to, it seemed so tall 
 and slenderly round. The reddish-brown hair 
 was combed high and made into soft puffs ; it 
 made the pretty head seem more delicately shaped, 
 and showed how white and graceful the back of 
 the slender neck was. It was several minutes be 
 fore the problem was solved. Then a sharp young 
 woman exclaimed, sotto vocc : 
 
 " It s the little country-girl, in new clothes in 
 clothes that fit. Would you believe it ? " 
 
 "Don t look at your plate so steadily," whis 
 pered Miss Ferrol. " Lean back and fan your 
 self as if you did not hear. You must never show 
 that you hear things." 
 
36 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " I shall be obliged to give her a few hints now 
 and then," she had said to herself beforehand. 
 u But I feel sure when she once catches the cue 
 she will take it." 
 
 It really seemed as if she did, too. She had 
 looked at herself long and steadily after she had 
 been dressed, and when she turned away from the 
 glass she held her head a trifle more erect, and 
 her cheeks had reddened. Perhaps what she had 
 recognized in the reflection she had seen had 
 taught her a lesson. But she said nothing. In a 
 few days Olivia herself was surprised at the prog 
 ress she had made. Sanguine as she was, she 
 had not been quite prepared for the change which 
 had taken place in her. She had felt sure it 
 would be necessary to teach her to control her 
 emotions, but suddenly she seemed to have 
 learned to control them without being told to do 
 so ; she was no longer demonstrative of her affec 
 tion, she no longer asked innocent questions, nor 
 did she ever speak of her family. Her reserve 
 was puzzling to Olivia. 
 
 You are very clever," she said to her one day, 
 the words breaking from her in spite of herself, 
 after she had sat regarding her in silence for a few 
 minutes. " You are even cleverer than I thought 
 you were, Louise." 
 
A NEW TYPE. 37 
 
 " Was that very clever ? " the girl asked. 
 
 "Yes, it was," Olivia answered, "but not so 
 clever as you are proving yourself." 
 
 But Louisiana did not smile or blush, as she had 
 expected she would. She sat very quietly, show 
 ing neither pleasure nor shyness, and seeming for 
 a moment or so to be absorbed in thought. 
 
 In the evening when the stages came in they 
 were sitting on the front gallery together. As the 
 old rattletraps bumped and swung themselves up 
 the gravel drive, Olivia bent forward to obtain a 
 better view of the passengers. 
 
 " He ought to be among them," she said. 
 
 Louisiana laid her hand on her arm. 
 
 "Who is that sitting with the driver?" she 
 asked, as the second vehicle passed them. " Isn t 
 that -" 
 
 " To be sure it is ! " exclaimed Miss Fcrrol. 
 
 She would have left her seat, but she found 
 herself detained. Her companion had grasped 
 her wrist. 
 
 " Wait a minute ! " she said. " Don t leave 
 me ! Oh I wish I had not done it ! " 
 
 Miss Ferrol turned and stared at her in amaze 
 ment. 
 
 She spoke in her old, uncontrolled, childish 
 fashion. She was pale, and her eyes were dilated. 
 
38 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " said Miss Ferrol, hur 
 riedly, when she found her voice. " Is it that you 
 really don t like the idea? If you don t, there is 
 no need of our carrying it out. It was only non 
 sense I beg your pardon for not seeing that it 
 disturbed you. Perhaps, after all, it was very bad 
 taste in me 
 
 But she was not allowed to finish her sentence. 
 As suddenly as it had altered before, Louisiana s 
 expression altered again. She rose to her feet 
 with a strange little smile. She looked into Miss 
 Ferrol s astonished face steadily and calmly. 
 
 " Your brother has seen you and is coming 
 toward us," she said. " I will leave you. We 
 shall see each other again at supper." 
 
 And with a little bow she moved away with 
 an air of composure which left her instructress 
 stunned. She could scarcely recover her equilib 
 rium sufficiently to greet her brother decently 
 when he reached her side. She had never been 
 so thoroughly at sea in her life. 
 
 After she had gone to her room that night, her 
 brother came and knocked at the door. 
 
 When she opened it and let him in he walked 
 to a chair and threw himself into it, wearing a 
 rather excited look. 
 
A NEW TYPE. 39 
 
 " Olivia," he began at once, " what a bewilder 
 ing girl ! " 
 
 Olivia sat down opposite to him, with a com 
 posed smile. 
 
 " Miss Rogers, of course ? " she said. 
 
 "Of course," he echoed. And then, after a pause 
 of two or three seconds, he added, in the tone he had 
 used before: "What a delightfully mysterious girl!" 
 
 " Mysterious ! " repeated Olivia. 
 
 lf There is no other word for it ! She has such 
 an adorable face, she looks so young, and she says 
 so little." And then, with serious delight, he 
 added : " It is a new type ! " 
 
 Olivia began to laugh. 
 
 " Why are you laughing? " he demanded. 
 
 " Because I was so sure you would say that," 
 she answered. " I was waiting for it." 
 
 " But it is true," he replied, quite vehemently. 
 " I never saw anything like her before. I look at 
 her great soft eyes and I catch glimpses of expres 
 sion which don t seem to belong to the rest of her. 
 When I see her eyes I could fancy for a moment 
 that she had been brought up in a convent or had 
 lived a very simple, isolated life, but when she 
 speaks and moves I am bewildered. I want to 
 hear her talk, but she says so little. She does not 
 even dance. I suppose her relatives are serious 
 
40 LOUISIANA. 
 
 people. I dare say you have not heard much of 
 them from her. Her reserve is so extraordinary 
 in a girl. I wonder how old she is ? " 
 
 " Nineteen, I think." 
 
 " I thought so. I never saw anything prettier 
 than her quiet way when I asked her to dance 
 with me. She said, simply, I do not dance. I 
 have never learned. It was as if she had never 
 thought of it as being an unusual thing." 
 
 He talked of her all the time he remained in the 
 room. Olivia had never seen him so interested 
 before. 
 
 11 The fascination is that she seems to be two 
 creatures at once," he said. " And one of them 
 is stronger than the other and will break out and 
 reveal itself one day. I begin by feeling I do not 
 understand her, and that is the most interesting 
 of all beginnings, I long to discover which of the 
 two creatures is the real one." 
 
 When he was going away he stopped suddenly 
 to say : 
 
 " How was it you never mentioned her in your 
 letters? I can t understand that." 
 
 " I wanted you to see her for yourself," Olivia 
 answered. " I thought I would wait. 
 
 o 
 
 " Well," he said, after thinking a moment, " I 
 am glad, after all, that you did." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 " I HAVE HURT YOU." 
 
 FROM the day of his arrival a new life began for 
 Louisiana. She was no longer an obscure and 
 unconsidered young person. Suddenly, and for 
 the first time in her life, she found herself vested 
 with a marvellous power. It was a power girls 
 of a different class from her own are vested with 
 from the beginning of their lives. They are used 
 to it and regard it as their birthright. Louisiana 
 was not used to it. There had been nothing like 
 it attending her position as " that purty gal o 
 Rogerses." She was accustomed to the admira 
 tion of men she was indifferent to men who wore 
 short-waisted blue-jean coats, and turned upon 
 their elbows to stare at her as she sat in the little 
 white frame church. After making an effort to 
 cultivate her acquaintance, they generally went 
 away disconcerted. " She s mighty still," they 
 said. " She haint got nothin to say. Seems like 
 
42 LOUISIANA. 
 
 thar aint much to her but she s powerful purty 
 though." 
 
 This was nothing like her present experience. 
 She began slowly to realize that she was a little 
 like a young queen now. Here was a man such 
 as she had never spoken to before, who was always 
 ready to endeavor to his utmost to please her : 
 who, without any tendency toward sentimental 
 nonsense, was plainly the happier for her presence 
 and favor. What could be more assiduous and 
 gallant than the every-day behavior of the well- 
 bred, thoroughly experienced young man of the 
 period toward the young beauty who for the mo 
 ment reigns over his fancy ! It need only be over 
 his fancy ; there is no necessity that the impres 
 sion should be any deeper. His suavity, his chiv- 
 alric air, his ready wit in her service, are all that 
 could be desired. 
 
 When Louisiana awakened to the fact that all 
 this homage was rendered to her as being only the 
 natural result of her girlish beauty as if it was 
 the simplest thing in the world, and a state of af 
 fairs which must have existed from the first she 
 experienced a sense of terror. Just at the very 
 first she would have been glad to escape from it 
 and sink into her old obscurity. 
 
 " It does not belong to me, "she said to herself. 
 
"I HAVE HURT YOU." 43 
 
 " It belongs to some one else to the girl he thinks 
 I am. I am not that girl, though ; I will remem 
 ber that." 
 
 But in a few days she calmed down. She told 
 herself that she always did remember, but she 
 ceased to feel frightened and was more at ease. 
 She never talked very much, but she became more 
 familiar with the subjects she heard discussed. 
 One morning she went to Olivia s room and asked 
 her for the address of a bookseller. 
 
 " I want to send for some books and and mag 
 azines," she said, confusedly. " I wish you if 
 you would tell me what to send for. Father will 
 give me the money if I ask him for it." 
 
 Olivia sat down and made a list. It was along 
 list, comprising the best periodicals of the day and 
 several standard books. 
 
 When she handed it to her she regarded her 
 with curiosity. 
 
 " You mean to read them all ?" she asked. 
 
 "Isn t it time that I should?" replied her 
 pupil. 
 
 " Well it is a good plan," returned Olivia, 
 rather absently. 
 
 Truth to tell, she was more puzzled every day. 
 She had begun to be quite sure that something 
 had happened. It seemed as if a slight coldness 
 
44 LOUISIANA. 
 
 existed between herself and her whilom adorer. 
 The simplicity of her enthusiasm was gone. Her 
 affection had changed as her outward bearing. It 
 was a better regulated and less noticeable emotion. 
 Once or twice Olivia fancied she had seen the 
 girl looking at her even sadly, as if she felt, for the 
 moment, a sense of some loss. 
 
 " Perhaps it was very clumsy in me," she used 
 to say to herself. " Perhaps I don t understand 
 her, after all." 
 
 But she could not help looking on with interest. 
 She had never before seen Laurence enjoy himself 
 so thoroughly. He had been working very hard 
 during the past year, and was ready for his holi 
 day. He found the utter idleness, which was the 
 chief feature of the place, a good thing. There 
 was no town or village within twenty miles, news 
 papers were a day or two old when they arrived, 
 there were very few books to be found, and there 
 was absolutely no excitement. At night the band 
 brayed in the empty-looking ball-room, and a few 
 very young couples danced, in a desultory fashion 
 and without any ceremony. The primitive, do 
 mesticated slo\vness of the place was charming. 
 Most of the guests had come from the far South 
 at the beginning of the season and would remain 
 until the close of it ; so they had had time to be- 
 
"7 HAVE HURT YOU." 45 
 
 come familiar with each other and to throw aside 
 restraint. 
 
 " There is nothing to distract one," Ferrol said, 
 " nothing to rouse one, nothing to inspire one- 
 nothing ! It is delicious ! Why didn t I know 
 of it before? " 
 
 He had plenty of time to study his sister s 
 friend. She rode and walked with him and 
 Olivia when they made their excursions, she 
 listened while he read aloud to them as he lay 
 on the grass in a quiet corner of the grounds. 
 He thought her natural reserve held her from 
 expressing her opinion on what he read very 
 freely ; it certainly did not occur to him that she 
 was beginning her literary education under his 
 guidance. He could see that the things which 
 pleased him most were not lost upon her. Her 
 face told him that. One moonlight night, as 
 they sat on an upper gallery, he began to speak 
 of the novelty of the aspect of the country as it 
 presented itself to an outsider who saw it for the 
 first time. 
 
 " It is a new life, and a new people," he said. 
 "And, by the way, Olivia, where is the new 
 species of young woman I was to see the 
 daughter of the people who does not belong to 
 her sphere ? " 
 
46 LOUISIANA. 
 
 He turned to Louisiana. 
 
 "Have you ever seen her?" he asked. "I 
 must confess to a dubiousness on the subject." 
 
 Before he could add another word Louisiana 
 turned upon him. He could see her face clearly 
 in the moonlight. It was white, and her eyes 
 were dilated and full of fire. 
 
 " Why do you speak in that way?" she cried. 
 "As if as if such people were so far beneath 
 you. What right have you " 
 
 She stopped suddenly. Laurence Ferrol was 
 gazing- at her in amazement. She rose from her 
 seat, trembling. 
 
 "I will go away a little," she said. "I beg 
 your pardon and Miss Ferrol s." 
 
 She turned her back upon them and went 
 away. Ferrol sat holding her little round, white- 
 feather fan helplessly, and staring after her until 
 she disappeared. 
 
 It was several seconds before the silence was 
 broken. It was he who broke it. 
 
 "I don t know what it means," he said, in a 
 low voice. " I don t know what I have done ! " 
 
 In a little while he got up and began to roam 
 aimlessly about the gallery. He strolled from 
 one end to the other with his hands thrust in his 
 coat pockets. Olivia, who had remained seated, 
 
"I HAVE HURT YOU." 47 
 
 knew that he was waiting in hopes that Louisiana 
 would return. He had been walking to and fro, 
 looking as miserable as possible, for about half an 
 hour, when at last she saw him pause and turn 
 half round before the open door of an upper cor 
 ridor leading out upon the verandah. A black 
 figure stood revealed against the inside light. It 
 was Louisiana, and, after hesitating a moment, 
 she moved slowly forward. 
 
 She had not recovered her color, but her man 
 ner was perfectly quiet. 
 
 " I am glad you did not go away," she said. 
 
 Ferrol had only stood still at first, waiting her 
 pleasure, but the instant she spoke he made a 
 quick step toward her. 
 
 " I should have felt it a very hard thing not to 
 have seen you again before I slept," he said. 
 
 She made no reply, and they walked together 
 in silence until they reached the opposite end of 
 the gallery. 
 
 " Miss Ferrol has gone in," she said then. 
 
 He turned to look and saw that such was the 
 case. Suddenly, for some reason best known to 
 herself, Olivia had disappeared from the scene. 
 
 Louisiana leaned against one of the slender, 
 supporting pillars of the gallery. She did not 
 look at Ferrol, but at the blackness of the moun- 
 
48 LOUISIANA. 
 
 tains rising before them. Ferrol could not look 
 away from her. 
 
 "If you had not come out again," he said, 
 after a pause, " I think I should have remained 
 here, baying at the moon, all night." 
 
 Then, as she made no reply, he began to pour 
 himself forth quite recklessly. 
 
 " I cannot quite understand how I hurt you," 
 he said. " It seemed to me that I must have 
 hurt you, but even while I don t understand, 
 there are no words abject enough to express 
 what I feel now and have felt during the last half 
 hour. If I only dared ask you to tell me " 
 
 She stopped him. 
 
 " I can t tell you," she said. " But it is not 
 your fault it is nothing you could have under 
 stood it is my fault all my fault, and I de 
 serve it." 
 
 He was terribly -discouraged. 
 
 "I am bewildered," he said. "I am very 
 unhappy." 
 
 She turned her pretty, pale face round to him 
 swiftly. 
 
 It is not you who need be unhappy," she ex 
 claimed. "It is I !" 
 
 The next instant she had checked herself again, 
 just as she had done before. 
 
"/ HAVE HURT YOU." 49 
 
 <( Let us talk of something else," she said, 
 coldly. 
 
 " It will not be easy for me to do so," he 
 answered, " but I will try." 
 
 Before Olivia went to bed she had a visit from 
 her. 
 
 She received her with some embarrassment, it 
 must be confessed. Day by day she felt less at 
 ease with her and more deeply self-convicted of 
 some blundering, which, to a young woman of 
 her temperament, was a sharp penalty. 
 
 Louisiana would not sit down. She revealed 
 her purpose in coming at once. 
 
 " I want to ask you to make me a promise," 
 she said, " and I want to ask your pardon." 
 
 " Don t do that," said Olivia. 
 
 " I want you to promise that you will not tell 
 your brother the truth until you have left here 
 and are at home. I shall go away very soon. I 
 am tired of what I have been doing. It is differ 
 ent from what you meant it to be. But you must 
 promise that if you stay after I have gone as 
 of course you will you will not tell him. My 
 home is only a few miles away. You might be 
 tempted, after thinking it over, to come and see 
 me and I should not like it. I want it all to 
 3 
 
50 LOUISIANA. 
 
 stop here I mean my part of it. I don t want 
 to know the rest." 
 
 Olivia had never felt so helpless in her life. 
 She had neither self-poise, nor tact, nor any other 
 daring quality left. 
 
 "I wish," she faltered, gazing at the girl quite 
 pathetically, " I wish we had never begun it." 
 
 "So do I," said Louisiana. "Do you prom 
 ise?" 
 
 Y-yes. I would promise anything. I I 
 have hurt your feelings," she confessed, in an 
 outbreak. 
 
 She was destined to receive a fresh shock. All 
 at once the girl was metamorphosed again. It 
 was her old ignorant, sweet, simple self who stood 
 there, with trembling lips and dilated eyes. 
 
 "Yes, you have!" she cried. "Yes, you 
 have ! " 
 
 And she burst into tears and turned about and 
 ran out of the room. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT. 
 
 THE morning after, Ferrol heard an announce 
 ment which came upon him like a clap of thunder. 
 
 After breakfast, as they walked about the 
 grounds, Olivia, who had seemed to be in an 
 abstracted mood, said, without any preface : 
 
 " Miss Rogers returns home to-morrow." 
 
 Laurence stopped short in the middle of the 
 path. 
 
 " To-morrow ! " he exclaimed. " Oh, no." 
 
 He glanced across at Louisiana with an anxious 
 face. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I am going home." 
 
 " To New York ?" 
 
 " I do not live in New York." 
 
 She spoke quite simply, but the words were a 
 shock to him. They embarrassed him. There 
 was no coldness in her manner, no displeasure in 
 her tone, but, of course, he understood that it 
 
52 LOUISIANA. 
 
 would be worse than tactless to inquire further. 
 Was it possible that she did not care that he 
 should know where she lived ? There seemed no 
 other construction to be placed upon her words. 
 He flushed a little, and for a few minutes looked 
 rather gloomy, though he quickly recovered him 
 self afterward and changed the subject with cred 
 itable readiness. 
 
 " Did not you tell me she lived in New York ? " 
 he asked Olivia, the first time they were alone to 
 gether. 
 
 " No," Olivia answered, a trifle sharply. " Why 
 New York, more than another place ? " 
 
 " For no reason whatever, really," he return 
 ed, more bewildered than ever. There was no 
 reason why I should choose New York, only 
 when I spoke to her of certain places there, she 
 
 He paused and thought the matter over care 
 fully before finishing his sentence. He ended it 
 at last in a singular manner. 
 
 " She said nothing," he said. " It is actually true 
 now I think of it she said nothing whatever ! " 
 
 " And because she said nothing whatever -- " 
 began Olivia. 
 
 He drew his hand across his forehead with a 
 puzzled gesture. 
 
THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT. 53 
 
 " I fancied she looked as if she knew," he said, 
 slowly. " I am sure she looked as if she knew 
 what I was talking about as if she knew the 
 places, I mean. It is very queer ! There seems 
 no reason in it. Why shouldn t she wish us to 
 know where she lives ? 
 
 " I I must confess," cried Olivia, " that I am 
 getting a little tired of her." 
 
 It was treacherous and vicious, and she knew it 
 was ; but her guilty conscience and her increasing 
 sense of having bungled drove her to desperation. 
 If she had not promised to keep the truth to her 
 self, she would have been only too glad to unbur 
 den herself. It was so stupid, after all, and she 
 had only herself to blame. 
 
 Laurence drew a long breath. 
 
 " You cannot be tired of her ! " he said. " That 
 is impossible. She takes firmer hold upon one 
 every hour." 
 
 This was certainly true, as far as he was con 
 cerned. He was often even surprised at his own 
 enthusiasm. He had seen so many pretty women 
 that it was almost inconsistent that he should be 
 so much moved by the prcttiness of one charming 
 creature, and particularly one who spoke so little, 
 who, after all, was but there he always found 
 himself at a full stop. He could not say what she 
 
54 LOUISIANA. 
 
 was, he did not know yet ; really, he seemed no 
 nearer the solution of the mystery than he had 
 been at first. There lay the fascination. He felt 
 so sure there was an immense deal for him to dis 
 cover, if he could only discover it. He had an 
 ideal in his mind, and this ideal, he felt confident, 
 was the real creature, if he could only see her. 
 During the episode on the upper gallery he fan 
 cied he had caught a glimpse of what was to be 
 revealed. The sudden passion on her pale young 
 face, the fire in her eyes, were what he had 
 dreamed of. 
 
 If he had not been possessed of courage and an 
 honest faith in himself, born of a goodly amount 
 of success, he would have been far more depressed 
 than he was. She was going away, and had not 
 encouraged him to look forward to their meeting 
 again. 
 
 " I own it is rather bad to look at," he said to 
 himself, "if one quite believed that Fate would 
 serve one such an ill turn. She never played me 
 such a trick, however, and I won t believe she 
 will. I shall see her again sometime. It will 
 turn out fairly enough, surely." 
 
 So with this consolation he supported himself. 
 There was one day left and he meant to make the 
 best of it. It was to be spent in driving to a cer- 
 
THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT. 55 
 
 tain mountain, about ten miles distant. All tour 
 ists who were possessed of sufficient energy made 
 this excursion as a matter of duty, if from no more 
 enthusiastic motive. A strong, light carriage and 
 a pair of horses were kept in the hotel stables for 
 the express purpose of conveying guests to this 
 special point. 
 
 This vehicle Ferrol had engaged the day before, 
 and as matters had developed he had cause to 
 congratulate himself upon the fact. He said to 
 Louisiana what he had before said to himself: 
 
 " We have one day left, and we will make the 
 best of it." 
 
 Olivia, who stood upon the gallery before which 
 the carriage had been drawn up, glanced at Lou 
 isiana furtively. On her part she felt privately that 
 it would be rather hard to make the best of it. She 
 wished that it was well over. But Louisiana did 
 not return her glance. She was looking at Ferrol 
 and the horses. She had done something new 
 this morning. She had laid aside her borrowed 
 splendor and attired herself in one of her own 
 dresses, which she had had -the boldness to re 
 model. She had seized a hint from some one of 
 Olivia s possessions, and had given her costume a 
 pretty air of primitive simplicity. It was a plain 
 white lawn, with a little frilled cape or fichu which 
 
56 LOUISIANA. 
 
 crossed upon her breast, and was knotted loosely 
 behind. She had a black velvet ribbon around 
 her lithe waist, a rose in her bosom where the fichu 
 crossed, and a broad Gainsborough hat upon her 
 head. One was reminded somewhat of the pic 
 turesque young woman of the good old colony 
 times. Ferrol, at least, when he first caught sight 
 of her, was reminded of pictures he had seen of 
 them. 
 
 There was no trace of her last night s fire in her 
 manner. She was quieter than usual through the 
 first part of the drive. She was gentle to submis- 
 siveness to Olivia. There was something even 
 tender in her voice once or twice when she ad 
 dressed her. Laurence noticed it, and accounted 
 for it naturally enough. 
 
 " She is really fonder of her than she has 
 seemed," he thought, " and she is sorry that their 
 parting is so near." 
 
 He was just arriving at this conclusion when 
 Louisiana touched his arm. 
 
 " Don t take that road," she said. 
 
 He drew up his horses and looked at her with 
 surprise. There were two roads before them, 
 and he had been upon the point of taking the one 
 to the right. 
 
 41 But it is the only road to take," he continued. 
 
THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT. 57 
 
 " The other does not lead to the mountain. I 
 was told to be sure to take the road to the right 
 hand." 
 
 " It is a mistake," she said, in a disturbed tone. 
 " The left-hand road leads to the mountain, too 
 at least, we can reach it by striking the wagon- 
 road through the woods. I yes, I am sure of 
 it." 
 
 " But this is the better road. Is there any rea 
 son why you prefer the other ? Could you pilot 
 us? If you can -" 
 
 He stopped and looked at her appealingly. 
 
 He was ready to do anything she wished, but 
 the necessity for his yielding had passed. Her 
 face assumed a set look. 
 
 14 I can t," she answered. " Take the road to 
 the right. Why not ? " 
 3* 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " SHE AINT YERE." 
 
 FERROL was obliged to admit when they turned 
 their faces homeward that the day was hardly a 
 success, after all. Olivia had not been at her best, 
 for some reason or other, and from the moment 
 they had taken the right-hand road Louisiana had 
 been wholly incomprehensible. 
 
 In her quietest mood she had never worn a cold 
 air before ; to-day she had been cold and unre 
 sponsive. It had struck him that she was ab 
 sorbed in thinking of something which was quite 
 beyond him. She was plainly not thinking of 
 him, nor of Olivia, nor of the journey they were 
 making. During the drive she had sat with her 
 hands folded upon her lap, her eyes fixed straight 
 before her. She had paid no attention to the 
 scenery, only rousing herself to call their atten 
 tion to one object. This object was a house they 
 passed the rambling, low-roofed white house of 
 
"SHE AINT YERE." 59 
 
 some well-to-do farmer. It was set upon a small 
 hill and had a long front porch, mottled with blue 
 and white paint in a sanguine attempt at imitating 
 variegated marble. 
 
 She burst into a low laugh when she saw it. 
 
 "Look at that," she said. "That is one of 
 the finest houses in the country. The man who 
 owns it is counted a rich man among his neigh 
 bors." 
 
 Ferrol put up his eye-glasses to examine it. 
 (It is to be deplored that he was a trifle near 
 sighted.) 
 
 "By George!" he said. "That is an idea, 
 isn t it, that marble business ! I wonder who did 
 it? Do you know the man who lives there ? " 
 
 "I have heard of him," she answered, "from 
 several people. He is a namesake of mine. His 
 name is Rogers." 
 
 When they returned to their carriage, after a 
 ramble up the mountain-side, they became con 
 scious that the sky had suddenly darkened. Fer 
 rol looked up, and his face assumed a rather seri 
 ous expression. 
 
 "If either of you is weather-wise," he said, " I 
 wish you would tell me what that cloud means. 
 You have been among the mountains longer than 
 I have." 
 
60 LOUISIANA. 
 
 Louisiana glanced upward quickly. 
 
 "It means a storm," she said, "and a heavy 
 one. We shall be drenched in half an hour." 
 
 Ferrol looked at her white dress and the little 
 frilled fichu, which was her sole protection. 
 
 " Oh, but that won t do ! " he exclaimed. 
 " What insanity in me not to think of umbrel 
 las ! " 
 
 "Umbrellas!" echoed Louisiana. "If we 
 had each six umbrellas they could not save us. 
 We may as well get into the carriage. We are 
 only losing time." 
 
 They were just getting in when an idea struck 
 Ferrol which caused him to utter an exclamation 
 of ecstatic relief. 
 
 "Why," he cried, "there is that house we 
 passed ! Get in quickly. We can reach there in 
 twenty minutes." 
 
 Louisiana had her foot upon the step. She 
 stopped short and turned to face him. She 
 changed from red to white and from white to red 
 again, as if with actual terror. 
 
 " There ! " she exclaimed. " There ! " 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " We can reach there in 
 time to save ourselves. Is there any objection to 
 our going, in the last extremity ? " 
 
 For a second they looked into each other s 
 
"SHE AINT YERE." 6l 
 
 eyes, and then she turned and sprang into the 
 carriage. She laughed aloud. 
 
 l< Oh, no," she said. " Go there ! It will be 
 a nice place to stay and the people will amuse 
 you. Go there." 
 
 They reached the house in a quarter of an hour 
 instead of twenty minutes. They had driven fast 
 and kept ahead of the storm, but when they drew 
 up before the picket fence the clouds were black 
 and the thunder was rolling behind them. 
 
 It was Louisiana who got out first. She led 
 the way up the path to the house and mounted 
 the steps of the variegated porch. She did not 
 knock at the door, which stood open, but, some 
 what to Fermi s amazement, walked at once into 
 the front room, which was plainly the room of 
 state. Not to put too fine a point upon it, it was 
 a hideous room. 
 
 The ceiling was so low that Ferrol felt as 
 if he must knock his head against it; it was 
 papered ceiling and all with paper of an 
 unwholesome yellow enlivened with large blue 
 flowers ; there was a bedstead in one corner, 
 and the walls were ornamented with colored lith 
 ographs of moon-faced houris, with round eyes 
 and round, red cheeks, and wearing low-necked 
 dresses, and flowers in their bosoms, and bright 
 
62 LOUISIANA. 
 
 yellow gold necklaces. These works of art were 
 the first things which caught Ferrol s eye, and 
 he went slowly up to the most remarkable, and 
 stood before it, regarding it with mingled wonder 
 ment and awe. 
 
 He turned from it after a few seconds to look 
 at Louisiana, who stood near him, and he beheld 
 what seemed to him a phenomenon. He had 
 never seen her blush before as other women blush 
 now she was blushing, burning red from chin to 
 brow. 
 
 " There there is no one in this part of the 
 house," she said. " I I know more of these 
 people than you do. I will go and try to find 
 some one." 
 
 She was gone before he could interpose. Not 
 that he would have interposed, perhaps. Some 
 howwithout knowing why he felt as if she did 
 know more of the situation than he did almost 
 as if she were, in a manner, doing the honors for 
 the time being. 
 
 She crossed the passage with a quick, uneven 
 step, and made her way, as if well used to the 
 place, into the kitchen at the back of the house. 
 
 A stout negro woman stood at a table, filling a 
 pan with newly made biscuits. Her back was to 
 ward the door and she did not see who entered. 
 
"SHE AINT YE RE." 63 
 
 " Aunt Cassandry," the girl began, when the 
 woman turned toward her. 
 
 " Who s dar? " she exclaimed. " Lor , honey, 
 how ye skeert me ! I aint no C sandry." 
 
 The face she turned was a strange one, and it 
 showed no sign of recognition of her visitor. 
 
 It was an odd thing that the sight of her unfa 
 miliar face should have been a shock to Louisi 
 ana ; but it was a shock. She put her hand to 
 her side. 
 
 "Where is my where is Mr. Rogers?" she 
 asked. " I want to see him." 
 
 "Out on de back po ch, honey, right now. 
 Dar he goes ! " 
 
 The girl heard him, and flew out to meet him. 
 Her heart was throbbing hard, and she was draw 
 ing quick, short breaths. 
 
 " Father ! " she cried. " Father ! Don t go in 
 the house ! 
 
 And she caught him by both shoulders and 
 drew him round. He did not know her at first in 
 her fanciful-simple dress and her Gainsborough 
 hat. He was not used to that style of thing, be 
 lieving that it belonged rather to the world of 
 pictures. He stared at her. Then he broke out 
 with an exclamation, 
 
 " Lo-rd ! Louisianny ! " 
 
64 LOUISIANA. 
 
 She kept her eyes on his face. They were fe 
 verishly bright, and her cheeks were hot. She 
 laughed hysterically. 
 
 "Don t speak loud," she said. "There are 
 some strange people in the house, and and I 
 want to tell you something." 
 
 He was a slow man, and it took him some time 
 to grasp the fact that she was really before him in 
 the flesh. He said, again : 
 
 "Lord, Louisianny ! " adding, cheerfully, 
 " How ye ve serprised me ! " 
 
 Then he took in afresh the change in her dress. 
 There "was a pile of stove-wood stacked on the 
 porch to be ready for use, and he sat down on it 
 to look at her. 
 
 " Why, ye ve got a new dress on ! " he said. 
 " Thet thar s what made ye look sorter curis. I 
 hardly knowed ye." 
 
 Then he remembered what she had said on first 
 seeing him. 
 
 " Why don t ye want me to go in the house ? " 
 he asked. " What sort o folks air they ? " 
 
 " They came with me from the Springs," she 
 answered ; " and and I want to to play a joke 
 on them." 
 
 She put her hands up to her burning cheeks, 
 and stood so. 
 
"SHE AINT YhRE." 6$ 
 
 A joke on em ? " he repeated. 
 
 " Yes," she said, speaking very fast. " They 
 don t know I live here, they think I came from 
 some city, they took the notion themselves, 
 and I want to let them think so until we go 
 away from the house. It will be such a good 
 joke." 
 
 She tried to laugh, but broke off in the middle 
 of a harsh sound. Her father, with one copperas- 
 colored leg crossed over the other, was chewing 
 his tobacco slowly, after the manner of a rumina 
 ting animal, while he watched her. 
 
 " Don t you see ? " she asked. 
 
 11 Wa-al, no," he answered. "Not rightly." 
 
 She actually assumed a kind of spectral gayety. 
 
 I never thought of it until I saw it was not 
 Cassandry who was in the kitchen," she said. 
 " The woman who is there didn t know me, and 
 it came into my mind that that we might play 
 off on them," using the phraseology to which he 
 was the most accustomed. 
 
 " Waal, we m ought," he admitted, with a spec 
 ulative deliberateness. " Thet s so. We mought 
 if thar was any use in it." 
 
 " It s only for a joke," she persisted, hurriedly. 
 
 " Thet s so," he repeated. " Thet s so." 
 
 He got up slowly and rather lumberingly from 
 
66 LOUISIANA. 
 
 his seat and dusted the chips from his copperas- 
 colored legs. 
 
 " Hev ye ben enjyin yerself, Louisianny ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. " Never better." 
 
 " Ye must hev," he returned, " or ye wouldn t 
 be in sperrits to play jokes." 
 
 Then he changed his tone so suddenly that she 
 was startled. 
 
 " What do ye want me to do? " he asked. 
 
 She put her hand on his shoulder and tried to 
 laugh again. 
 
 " To pretend you don t know me to pretend 
 I have never been here before. That s joke 
 enough, isn t it? They will think so when I tell 
 them the truth. You slow old father ! Why 
 don t you laugh ? " 
 
 " P r aps," he said, " it s on account o me bcin 
 slow, Louisianny. Mcbbe I shall begin arter a 
 while." 
 
 " Don t begin at the wrong time," she said, 
 still keeping up her feverish laugh, " or you ll 
 spoil it all. Now come along in and and pre 
 tend you don t know me," she continued, draw 
 ing him forward by the arm. " They might sus 
 pect something if we stay so long. All you ve 
 got to do is to pretend you don t know me." 
 
"SHE AINT YERE." 6/ 
 
 "Thet s so, Louisianny," with a kindly glance 
 downward at her excited face as he followed her 
 out. " Thar aint no call fur me to do nothin 1 
 else, is there just pretend I don t know ye ? " 
 
 It was wonderful how well he did it, too. 
 When she preceded him into the room the girl 
 was quivering with excitement. He might break 
 down, and it would be all over in a second. But 
 she looked Ferrol boldly in the face when she 
 made her first speech. 
 
 "This is the gentleman of the house," she said. 
 "I found him on the back porch. He had just 
 come in. He has been kind enough to say we 
 may stay until the storm is over. " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said he hospitably, "stay an wel 
 come. Ye aint the first as has stopped over. 
 Storms come up sorter suddent, an we haint the 
 kind as turns folks away." 
 
 Ferrol thanked him, Olivia joining in with a 
 murmur of gratitude. They were very much in 
 debted to him for his hospitality ; they considered 
 themselves very fortunate. 
 
 Their host received their protestations with 
 much equanimity. 
 
 " If ye d like to set out on the front porch and 
 watch the storm come up," he said, " thar s seats 
 thar. Or would ye druther set here ? Women- 
 
68 LOUISIANA. 
 
 folks is gen rally fond o settin in-doors whar 
 thar s a parlor." 
 
 But they preferred the porch, and followed him 
 out upon it. 
 
 Having seen them seated, he took a chair him 
 self. It was a split-seated chair, painted green, 
 and he tilted it back against a pillar of the porch 
 and applied himself to the full enjoyment of a 
 position more remarkable for ease than elegance. 
 Ferrol regarded him with stealthy rapture, and 
 drank in every word he uttered. 
 
 " This," he had exclaimed delightedly to Olivia, 
 in private "why, this is delightful! These are 
 the people we have read of. I scarcely believed 
 in them before. I would not have missed it for 
 the world ! " 
 
 " In gin ral, now," their entertainer proceeded, 
 " wimmin-folk is fonder o settin in parlors. My 
 wife was powerful sot on her parlor. She wasn t 
 never satisfied till she hed one an hed it fixed up 
 to her notion. She was aliens tradin fur picters 
 fur it. She tuk a heap o pride in her picters. 
 She allers had it in her mind that her little gal 
 should have a showy parlor when she growed 
 up." 
 
 " You have a daughter ? " said Ferrol. 
 
 Their host hitched his chair a little to one side. 
 
"SHE AINT YE RE." 69 
 
 He bent forward to expectorate, and then an 
 swered with his eyes fixed upon some distant 
 point toward the mountains. 
 
 " Wa-al, yes," he said; "but she aint yere, 
 Louisianny aint." 
 
 Miss Ferrol gave a little start, and immediately 
 made an effort to appear entirely at ease. 
 
 "Did you say," asked Ferrol, "that your 
 daughter s name was " 
 
 " Louisianny," promptly. " I come from 
 thar." 
 
 Louisiana got up and walked to the opposite 
 end of the porch. 
 
 " The storm will be upon us in a few minutes," 
 she said. "It is beginning to rain now. Come 
 and look at this cloud driving over the mountain- 
 top." 
 
 Ferrol rose and went to her. He stood for a 
 moment looking at the cloud, but plainly not 
 thinking of it. 
 
 " His daughter s name is Louisiana," he said, 
 in an undertone. "Louisiana! Isn t that deli 
 cious ? " 
 
 Suddenly, even as he spoke, a new idea oc 
 curred to him. 
 
 " Why," he exclaimed, "your name is Louise, 
 isn t it? I think Olivia said so." 
 
70 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " my name is Louise." 
 
 " How should you have liked it," he inquired, 
 absent-min dedly, " if it had been Louisiana ? " 
 
 She answered him with a hard coolness which 
 it startled him afterward to remember. 
 
 How would you have liked it ? " she said. 
 
 They were driven back just then by the rain, 
 which began to beat in upon their end of the 
 porch. They were obliged to return to Olivia 
 and Mr. Rogers, who were engaged in an ani 
 mated conversation. 
 
 The fact was that, in her momentary excite 
 ment, Olivia had plunged into conversation as a 
 refuge. She had suddenly poured forth a stream 
 of remark and query which had the effect of spur 
 ring up her companion to a like exhibition of 
 frankness. He had been asking questions, too. 
 
 " She s ben tellin me," he said, as Ferrol ap 
 proached, "thet you re a littery man, an write 
 fur the papers novel-stories, an pomes an things. 
 I never seen one before not as I know on." 
 
 " I wonder why not ! " remarked Ferrol. " We 
 are plentiful enough." 
 
 " Air ye now ? " he asked reflectively. " I had 
 an idee thar was only one on ye now an ag in 
 jest now an ag in." 
 
 He paused there to shake his head. 
 
"SHE ALVT YKRK." 7 1 
 
 " I ve often wondered how ye could do it," he 
 said, "/couldn t. Thar s some as thinks they 
 could if they tried, but I wa n t never thataway 
 I wa n t never thataway. I haint no idee I could 
 do it, not if I tried ever so. Seems to me," he 
 went on, with the air of making an announcement 
 of so novel a nature that he must present it mod 
 estly, " seems to me, now, as if them as does it 
 must hev a kinder gift fur it, now. Lord! I 
 couldn t write a novel. I wouldn t know whar to 
 begin." 
 
 " It is difficult to decide where," said Ferrol. 
 
 He did not smile at all. His manner was per 
 fect so full of interest, indeed, that Mr. Rogers 
 quite warmed and expanded under it. 
 
 "The scenes on em all, now, bein mostly laid 
 in Bagdad, would be agin me, if nothin else war," 
 he proceeded. 
 
 " Being laid ?" queried Ferrol. 
 
 " In Bagdad or wa-al, furrin parts tharabouts. 
 Ye see I couldn t tell nothin much about no place 
 but North Ca liny, an folks wouldn t buy it." 
 
 " But why not ? " exclaimed Ferrol. 
 
 "Why, Lord bless ye!" he said, hilariously, 
 " they d know it wa n t true. They d say in a 
 minnit : Why, thar s thet fool Rogers ben a 
 writin a pack o lies thet aint a word on it true. 
 
72 LOUISIANA. 
 
 Thar aint no cas-tles in Hamilton County, an 
 
 tli.ir aint no folks like these ycre. It just ,iint 
 so ! I lowed thet th.ir was the reason the novel- 
 writers allers writ about things a happenin in Hag- 
 dad. Ve kin say most anythin ye like about Bag 
 dad an no one cavn t contradict ye. 
 
 " I don t seem to remember main- novels of 
 of that particular description," remarked Ferrol, in 
 a rather low voice. * Perhaps my memory " 
 
 "Ye don t?" he queried, in much surprise. 
 " Waal now, jest you notice an see if it aint so. 
 I haint read many novels myself. I haint read 
 but one " 
 
 "Oh!" interposed Ferrol. "And it was a 
 story of life in Bagdad." 
 
 " Yes; an I ve heard tell of others as was the 
 same. 1 lance Claiborn. now. he was a-tellen me 
 of one." 
 
 He checked himself to speak to the negro wo 
 man who had presented herself at a room door. 
 
 " We re a-comin , Nancy," he said, with an air 
 od-fellowship. " Now. ladies an gentlemen." 
 he added, rising from his chair, "walk in an have 
 some supper." 
 
 Ferrol and Olivia rose with some hesitation. 
 
 " You are very kind," they said. " We did not 
 intend to give you trouble." 
 
"SHE AINT YERE." 73 
 
 " Trouble ! " he replied, as if scarcely compre 
 hending. " This ycrc aint no trouble. Ye haint 
 ben in North Ca liny before, hev ye ? " he contin 
 ued, good-naturedly. "We re bound to hev ye 
 eat, if ye stay with us long enough. We wouldn t 
 let ye go way without eatin , bless ye. We aint 
 that kind. Walk straight in." 
 
 He led them into a long, low room, half kitch 
 en, half dining-room. It was not so ugly as 
 the room of state, because it was entirely un 
 adorned. Its ceiled walls were painted brown 
 and stained with many a winter s smoke. The 
 pine table was spread with a clean homespun 
 cloth and heaped with well-cooked, appetizing 
 food. 
 
 " If ye can put up with country fare, ye ll not 
 find it so bad," said the host. " Nancy prides 
 herself on her way o doin things." 
 
 There never was more kindly hospitality, Ferrol 
 thought. The simple generosity which made 
 them favored guests at once warmed and touched 
 him. He glanced across at Louisiana to sec if 
 she was not as much pleased as he was himself. 
 But the food upon her plate remained almost un 
 touched. There was a strange look on her face ; 
 she was deadly pale and her downcast eyes shone 
 under their lashes. She did not look at their host 
 
 4 
 
74 LOUISIANA. 
 
 at all ; it struck Ferrol that she avoided looking 
 at him with a strong effort. Her pallor made him 
 anxious. 
 
 " You are not well," he said to her. " You do 
 not look well at all." 
 
 Their host started and turned toward her. 
 
 " Why, no ye aint ! " he exclaimed, quite trem 
 ulously. <( Lord, no! Ye cay n t be. Ye haint 
 no color. What what s the trouble, Lou Lord ! 
 I was gwine to call ye Louisianny, an she aint 
 yere, Louisianny aint." 
 
 He ended with a nervous laugh. 
 
 " I m used to takin a heap o care on her," he 
 said. " I ve lost ten on em, an she s all that s left 
 me, an an I think a heap on her. I I wish 
 she was yere. Ye musn t git sick, ma am." 
 
 The girl got up hurriedly. 
 
 " I am not sick, really," she said. " The thun 
 der I have a little headache. I will go out on 
 to the porch. It s clearing up now. The fresh 
 air will do me good." 
 
 The old man rose, too, with rather a flurried 
 manner. 
 
 "If Louisianny was yere," he faltered, "she 
 could give ye something to help ye. Camphire 
 now sperrits of camphire let me git ye some." 
 
 44 No no," said the girl. " No, thank you." 
 
"SHE AINT YERE." 75 
 
 And she slipped out of the door and was gone. 
 
 Mr. Rogers sat down again with a sigh. 
 
 " I wish she d let me git her some," he said, 
 wistfully. " I know how it is with young critters 
 like that. They re dele-cate," anxiously. " Lord, 
 they re dele-cate. They d oughter hev their 
 mothers round em. I know how it is with Lou- 
 isianny." 
 
 A cloud seemed to settle upon him. He rubbed 
 his grizzled chin with his hand again and again, 
 glancing at the open door as he did it. It was 
 evident that his heart was outside with the girl 
 who was like " Louisianny." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "NOTHING HAS HURT YOU/ 
 
 THE storm was quite over, and the sun was set 
 ting in flames of gold when the meal was ended 
 and they went out on the porch again. Mr. Ro 
 gers had scarcely recovered himself, but he had 
 made an effort to do so, and had so far succeeded 
 as to begin to describe the nature of the one novel 
 he had read. Still, he had rubbed his chin and 
 kept his eye uneasily on the door all the time he 
 had been talking. 
 
 " It was about a Frenchman," he said, seriously, 
 "an* his name was Frankoyse F-r-a n-c-o-i-s, 
 Frankoyse. Thet thar s a French name, aint it ? 
 Me an lanthy lowed it was common to the coun 
 try. It don t belong yere, Frankoyse don t, an 
 it s got a furrin sound." 
 
 " It yes, it is a French name," assented 
 Ferrol. 
 
 A few minutes afterward they went out. Lou- 
 
"NOTHING HAS HURT YOU." 77 
 
 isiana stood at the end of the porch, leaning 
 against a wooden pillar and twisting an arm 
 around it. 
 
 " Are ye better ? " Mr. Rogers asked. " I am 
 goin to tend to my stock, an if ye aint, mebbe 
 the camphire sperrits of camphire 
 
 " I don t need it," she answered. " I am quite 
 well." 
 
 So he went away and left them, promising to 
 return shortly and "gear up their critters" for 
 them that they might go on their way. 
 
 When he was gone, there was a silence of a few 
 seconds which Ferrol could not exactly account for. 
 Almost for the first time in his manhood, he did not 
 know what to say. Gradually there had settled 
 upon him the conviction that something had gone 
 very wrong indeed, that there was something 
 mysterious and complicated at work, that some 
 how he himself was involved, and that his posi 
 tion was at once a most singular and delicate one. 
 It was several moments before he could decide 
 that his best plan seemed to be to try to conceal 
 his bewilderment and appear at ease. And, very 
 naturally, the speech he chose to begin with was 
 the most unlucky he could have hit upon. 
 
 " He is charming," he said. " What a lovable 
 old fellow ! What a delicious old fellow ! He 
 
78 LOUISIANA. 
 
 has been telling me about the novel. It is the 
 the story of a Frenchman, and his name try to 
 guess his name." 
 
 But Louisiana did not try. 
 
 " You couldn t guess it," he went on. " It is 
 better than all the rest. His name was 
 Frankoyse." 
 
 That instant she turned round. She was shak 
 ing all over like a leaf. 
 
 Good heavens ! " flashed through his mind. 
 " This is a climax ! This is the real creature ! " 
 
 "Don t laugh again!" she cried. "Don t 
 dare to laugh ! I wont bear it ! He is my 
 father ! " 
 
 For a second or so he had not the breath to 
 speak. 
 
 " Your father!" he said, when he found his 
 voice. " Your father ! Yours!" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "mine. This is my 
 home. I have lived here all my life my name is 
 Louisiana. You have laughed at me too ! " 
 
 It was the real creature, indeed, whom he saw. 
 She burst into passionate tears. 
 
 " Do you think that I kept up this pretense 
 to-day because I was ashamed of him ? " she said. 
 " Do you think I did it because I did not love 
 him and respect him and think him better than 
 
"NOTHING HAS HURT YOU." 79 
 
 all the rest of the world ? It was because I loved 
 him so much that I did it because I knew so well 
 that you would say to each other that he was not 
 like me that he was rougher, and that it was a 
 wonder I belonged to him. It is a wonder I be 
 long to him ! I am not worthy to kiss his shoes. 
 I have been ashamed I have been bad enough 
 for that, but not bad enough to be ashamed of 
 him. I thought at first it would be better to let 
 you believe what you would that it would soon 
 be over, and we should never see each other 
 again, but I did not think that I should have to 
 sit by and see you laugh because he does not know 
 the world as you do because he has always lived 
 his simple, good life in one simple, country place." 
 
 Ferrol had grown as pale as she was herself. 
 He groaned aloud. 
 
 " Oh ! " he cried, " what shall I say to you? 
 For heaven s sake try to understand that it is not 
 at him I have laughed, but " 
 
 " He has never been away from home," she 
 broke in. " He has worked too hard to have 
 time to read, and she stopped and dropped 
 her hands with a gesture of unutterable pride. 
 " Why should I tell you that ?" she said. " It 
 sounds as if I were apologizing for him, and there 
 is no need that I should." 
 
80 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " If I could understand," began Ferrol, " if 
 I could realize " 
 
 " Ask your sister," she replied. " It was her 
 plan. I I " (with a little sob) " am only her ex 
 periment." 
 
 Olivia came forward, looking wholly subdued. 
 Her eyes were wet, too. 
 
 " It is true," she said. " It is all my fault." 
 
 " May I ask you to explain ? " said Ferrol, 
 rather sternly. " I suppose some of this has been 
 for my benefit." 
 
 " Don t speak in that tone," said Olivia. " It 
 is bad enough as it is. I I never was so 
 wretched in my life. I never dreamed of its 
 turning out in this way. She was so pretty and 
 gentle and quick to take a hint, and I wanted to 
 try the experiment to see if you would guess at 
 the truth. I I had a theory, and I was so much 
 interested that I forgot to to think of her very 
 much. I did not think she would care." 
 
 Louisiana broke in. 
 
 " Yes," she said, her eyes bright with pain, 
 " she forgot. I was very fond of her, and I knew 
 so very little that she forgot to think of me. I 
 was only a kind of plaything but I was too 
 proud to remind her. I thought it would be 
 soon over, and I knew how ignorant I was. I was 
 
"NOTHING HAS HURT YOU." 8l 
 
 afraid to trust my feelings at first. I thought per 
 haps it was vanity, and I ought to crush it down. 
 I was very fond of her." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Olivia, piteously, "don t say 
 * was, Louise ! " 
 
 " Don t say Louise, " was the reply. " Say 
 Louisiana. I am not ashamed of it now. I 
 want Mr. Ferrol to hear it." 
 
 " I have nothing to say in self-defense," 
 Laurence replied, hopelessly. 
 
 " There is nothing for any of us to say but 
 good-by," said Louisiana. " We shall never see 
 each other again. It is all over between us. 
 You will go your way and I shall go mine. I 
 shall stay here to-night. You must drive back to 
 the Springs without me. I ought never to have 
 gone there." 
 
 Laurence threw himself into a chair and sat 
 shading his face with his hand. He stared from 
 under it at the shining wet grass and leaves. 
 Even yet he scarcely believed that all this was 
 true. He ielt as if he were walking in a dream. 
 The worst of it was this desperate feeling that 
 there was nothing for him to say. There was a 
 1 )ng silence, but at last Louisiana left her place 
 and came and stood before him. 
 
 " I am going to meet my father," she said. 
 
 4* 
 
82 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " I persuaded him that I was only playing a joke. 
 He thought it was one of my fancies, and he 
 helped me out because I asked him to do it. I 
 am going to tell him that I have told you the 
 truth. He wont know why I did it. I will make 
 it easy for you. I shall not see you again. Good- 
 by." 
 
 Ferrol s misery got the better of him. 
 
 " I can t bear this ! " he cried, springing up. 
 " I can t, indeed." 
 
 She drew back. 
 
 Why not?" she said. "Nothing has hurt 
 you. " 
 
 The simple coldness of her manner was very 
 hard upon him, indeed. 
 
 " You think I have no right to complain," he 
 answered, " and yet see how you send me away! 
 You speak as if you did not intend to let me see 
 you again " 
 
 " No," she interposed, " you shall not see me 
 again. Why should you? Ask your sister to 
 tell you how ignorant I am. She knows. Why 
 should you come here ? There would always be 
 as much to laugh at as there has been to-day. 
 Go where you need not laugh. This is not the 
 place for you. Good-by ! " 
 
 Then he knew he need say no more. She 
 
"NOTHING HAS HURT YOU." 83 
 
 spoke with a child s passion and with a woman s 
 proud obstinacy. Then she turned to Olivia. 
 He was thrilled to the heart as he watched her 
 while she did it. Her eyes were full of tears, but 
 she had put both her hands behind her. 
 
 " Good-by," she said. 
 
 Olivia broke down altogether. 
 
 " Is that the way you are going to say good- 
 by ? she cried. " I did not think you were so 
 hard. If I had meant any harm but I didn t 
 and you look as if you never would forgive me." 
 
 " I may some time," answered the girl. " I 
 don t yet. I did not think I was so hard, either." 
 
 Her hands fell at her sides and she stood trem 
 bling a second. All at once she had broken down, 
 too. 
 
 " I loved you," she said; but you did not 
 love me." 
 
 And then she turned away and walked slowly 
 into the house. 
 
 It was almost half an hour before their host 
 came to them with the news that their carriage 
 was ready. 
 
 He looked rather " off color " himself and wore 
 a wearied air, but he was very uncommunicative. 
 
 " Louisianny lowed she d go to bed an sleep 
 
84 LOUISIANA. 
 
 off her headache, instead of goin back to the 
 Springs," he said. " I ll be thar in a day or two 
 to tend to her bill an the rest on it. I low the 
 waters haint done her much good. She aint at 
 herself rightly. I knowed she wasn t when she 
 was so notionate this evenin . She aint notionate 
 when she s at herself." 
 
 " We are much indebted to you for your kind 
 ness," said Ferrol, when he took the reins. 
 
 " Oh, thet aint nothin . You re welcome. 
 You d hev hed a better time if Louisianny had 
 been at herself. Good-by to ye. Ye ll hev plenty 
 of moonlight to see ye home." 
 
 Their long ride was a silent one. When they 
 reached the end of it and Olivia had been helped 
 out of the carriage and stood in the moonlight 
 upon the deserted gallery, where she had stood 
 with Louisiana in the morning, she looked very 
 suitably miserable. 
 
 "Laurence," she said, "I don t exactly see 
 why you should feel so very severe about it. 
 I am sure I am as abject as any one could wish." 
 
 He stood a moment in silence looking absently 
 out on the moonlight-flooded lawn. Everything 
 was still and wore an air of desolation. 
 
 "We won t talk about it," he said, at last. 
 " but you have done me an ill-turn, Olivia." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 "DON T YE, LOUISIANNY?" 
 
 As HE said it, Louisiana was at home in the 
 house-room, sitting on a low chair at her father s 
 knee and looking into the fire. She had not gone 
 to bed. When he returned to the house her father 
 had found her sitting here, and she had not left her 
 place since. A wood fire had been lighted because 
 the mountain air was cool after the rains, and she 
 seemed to like to sit and watch it and think. 
 
 Mr. Rogers himself was in a thoughtful mood. 
 After leaving his departing guests he had settled 
 down with some deliberation. He had closed the 
 doors and brought forward his favorite wooden- 
 backed, split-seated chair. Then he had seated 
 himself, and drawing forth his twist of tobacco 
 had cut off a goodly " chaw." He moved slowly 
 and wore a serious and somewhat abstracted air. 
 Afterward he tilted backward a little, crossed his 
 legs, and proceeded to ruminate. 
 
86 LOUISIANA. 
 
 11 Louisianny," he said, " Louisianny, I d like 
 to hear the rights of it." 
 
 She answered him in a low voice. 
 
 " It is not worth telling," she said. " It was a 
 very poor joke, after all." 
 
 He gave her a quick side glance, rubbing his 
 crossed legs slowly. 
 
 " Was it ? " he remarked. " A poor one, after 
 all? Why, thet sbad." 
 
 The quiet patience of his face was a study. He 
 went on rubbing his leg even more slowly than 
 before. 
 
 "That s bad," he said again. "Now, what 
 d ye think was the trouble, Louisianny ?" 
 
 "I made a mistake," she answered. "That 
 was all." 
 
 Suddenly she turned to him and laid her folded 
 arms on his knee and her face upon them, sobbing. 
 
 " I oughtn t to have gone," she cried. " I 
 ought to have stayed at home with you, father." 
 
 His face flushed, and he was obliged to relieve 
 his feelings by expectorating into the fire. 
 
 " Louisianny," he said, " I d like to ask ye one 
 question. Was thar anybody thar as didn t 
 well, as didn t show ye respect as was slighty or 
 free or or onconsiderate ? Fur instants, any 
 littery man jest for instants, now ? " 
 
" DO WT YE, LOUISIANNY?" S/ 
 
 " No, no ! " she answered. They were very 
 kind to me always." 
 
 " Don t be afeared to tell me, Louisianny," he 
 put it to her. " I only said fur instants, havin 
 heern as littery men was sometimes now an 
 again thataway now an ag in." 
 
 "They were very good to me," she repeated, 
 " always." 
 
 " If they was," he returned, " I m glad of it. 
 I m a-gittin old, Louisianny, an I haint much 
 health dispepsy s what tells on a man," he went 
 on deliberately. " But if thar d a bin any one as 
 hed done it, I d hev hed to settle it with him 
 I d hev hed to hev settled it with him liver or no 
 liver." 
 
 He put his hand on her head and gave it a slow 
 little rub, the wrong way, but tenderly. 
 
 " I aint goin to ask ye no more questions," he 
 said, " exceptin one. Is thar anything ye d like 
 to hev done in the house in the parlor, for in 
 stants, now s posin we was to say in the parlor." 
 
 " No, no," she cried. " Let it stay as it is! 
 Let it all stay as it is ! " 
 
 " Wa-al," he said, meditatively, " ye know thar 
 aint no reason why it should, Louisianny, if ye d 
 like to hev it fixed up more or different. If ye d 
 like a new paper say a floweryer one or a new 
 
88 LOUISIANA. 
 
 set of cheers an things. Up to Lawyer Hoskin s 
 I seen em with red seats to em, an seemed like 
 they did set things off sorter. If ye d like to hev 
 some, thar aint no reason why ye shouldn t. 
 Things has gone purty well with me, an an thar 
 aint none left but you, honey. Lord ! " he added, 
 in a queer burst of tenderness. " Why shouldn t 
 ye hev things if ye want em ? " 
 
 " I don t want them," she protested. " I want 
 nothing but you." 
 
 For a moment there was a dead silence. He 
 kept his eyes fixed on the fire. He seemed to be 
 turning something over in his mind. But at last 
 he spoke : 
 
 " Don t ye, Louisianny ? " he said. 
 
 "No," she answered. " Nothing." 
 
 And she drew his hand under her cheek and 
 kissed it. 
 
 He took it very quietly. 
 
 " Ye ve got a kind heart, Louisianny," he said. 
 "Young folks gin rally has, I think. It s sorter 
 nat ral, but Lord ! thar s other things besides us 
 old folks, an it s nat ral as ye d want em. Thar s 
 things as kin be altered, an thar s things as cayn t. 
 Let s alter them as kin. If ye d like a cupoly put 
 on the house, or, say a coat of yaller-buff paint 
 Sawyer s new house is yaller buff, an it s mighty 
 
11 DO N T YE, LOUISIANNY?" 89 
 
 showy ; or a organ or a pianny, or more dressin , 
 ye shall have em. Them s things as it aint too 
 late to set right, an ye shall hev "em." 
 
 But she only cried the more in a soft, hushed 
 way. 
 
 " Oh, don t be so good to me," she said. 
 (< Don t be so good and kind. / 
 
 He went on as quietly as before. 
 
 " If fur instants it was me as was to be 
 altered, Louisianny, I m afeared I m afeared we 
 couldn t do it. I m afeared as I ve been let run 
 too long jest to put it that way. We mought 
 hev done it if we d hev begun airlier say forty or 
 fifty year back but I m afeared we couldn t do it 
 now. Not as I wouldn t be willin I wouldn t 
 hev a thing agin it, an I d try my best but it s 
 late. Thar s whar it is. If it was me as hed to 
 be altered made more moderner, an to know 
 more, an to hev more style I m afeared thar d 
 be a heap o trouble. Style didn t never seem to 
 come nat ral to me, somehow. I m one o them 
 things as cayn t be altered. . Let s alter them as 
 kin." 
 
 " I don t want you altered," she protested. 
 " Oh ! why should I, when you are such a good 
 father such a dear father ! " 
 
 And there was a little silence again, and at the 
 
90 LOUISIANA. 
 
 end of it he said, in a gentle, forbearing voice, just 
 as he had said before : 
 
 " Don t ye, Louisianny ? " 
 
 They sat silent again for some time afterward 
 indeed, but little more was said until they sepa 
 rated for the night. Then, when she kissed him 
 and clung for a moment round his neck, he sud 
 denly roused himself from his prolonged reverie. 
 
 "Lord!" he said, quite cheerfully, " it caynt 
 last long, at the longest, arter all an you re 
 young yet, you re young." 
 
 " What can t last long ? " she asked, timidly. 
 
 He looked into her eyes and smiled. 
 
 " Nothin ," he answered, " nothin caynt. 
 Nothin don t an you re young." 
 
 And he was so far moved by his secret thought 
 that he smoothed her hair from her forehead the 
 wrong way again with a light touch, before he let 
 her go. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE GREAT WORLD. 
 
 THE next morning he went to the Springs. 
 
 " I ll go an settle up and bring ye your trunk 
 an things," he said. " Mebbe I mayn t git back 
 till to-morrer, so don t ye be oneasy. Ef I feel 
 tired when I git thar, I ll stay overnight." 
 
 She did not think it likely he would stay. She 
 had never known him to remain away from home 
 during a night unless he had been compelled to 
 do so by business. He had always been too 
 childishly fond of his home to be happy away 
 from it. He liked the routine he had been used 
 to through forty years, the rising at daylight, the 
 regular common duties he assumed as his share, 
 his own seat on the hearth or porch and at table. 
 
 " Folks may be clever enough," he used to say. 
 " They air clever, as a rule but it don t come 
 nat ral to be away. Thar aint nothin like home 
 an home ways." 
 
92 LOUISIANA. 
 
 But he did not return that night, or even the 
 next morning. It was dusk the next evening be 
 fore Louisiana heard the buggy wheels on the 
 road. 
 
 She had been sitting on the porch and rose to 
 greet him when he drove up and descended from 
 his conveyence rather stiffly. 
 
 " Ye wasn t oneasy, was ye ? " he asked. 
 
 " No," she answered ; " only it seemed strange 
 to know you were away." 
 
 " I haint done it but three times since me an 
 lanthy was married," he said. " Two o them 
 times was Conference to Barnsville, an one was 
 when Marcelly died." 
 
 When he mounted the porch steps he looked up 
 at her with a smile on his weather-beaten face. 
 
 " Was ye lonesome?" he asked. "I bet ye 
 was." 
 
 " A little," she replied. " Not very." 
 
 She gave him his chair against the wooden pil 
 lar, and watched him as he tilted back and bal 
 anced himself on its back legs. She saw some 
 thing new and disturbed in his face and manner. 
 It was as if the bit of outside life he had seen had 
 left temporary traces upon him. She wondered 
 very much how it had impressed him and what 
 he was thinking about. 
 
THE GREAT WORLD. 93 
 
 And after a short time he told her. 
 
 " Ye must be lonesome," he said, " arter stay- 
 in down thar. It s nat ral. A body don t know 
 until they see it theirselves. It s gay thar. Lord, 
 yes ! it s gay, an what suits young folks is to be 
 
 gay." 
 
 " Some of the people who were there did not 
 think it was gay," Louisiana said, a little listlessly. 
 " They were used to gayer places and they often 
 called it dull, but it seemed very gay to me." 
 
 " I shouldn t want it no gayer, myself," he re 
 turned, seriously. " Not if I was young folks. 
 Thar must hev bin three hundred on em in thet 
 thar dinin -room. The names o the vittles writ 
 down on paper to pick an choose from, an fifty 
 or sixty waiters flyin round. An the dressin ! 
 I sot an watched em as they come in. I sot an 
 watched em all day. Thar was a heap o cur osi- 
 ties in the way of dressin I never seen before. I 
 I went into the dancin -roorn at night, too, an sot 
 thar a spell an watched em. They played a 
 play. Some on em put little caps an aperns on, 
 an rosettes an fixin s. They sorter danced in it, 
 an they hed music while they was doin it. It 
 was purty, too, if a body could hev follered it 
 out." 
 
 " It is a dance they call the German," said Lou- 
 
94 LOUISIANA. 
 
 isiana, remembering with a pang the first night 
 she had seen it, as she sat at her new friend s 
 side. 
 
 " German, is it?" he said, with evident satis 
 faction at making the discovery. " Waal now, I 
 ain t surprised. It hed a kinder Dutch look to 
 me kinder Dutch an furrin." 
 
 Just then Nancy announced that his supper was 
 ready, and he went in, but on the threshold he 
 stopped and spoke again : 
 
 "Them folks as was here," he said, "they d 
 gone. They started the next mornin arter they 
 was here. They live up North somewhars, an* 
 they ve went thar." 
 
 After he had gone in, Louisiana sat still for a 
 little while. The moon was rising and she watched 
 it until it climbed above the tree-tops and shone 
 bright and clear. Then one desperate little sob 
 broke from her only one, for she choked the 
 next in its birth, and got up and turned toward 
 the house and the room in which the kerosene 
 lamp burned on the supper table. 
 
 " I ll go an talk to him," she said. " He likes 
 to have me with him, and it will be better than 
 sitting here." 
 
 She went in and sat near him, resting her elbows 
 
, THE GREAT WORLD. 95 
 
 upon the table and her chin on her hands, and 
 tried to begin to talk. But it was not very easy. 
 She found that she had a tendency to fall back in 
 long silent pauses, in which she simply looked at 
 him with sad, tender eyes. 
 
 " I stopped at Casey s as I came on," he said, 
 at last. " Thet thar was one thing as made me 
 late. Thar s thar s somethin I hed on my mind 
 fur him to do fur me." 
 
 " For Casey to do ? " she said. 
 
 He poured his coffee into his saucer and an 
 swered with a heavy effort at speaking unconcern 
 edly. 
 
 " I m agoin to hev him fix the house," he said. 
 
 She was going to ask him what he meant to 
 have done, but he did not give her time. 
 
 " lanthy an me," he said, " we d uscder say 
 we d do it sometime, an I m agoin to do it now. 
 The rooms, now, they re low whar they re not 
 to say small, they re low an an old-timey. 
 Thar aint no style to em. Them rooms to the 
 Springs, now, they ve got style to em. An 
 rooms kin be altered easy enough." 
 
 He drank his coffee slowly, set his saucer down 
 and went on with the same serious air of having 
 broached an ordinary subject. 
 
 " Goin to the Springs has sorter started me 
 
96 LOUISIANA. 
 
 off," he said. " Seein things diff rent does start 
 a man off. Casey an his men ll be here Mon 
 day." 
 
 " It seems so sudden," Louisiana said. She 
 gave a slow, wondering glance at the old smoke- 
 stained room. " I can hardly fancy it looking any 
 other way than this. It wont be the same place 
 at all." 
 
 He glanced around, too, with a start. His 
 glance was hurried and nervous. 
 
 " Why, no," he said, " it wont, but it ll be 
 stylisher. It ll be kinder onfamil ar at first, but I 
 dessay we shall get used to it an it ll be stylisher. 
 An style whar thar s young folks, thet s what s 
 wanted style." 
 
 She was so puzzled by his manner that she sat 
 regarding him with wonder. But he went on 
 
 o o 
 
 talking steadily about his plans until the meal 
 was over. He talked of them when they went 
 back to the porch together and sat in the moon 
 light. He scarcely gave her an opportunity to 
 speak. Once or twice the idea vaguely occurred 
 to her that for some reason he did not want her 
 to talk. It was a relief to her only to be called 
 upon to listen, but still she was puzzled. 
 
 " When we git fixed up," he said, "ye kin hev 
 your friends yere. Thar s them folks, now, as 
 
THE GREAT WORLD. 97 
 
 was yere the other day from the Springs when 
 we re fixed up ye mought invite em next sum 
 mer, fur instants. Like as not I shall be away 
 myself an ye d hev room a plenty. Ye wouldn t 
 need me, ye see. An , Lord ! how it d serprise 
 em to come an find ye all fixed." 
 
 " I should never ask them," she cried, impetu 
 ously. " And they wouldn t come if I did." 
 
 " Mebbe they would," he responded, gravely, 
 " if ye was fixed up." 
 
 " I don t want them," she said, passionately. 
 " Let them keep their place. I don t want them." 
 
 " Don t ye," he said, in his quiet voice. 
 " Don t ye, Louisianny ? " 
 
 And he seemed to sink into a reverie and did 
 not speak again for quite a long time. 
 5 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 A RUSTY NAIL. 
 
 ON Monday Casey and his men came. Loui 
 siana and her father were at breakfast when they 
 struck their first blow at the end of the house 
 which was to be renovated first. 
 
 The old man, hearing it, started violently so 
 violently that he almost upset the coffee at his 
 elbow. 
 
 He laughed a tremulous sort of laugh. 
 
 " Why, I m narvous ! " he said. " Now, jest to 
 think o me a-bein narvous ! " 
 
 " I suppose," said Louisiana, " I am nervous as 
 well. It made me start too. It had such a strange 
 sound." 
 
 " Waal, now," he answered, " come to think 
 on it, it hed sorter. Seems like it wasn t sca cely 
 nat ral. P r aps that s it." 
 
 Neither of them ate much breakfast, and when 
 the meal was over they went out together to look 
 
A RUSTY NAIL, 99 
 
 at the workmen. They were very busy tearing 
 off weather- boarding and wrenching out nails. 
 Louisiana watched them with regretful eyes. In 
 secret she was wishing that the low ceilings and 
 painted walls might remain as they were. She 
 had known them so long. 
 
 " I am afraid he is doing it to please me," she 
 thought. " He does not believe me when I say 
 I don t want it altered. He would never have had 
 it done for himself." 
 
 Her father had seated himself on a pile of plank. 
 He was rubbing his crossed leg as usual, but his 
 hand trembled slightly. 
 
 " I druv them nails in myself," he said. " lan- 
 thy wasn t but nineteen. She d set yere an watch 
 me. It was two or three months arter we was 
 married. She was mighty proud on it when it 
 was all done. Little Tom he was born in thet 
 thar room. The rest on em was born in the front 
 room, n they all died thar. lanthy she died thar. 
 I d useder think I should : 
 
 He stopped and glanced suddenly at Louisiana. 
 He pulled himself up and smiled. 
 
 " Ye aint in the notion o hevin the cupoly," 
 he said. u We kin hev it as soon as not n 
 seems ter me thar s a heap o style to em." 
 
100 LOUISIANA. 
 
 il Any thing that pleases you will please m< 
 father," she said. 
 
 He gave her a mild, cheerful look. 
 
 " Ye don t take much int russ in it yet, do ye ? 
 he said. " But ye will when it gits along kinde: 
 Lord ! ye ll be as impatient as lanthy an me wa 
 when it gits along." 
 
 She tried to think she would, but without ver 
 much success. She lingered about for a while 
 and at last went to her own room at the other en 
 of the house and shut herself in. 
 
 Her trunk had been carried upstairs and set i 
 its old place behind the door. She opened it an 
 began to drag out the dresses and other adorr 
 ments she had taken with her to the Spring 
 There was the blue muslin. She threw it on th 
 floor and dropped beside it, half sitting, half knee 
 ing. She laughed quite savagely. 
 
 " I thought it was very nice when I made it, 
 she said. " I wonder how she would like to wea 
 it ? " She pulled out one thing after another unt 
 the floor around her was strewn. Then she got u 
 and left them, and ran to the bed and threw herse 
 into a chair beside it, hiding her face in the pillov 
 
 " Oh, how dull it is, and how lonely ! " she saic 
 " What shall I do ? What shall I do ? " 
 
A RUSTY NAIL. IOI 
 
 And while she sobbed she heard the blows upon 
 the boards below. 
 
 Before she went down-stairs she replaced the 
 things she had taken from the trunk. She packed 
 them away neatly, and, having done it, turned the 
 key upon them. 
 
 " Father," she said, at dinner, " there are some 
 things upstairs I want to send to Cousin Jenny. 
 I have done with them, and I think she d like to 
 have them." 
 
 11 Dresses an things, Louisianny ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. " I shall not need them 
 any more. I don t care for them." 
 
 "Don t " he began, but stopped short, and, 
 lifting his glass, swallowed the rest of the sentence 
 in a large glass of milk. 
 
 " I ll tell Leander to send fer it," he said after 
 ward. " Jenny ll be real sot up, I reckon. Her 
 pappy bein so onfort nit, she don t git much." 
 
 He ate scarcely more dinner than breakfast, and 
 spent the afternoon in wandering here and there 
 among the workmen. Sometimes he talked to 
 them, and sometimes sat on his pile of plank and 
 watched them in silence. Once, when no one was 
 looking, he stooped down and picked up a rusty 
 nail which had fallen from its place in a piece of 
 board. After holding it in his hand for a little he 
 
102 LOUISIANA. 
 
 furtively thrust it into his pocket, and seemed to 
 experience a sense of relief after he had done it. 
 
 " Ye don t do nothin toward helpin us, Uncle 
 Elbert," said one of the young men. (Every 
 youngster within ten miles knew him as " Uncle 
 Elbert.") " Ye aint as smart as ye was when last 
 ye built, air ye ? " 
 
 " No, boys," he answered, " I ain t. That s so. 
 I aint as smart, an ," he added, rather hurriedly, 
 " it d sorter go agin me to holp ye at what ye re 
 doin now. Not as I don t think it s time it was 
 done, but it d sorter go ag in me." 
 
 When Louisiana entered the house-room at 
 dusk, she found him sitting by the fire, his body 
 drooping forward, his head resting listlessly on his 
 hand. 
 
 " I ve got a touch o dyspepsy, Louisianny," he 
 said, " an the knockin hes kinder giv me a head 
 ache. I ll go to bed airly." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SHE had been so full of her own sharp pain and 
 humiliation during the first few days that perhaps 
 she had not been so quick to see as she would 
 otherwise have been, but the time soon came 
 when she awakened to a bewildered sense of new 
 and strange trouble. She scarcely knew when it 
 was that she first began to fancy that some change 
 had taken place in her father. It was a change 
 she could not comprehend when she recognized 
 its presence. It was no alteration of his old, slow, 
 quiet faithfulness to her. He had never been so 
 faithfully tender. The first thing which awakened 
 her thought of change was his redoubled tender 
 ness. She found that he watched her constantly, 
 in a patient, anxious way. When they were to 
 gether she often discovered that he kept his eyes 
 fixed upon her when he thought she was not aware 
 of his gaze. He seemed reluctant to leave her 
 
104 LOUISIANA. 
 
 alone, and continually managed to be near her, 
 and yet it grew upon her at last that the old, 
 homely good-fellowship between them had some 
 how been broken in upon, and existed no longer. 
 It was not that he loved her any less she was 
 sure of that ; but she had lost something, without 
 knowing when or how she had lost it, or even ex 
 actly what it was. But his anxiety to please her 
 grew day by day. He hurried the men who were 
 at work upon the house. 
 
 " Louisianny, she ll enjoy it when it s done," 
 he said to them. " Hurry up, boys, an do yer 
 plum best." 
 
 She had been at home about two weeks when 
 he began to drive over to the nearest depot every 
 day at "train time." It was about three miles 
 distant, and he went over for several days in his 
 spring wagon. At first he said nothing of his rea 
 son for making the journey, but one morning, as 
 he stood at his horses heads, he said to Louisiana, 
 without turning to look at her, and affecting to be 
 very busy with some portion of the harness : 
 
 " I ve ben expectin of some things fer a day or 
 so, an they haint come. I wasn t sure when I 
 oughter to look fer em mebbe I ve ben lookin 
 too soon fer they haint come yet." 
 
 " Where were they to come from ? " she asked. 
 
"MEBBE." 105 
 
 " From from New York City." 
 
 " From New York ? " she echoed, trying to 
 show an interest. " I did not know you sent 
 there, father." 
 
 "I haint never done it afore," he answered. 
 " These yere things mebbe they ll come to-day, 
 an then ye ll see em." 
 
 She asked no further questions, fancying that 
 he had been buying some adornments for the new 
 rooms which were to be a surprise for her. After 
 he had gone away she thought a little sadly of 
 his kindness to her, and her unvvorthiness of it. 
 At noon he came back and brought his prize with 
 him. 
 
 He drove up slowly with it behind him in the 
 wagon a large, shining, new trunk quite as 
 big and ponderous as any she had seen at the 
 Springs. 
 
 He got down and came up to her as she stood 
 on the porch. He put his hand on her shoulder. 
 
 " I ll hev em took in an ye kin look at em," 
 he said. " It s some new things ye was a-need- 
 in ." 
 
 She began to guess dimly at what he meant, 
 but she followed the trunk into the house without 
 speaking. When they set it down she stotfd 
 near while her father fumbled for the key and 
 
106 LOUISIANA. 
 
 found it, turned it in the lock and threw back the 
 lid. 
 
 "They re some things ye was a-needin ," he 
 said. " I hope ye ll like em, honey." 
 
 She did not know what it was in his voice, or 
 his face, or his simple manner that moved her so, 
 but she did not look at what he had brought at 
 all she ran to him and caught his arm, dropped 
 her face on it, and burst into tears. 
 
 " Father father ! " she cried. " Oh, father ! " 
 
 " Look at em, Louisianny," he persisted, gen 
 tly, " an see if they suit ye. Thar aint no reason 
 to cry, honey." 
 
 The words checked her and made her feel un 
 certain and bewildered again. She stopped cry 
 ing and looked up at him, wondering if her emo 
 tion troubled him, but he did not meet her eye, 
 and only seemed anxious that she should see what 
 he had brought. 
 
 " I didn t tell ye all I hed in my mind when I 
 went to the Springs," he said. " I. hed a notion 
 I d like to see fer myself how things was. I 
 knowed ye d hev an idee thet ye couldn t ask me 
 fer the kind o things ye wanted, an I knowed 
 / knowed nothin about what they was, so I ses 
 to myself, I ll go an stay a day an watch and 
 find out. An I went, an I found out. Thar 
 
"MEBBE" 107 
 
 was a young woman thar as was dressed purtier 
 than any of em. An she was clever an friendly, 
 an I managed it so we got a-talkin . She hed on 
 a dress that took my fancy. It was mighty black 
 an thick ye know it was cold after the rains an 
 when we was talkin I asked her if she mind a- 
 tellin me the name of it an whar she d bought it. 
 An she laughed some, an said it was velvet, an 
 she d got it to some store in New York City. 
 An I asked her if she d write it down ; I d a little 
 gal at home I wanted a dress ofT n it fer an then, 
 someways, we warmed up, an I ses to her, * She 
 aint like me. If ye could see her ye d never guess 
 we was kin. She hadn t never seen ye. She 
 come the night ye left, but when I told her more 
 about ye, she ses, * I think I ve heern on her. I 
 heern she was very pretty. An I told her what 
 I d hed in my mind, an it seemed like it took her 
 fancy, an she told me to get a paper an pencil 
 an she d tell me what to send fer an whar to send. 
 An I sent fer em, an thar they air." 
 
 She could not tell him that they were things not 
 fit for her to wear. She looked at the rolls of silk 
 and the laces and feminine extras with a bewil 
 dered feeling. 
 
 " They are beautiful things," she said. " I 
 never thought of having such things for my own." 
 
108 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " Thar s no reason why ye shouldn t hev em," 
 he said. " I d oughter hev thought of em afore. 
 Do they suit ye, Louisianny ? " 
 
 " I should be very hard to please if they didn t," 
 she answered. " They are only too beautiful for 
 a girl like me. 
 
 " They cayn t be that," he said, gravely. "I 
 didn t see none no handsomer than you to the 
 Springs, Louisianny, an I ses to the lady as writ 
 it all down fer me, I ses, What I want is fer her 
 to hev what the best on em hev. I don t want 
 nothin no less than what she d like to hev if she d 
 ben raised in New York or Philadelphy City. Thar 
 aint no reason why she shouldn t hev it. Out of 
 eleven she s all that s left, an v she desarves it all. 
 She s young an handsome, and she desarves it 
 all. " 
 
 " What did she say to that? " Louisiana asked. 
 
 He hesitated a moment before answering. 
 
 " She looked at me kinder queer fer a minnit," 
 he replied at length. "An then she ses, She d 
 oughter be a very happy gal, ses she, with such 
 a father, an I ses, I low she is mebbe. 
 
 "Only maybe?" said the girl, "only maybe, 
 father ? " 
 
 She dropped the roll of silk she had been hold 
 ing and went to him. She put her hand on his 
 
"MEBBE." 109 
 
 arm again and shook it a little, laughing in the 
 same feverish fashion as when she had gone out 
 to him on the porch on the day of her return. 
 She had suddenly flushed up, and her eyes shone 
 as he had seen them then. 
 
 "Only maybe," she said. " Why should I 
 be unhappy? There s no reason. Look at me, 
 with my fine house and my new things ! There 
 isn t any one happier in the world ! There is 
 nothing left for me to wish for. I have got too 
 much ! " 
 
 A new mood seemed to have taken possession 
 of her all at once. She scarcely gave him a chance 
 to speak. She drew him to the trunk s side, and 
 made him stand near while she took the things 
 out one by one. She exclaimed and laughed over 
 them as she drew them forth. She held the dress 
 materials up to her waist and neck to see how the 
 colors became her ; she tried on laces and sacques 
 and furbelows and the hats which were said to 
 have come from Paris. 
 
 " What will they say when they see me at meet 
 ing in them ?" she said. "Brother Horner will 
 forget his sermons. There never were such things 
 in Bowersville before. I am almost afraid they 
 will think I am putting on airs." 
 
1 10 LOUISIANA. 
 
 When she reached a box of long kid gloves at 
 the bottom, she burst into such a shrill laugh that 
 her father was startled. There was a tone of false 
 exhilaration about her which was not what he had 
 expected. 
 
 " See \ " she cried, holding one of the longest 
 pairs up, " eighteen buttons ! And cream color ! 
 I can wear them with the cream-colored silk and 
 cashmere at at a festival ! " 
 
 When she had looked at everything, the rag 
 carpet was strewn with her riches, with fashion 
 able dress materials, with rich and delicate colors, 
 with a hundred feminine and pretty whims. 
 
 " How could I help but be happy ? " she said. 
 " I am like a queen. I don t suppose queens have 
 very much more, though we don t know much 
 about queens, do we ? " 
 
 She hung round her father s neck and kissed 
 him in a fervent, excited way. 
 
 " You good old father ! " she said, " you sweet 
 old father ! " 
 
 He took one of her soft, supple hands and held 
 it between both his brown and horny ones. 
 
 " Louisianny," he said, " I low to make ye hap 
 py ; ef the Lord haint nothin agin it, I low to do 
 it ! " 
 
"MEBBE." 
 
 He went out after that, and left her alone to set 
 her things to rights ; but when he had gone and 
 closed the door, she did not touch them. She 
 threw herself down flat upon the floor in the midst 
 of them, her slender arms flung out, her eyes wide 
 open and wild and dry. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A NEW PLAN. 
 
 AT last the day came when the house was fin 
 ished and stood big and freshly painted and bare 
 in the sun. Late one afternoon in the Indian 
 summer, Casey and his men, having bestowed 
 their last touches, collected their belongings and 
 went away, leaving it a lasting monument to their 
 ability. Inside, instead of the low ceilings, and 
 painted wooden walls, there were high rooms and 
 plaster and modern papering ; outside, instead of 
 the variegated piazza, was a substantial portico. 
 The whole had been painted a warm gray, and 
 Casey considered his job a neat one and was proud 
 of it. When they were all gone Louisiana went 
 out into the front yard to look at it. She stood 
 in the grass and leaned against an apple-tree. It 
 was near sunset, and both trees and grass were 
 touched with a yellow glow so deep and mellow 
 that it was almost a golden haze. Now that thtr 
 
A NEW PLAN. 113 
 
 long-continued hammering and sawing was at an 
 end and all traces of its accompaniments removed, 
 the stillness seemed intense. There was not a 
 breath of wind stirring, or the piping of a bird to 
 be heard. The girl clasped her slender arms about 
 the tree s trunk and rested her cheek against the 
 rough bark. She looked up piteously. 
 
 " I must try to get used to it," she said. " It is 
 very much nicer and I must try to get used to 
 it." 
 
 But the strangeness of it was very hard on her 
 at first. When she looked at it she had a startled 
 feeling as if when she had expected to see an old 
 friend she had found herself suddenly face to face 
 with a stranger. 
 
 Her father had gone to Bowersville early in the 
 day, and she had been expecting his return for an 
 hour or so. She left her place by the tree at length 
 and went to the fence to watch for his coming down 
 the road. But she waited in vain so long that she 
 got tired again and wandered back to the house 
 and around to the back to where a new barn and 
 stable had been built, painted and ornamented in 
 accordance with the most novel designs. There 
 was no other such barn or stable in the country, 
 and their fame was already wide-spread and of an 
 enviable nature. 
 
114 LOUISIANA. 
 
 As she approached these buildings Louisiana 
 glanced up and uttered an exclamation. Her 
 father was sitting upon the door-sill of the barn, 
 and his horse was turned loose to graze upon the 
 grass before him. 
 
 " Father," the girl cried, " I have been waiting 
 for you. I thought you had not come." 
 
 " I ve been yere a right smart while, Louisian- 
 ny," he answered. "Ye wasn t round when I 
 come, an so ye didn t see me, I reckon." 
 
 He was pale, and spoke at first heavily and as 
 if with an effort, but almost instantly he bright 
 ened. 
 
 " I ve jest ben a-settin yere a-steddyin ," he 
 said. "A man wants to see it a few times an 
 take it sorter gradual afore he kin do it jestice. 
 A-lookin at it from yere, now," with a wide sweep 
 of his hand toward the improvements, " ye kin see 
 how much style thar is to it. Seems to me thet 
 the the mountains now, they look better. It 
 waal it kinder sets em off it kinder sets em off." 
 
 " It is very much prettier," she answered. 
 
 " Lord, yes ! Thar aint no comparison. I was 
 jest a-settin thinkin thet anyone thet d seed it as 
 it was afore they d not know it. lanthy, fer in 
 stants lanthy she wouldn t sca cely know it was 
 home thar s so much style to it." 
 
A NEW PLAN. US 
 
 He suddenly stopped and rested against the 
 door-lintel. He was pale again, though he kept 
 up a stout air of good cheer. 
 
 " Lord !" he said, after a little pause, " it s a 
 heap stylishcr ! " 
 
 Presently he bent down and picked up a twig 
 which lay on the ground at his feet. He began 
 to strip the leaves from it with careful slowness, 
 and he kept his eyes fixed on it as he went on 
 talking. 
 
 " Ye ll never guess who I ve ben a-talkin to to 
 day, an what I ve ben talkin to em about." 
 
 She put her hand on his knee caressingly. 
 
 "Tell me, father," she said. 
 
 He laughed a jerky, high-pitched laugh. 
 
 " I ve ben talkin to Jedge Powers," he said. 
 " He s up yere from Howelsville, a-runnin fer 
 senator. He s sot his mind on makin it, too, an 
 he was a-tellin me what his principles was. He 
 - he s got a heap o principles. An he told me 
 his wife an family was a-goin to Europe. He 
 was mighty sosherble an he said they was a-goin 
 to Europe." 
 
 He had stripped the last leaf from the twig and 
 had begun upon the bark. Just at this juncture 
 it slipped from his hand and fell on the ground. 
 He bent down iigain to pick it up. 
 
Il6 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " Louisianny," he said, "how would ye like 
 to go to Europe ? " 
 
 She started back amazed, but she could not 
 catch even a glimpse of his face, he was so busy 
 with the twig. 
 
 " I go to Europe I ! " she said. (< I don t I 
 never thought of it. It is not people like us who 
 go to Europe, father." 
 
 " Louisianny," he said, hurriedly, " what s agin 
 it ? Thar aint nothin nothin ! It corne in my 
 mind when Powers was a-tellin me. I ses to my 
 self, Why, here s the very thing fer Louisianny ! 
 Travel an furrin langwidges an new ways o doin . 
 It s what she d oughter lied long ago. An Powers 
 he went on a-talkin right while I was a-steddyin, 
 an he ses : Whar s that pretty darter o yourn 
 thet we was so took with when we passed through 
 Hamilton last summer? Why, ses he, he ses it 
 hisself, Louisianny, why don t ye send her to 
 Europe ? Let her go with my wife. She ll take 
 care of her. An I stopped him right thar. Do 
 ye mean it, Jedge ? I ses. * Yes, ses he. * Why 
 not ? My wife an daughter hev talked about her 
 many a time, an said how they d like to see her 
 agin. Send her, ses he. You re a rich man, an 
 ye kin afford it, Squire, if ye will. An I ses, 
 So I kin ef she d like to go, an what s more, I m 
 
A NEW PLAN. 
 
 a-goin to ask her ef she would fer thar aint noth- 
 in agin it nothinV 
 
 He paused for a moment and turned to look at 
 her. 
 
 " Thet s what I was steddyin about mostly, 
 Louisianny," he said, " when I set yere afore ye 
 come." 
 
 She had been sitting beside him, and she sprang 
 to her feet and stood before him. 
 
 " Father," she cried, " are you tired of me ?" 
 
 "Tired of ye, Louisianny?" he repeated. 
 "Tired of ye? " 
 
 She flung out her hand with a wild gesture and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Are you tired of me ? " she said again. " Don t 
 you love me any more ? Don t you want me as 
 you used to ? Could you do without me for months 
 and months and know I was far away and couldn t 
 come to you ? No, you couldn t. You couldn t. 
 I know that, though something I don t know 
 what has come between us, and I feel it every 
 minute, and most when you are kindest. Is there 
 nothing in the way of my going away nothing ? 
 Think again." 
 
 " Louisianny," he answered, " I cayn t think of 
 nothin thet s partic lar." 
 
 She slipped down on her knee and threw herself 
 
Il8 LOUISIANA. 
 
 on his breast, clinging to him with all her young 
 strength. 
 
 " Are you nothing ? " she cried. " Is all your 
 love nothing ? Are all your beautiful, good 
 thoughts for my happiness nothing ? Is your 
 loneliness nothing ? Shall I leave you here to live 
 by yourself in the new home which is strange to 
 you after you have given up the old one you 
 knew and loved for me ? Oh ! what has made 
 you think I have no heart, and no soul, and noth 
 ing to be grateful with ? Have I ever been bad 
 and cruel and hard to you that you can think it ? " 
 
 She poured forth her love and grief and tender 
 reproach on his breast with such innocent fervor 
 that he could scarcely bear it. His eyes were wet 
 too, and his furrowed, sunburnt cheeks, and his 
 breath came short and fast while he held her close 
 in his arms. 
 
 "Honey," he said, just as he had often spoken 
 to her when she had been a little child, " Louisi- 
 anny, honey, no ! No, never ! I neVer bed a 
 thought agin ye, not in my bottermost heart. Did 
 ye think it ? Lord, no ! Thar aint nothin ye ve 
 never done in yer life that was meant to hurt or 
 go agin me. Ye never did go agin me. Ye aint 
 like me, honey ; ye re kinder finer. Ye was horned 
 so. I seed it when ye was in yer cradle. I ve 
 
A NEW PLAN. 119 
 
 said it to lanthy (an sence ye re growed up I ve 
 said it more). Thar s things ye d oughter hev 
 thet s d iff rent from what most of us wants it s 
 through you a-bein so much finer. Ye mustn t 
 be so tender-hearted, honey, ye mustn t," 
 
 She clung more closely to him and cried afresh, 
 though more softly. 
 
 " Nothing shall take me away from you," she 
 said, " ever again. I went away once, and it 
 would have been better if I had stayed at home. 
 The people did not want me. They meant to be 
 good to me, and they liked me, but they hurt 
 me without knowing it, and it would have been 
 better if I had stayed here. You don t make me 
 feel ashamed, and sad, and bitter. You love me 
 just as I am, and you would love me if I knew 
 even less, and was more simple. Let me stay 
 with you ! Let us stay together always always 
 always ! " 
 
 He let her cry her fill, holding her pretty 
 head tenderly and soothing her as best he could. 
 Somehow he looked a little brighter himself, and 
 not quite so pale as he had done w^hen she found 
 him sitting alone trying to do the new house 
 " jestice." 
 
 When at length they went in to supper it was 
 
120 LOUISIANA. 
 
 almost dusk, and he had his arm still around her. 
 He did not let her go until they sat down at the 
 table, and then she brought her chair quite close 
 to his, and while he ate looked at him often with 
 her soft, wet eyes. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CONFESSIONS. 
 
 THEY had a long, quiet evening together after 
 ward. They sat before the fire, and Louisiana 
 drew her low seat near him so that she could rest 
 her head upon his knee. 
 
 " It s almost like old times," she said. " Let 
 us pretend I never went away and that everything 
 is as it used to be." 
 
 Would ye like it to be thataway, Louisianny ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 She was going to say " Yes," but she remem 
 bered the changes he had made to please her, and 
 she turned her face and kissed the hand her cheek 
 rested against. 
 
 " You mustn t fancy I don t think the new house 
 is beautiful," she said. " It isn^t that I mean. 
 What I would like to bring back is is the feeling 
 I used to have. That is all nothing but the old 
 feeling. And people can t always have the same 
 
122 LOUISIANA. 
 
 feelings, can they ? Things change so as we get 
 older." 
 
 He looked at the crackling fire very hard for a 
 minute. 
 
 "That s so," he said. " Thet s so. Things 
 changes in gin ral, an feelin s, now, they re cur us. 
 Thar s things as kin be altered an things as cayn t 
 an feelin s they cayn t. They re cur us. Ef 
 ye hurt em, now, thar s money ; it aint nowhar 
 it don t do no good. Thar aint nothin ye kin 
 buy as 11 set em straight. Ef fer instants- 
 money could buy back them feelin s of yourn 
 them as ye d like to hev back how ready an 
 \villin I d be to trade fer em ! Lord ! how ready 
 an willin ! But it wont do it. Thar s whar it is. 
 When they re gone a body hez to larn to git along 
 without em." 
 
 And they sat silent again for some time, listen 
 ing to the snapping of the dry wood burning in 
 the great fire-place. 
 
 When they spoke next it was of a different sub 
 ject. 
 
 " Ef ye aint a-goin to Europe " the old man 
 began. 
 
 " And I m not, father," Louisiana put in. 
 
 " Ef ye aint, we must set to work fixin up right 
 away. This mornin I was a-layin out to myself 
 
CONFESSIONS. 1 2 3 
 
 to let it stay tell ye come back an then hev it all 
 ready fer ye cheers an tables an sophias an 
 merrors an" ile paintin s. I laid out to do it 
 slow, Louisi anny, and take time, an steddy a 
 heap, an to take advice from them es knows, 
 afore I traded ary time. I lowed it d be a heap 
 better to take advice from them es knowed. 
 Brown, es owns the Springs, I lowed to hev asked 
 him, now, he s used to . furnishin up an knows 
 whar to trade an what to trade fer. The paint 
 in s, now I ve heern it takes a heap o experi 
 ence to pick em, an I aint hed no experience. I 
 low I shouldn t know a good un when I seen it. 
 Now, them picters as was in the parlor ye know 
 more than I do, I dessay, now, them picters," he 
 said, a little uncertainly, " was they to say good, 
 or or only about middlin ? " 
 
 She hesitated a second. 
 
 " Mother was fond of them," she broke out, in 
 a burst of simple feeling. 
 
 Remembering how she had stood before the 
 simpering, red-cheeked faces and hated them ; 
 how she had burned with shame before them, she 
 was stricken with a bitter pang of remorse. 
 
 " Mother was fond of them," she said. 
 
 " Thet s so," he answered, simply. "That s 
 so, she was ; an you a-bein so soft-hearted an 
 
124 LOUISIANA. 
 
 tender makes it sorter go agin ye to give in as 
 they wasn t what she took em fer. But ye see, 
 thet though it s nat ral it s nat ral don t make 
 em good or bad, Louisianny, an Lord ! it don t 
 harm her. Taint what folks knows or what they 
 don t know thet makes the good in em. lanthy 
 she warn t to say complished, but I don t see how 
 she could hev ben no better than she was nor 
 more calculated to wear well in the p int o reli 
 gion. Not hevin experience in ile paintin s aint 
 what d hurt her, nor make us think no less of her. 
 It wouldn t hev hurt her when she was livin 9 , an 
 Lord ! she s past it now she s past it, lanthy is." 
 
 He talked a good deal about his plans and of 
 the things he meant to buy. He was quite eager 
 in his questioning of her and showed such lavish- 
 ness as went to her heart. 
 
 " I want to leave ye well fixed," he said. 
 
 " Leave me ? " she echoed. 
 
 He made a hurried effort to soften the words. 
 
 " I d oughtn t to said it," he said. " It was 
 kinder keerless. Thet thar it s a long way off 
 mebbe an I d oughtn t to hev said it. It s a 
 way old folks hev but it s a bad way. Things 
 git to seem sorter near to em an ordinary." 
 
 The whole day had been to Louisiana a slow 
 approach to a climax. Sometimes when her father 
 
CONFESSIONS. 12$ 
 
 talked she could scarcely bear to look at his face 
 as the firelight shone on it. 
 
 So, when she had bidden him good-night at 
 last and walked to the door leaving him standing 
 upon the hearth watching her as she moved away, 
 she turned round suddenly and faced him again, 
 with her hand upon the latch. 
 
 " Father," she cried, "I want to tell you I 
 
 want to tell you 
 
 " What ? " he said. " What, Louisianny ? " 
 She put her hand to her side and leaned against 
 the door a slender, piteous figure. 
 
 " Don t look at me kindly," she said. " I don t 
 deserve it. I deserve nothing. I have been 
 ashamed- 
 He stopped her, putting up his shaking hand and 
 turning pale. 
 
 " Don t say nothin as ye ll be sorry fer when 
 
 ye feel better, Louisianny," he said. " Don t git 
 
 carried away byyer feelin s into sayin nothin es is 
 
 hard on yerself. Don t ye do it, Louisianny. Thar 
 
 aint no need fer it, honey. Yer kinder wrought 
 
 up, now, an ye cay n t do yerself jestice." 
 
 But she would not be restrained. 
 
 " I must tell you," she said. " It has been on 
 
 my heart too long. I ought never to have gone 
 
 away. Everybody was different from us and 
 
126 LOUISIANA. 
 
 had new ways. I think they laughed at me, and 
 it made me bad. I began to ponder over things 
 until at last I hated myself and everything, and 
 was ashamed that I had been content. When I 
 told you I wanted to play a joke on the people 
 who came here, it was not true. I wanted them 
 to go away without knowing that this was my 
 home. It was only a queer place, to be laughed 
 at, to them, and I was ashamed of it, and bitter 
 and angry. When they went into the parlor they 
 laughed at it and at the pictures, and everything in 
 it, and I stood by with my cheeks burning. When 
 I saw a strange woman in the kitchen it flashed 
 into my mind that I had no need to tell them 
 that all these things that they laughed at had been 
 round me all my life. They were not sneering at 
 them it was worse than that they were only in 
 terested and amused and curious, and were not 
 afraid to let me see. The gentleman had been 
 led by his sister to think I came from some city. 
 He thought I was was prettty and educated, 
 his equal, and I knew how amazed he would be 
 and how he would say he could not believe. that 
 I had lived here, and wonder at me and talk me 
 over. And I could not bear it. I only wanted 
 him to go away without knowing, and never, 
 never see me again ! " 
 
CONFESSIONS. 127 
 
 / 
 
 Remembering the pain and fever and humilia 
 tion of the past, and of that dreadful day above 
 all, she burst into sobbing. 
 
 " You did not think I was that bad, did you ? 
 she said. " But I was ! I was ! " 
 
 " Louisianny," he said, huskily, " come yere. 
 Thar aint no need fer ye to blame yerself thataway. 
 Yer kinder wrought up." 
 
 "Don t be kind tome!" she said. "Don t! 
 I want to tell you all every word ! I was so bad 
 and proud and angry that I meant to carry it out 
 to the end, and tried to only I was not quite bad 
 enough for one thing, father I was not bad enough 
 to be ashamed of yon, or to bear to sit by and see 
 them cast a slight upon you. They didn t mean it 
 for a slight it was only their clever way of look 
 ing at things but / loved you. You were all I had 
 left, and I knew you were better than they were 
 a thousand times ! Did they think I would give 
 your warm, good heart your kind, faithful heart 
 for all they had learned, or for all they could 
 ever learn ? It killed me to see and hear them ! 
 And it seemed as if I was on fire. And I told them 
 the truth that you were my father and that I loved 
 you and was proud of you that I might be ashamed 
 of myself and all the rest, but not of you never of 
 you for I wasn t worthy to kiss your feet ! " 
 
128 LOUISIANA. 
 
 For one moment her father watched her, his lips 
 parted and trembling. It seemed as if he meant 
 to try to speak, but could not. Then his eyes 
 fell with an humble, bewildered, questioning glance 
 upon his feet, encased in their large, substantial 
 brogans the feet she had said she was not worthy 
 to kiss. What he saw in them to touch him so 
 it would be hard to tell for he broke down ut 
 terly, put out his hand, groping to feel for his 
 chair, fell into it with head bowed on his arm, and 
 burst into sobbing too. 
 
 She left her self-imposed exile in an instant, 
 ran to him, and knelt down to lean against him. 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, u have I broken your heart? 
 Have I broken your heart ? Will God ever for 
 give me ? I don t ask you to forgive me, father, 
 for I don t deserve it." 
 
 At first he could not speak, but he put his arm 
 round her and drew her head up to his breast 
 and, with all the love and tenderness he had lav 
 ished upon her all her life, she had never known 
 such love and tenderness as he expressed in this 
 one movement. 
 
 " Louisianny," he said, brokenly, when he had 
 found his voice, " it s you as should be a-forgivin 
 me." 
 
 " I ! " she exclaimed. 
 
CONFESSIONS. 1 29 
 
 He held her in his trembling arm so close that 
 she felt his heart quivering. 
 
 " To .think," he almost whispered, " as I should 
 not hev ben doin ye jestice ! To think as I didn t 
 know ye well enough to do ye jestice ! To think 
 yer own father, thet s knowed ye all yer life, could 
 hev give in to its bein likely as ye wasn t what 
 he d allers thought, an what yer mother d 
 thought, an what ye was, honey." 
 
 " I don t " she began falter ingly. 
 
 "It s me as oughter be a-standin agin the 
 door," he said. "It s me! I knowed every 
 word of the first part of what ye ve told me, 
 Louisianny. I ve been so sot on ye thet I ve got 
 into a kinder noticin way with ye, an I guessed 
 it out. I seen it in yer face when ye stood thar 
 tryin to laugh on the porch while them people 
 was a-waitin . Twa n t no nat ral gal s laugh ye 
 laughed, and when ye thought I wasn t a-noticin 
 I was a-noticin an a-thinkin all the time. But I 
 seen more than was thar, honey, an I didn t do 
 ye jestice an I ve ben punished fer it. It come 
 agin me like a slungshot. I ses to myself, She s 
 ashamed o me ! It s me she s ashamed of an 
 she wants to pass me off fer a stranger ! ! 
 
 The girl drew off from him a little and looked 
 up into his face wonderingly. 
 
13 LOUISIANA. 
 
 "You thought that!" she said. "And never 
 told me and humored me, and 
 
 "I d oughter knovved ye better," he said; 
 " but I ve suffered fer it, Louisianny. I ses to 
 myself, All the years thet we ve ben sot on each 
 other an nussed each other through our little 
 sick spells, an keered fer each other, lies gone fer 
 nothin . She wants to pass me off fer a stranger. 
 Not that I blamed ye, honey. Lord ! I knowed 
 the difference betwixt us ! 7 d knowed it long 
 afore you did. But somehow it warn t eggsakly 
 what I looked fer an it was kinder hard on me 
 right at the start. An then the folks went away 
 an ye didn t go with em, an thar was somethin 
 workin on ye as I knowed ye wasn t ready to tell 
 me about. An 1 I sot an steddied it over an 
 watched ye, an I prayed some, an I laid wake 
 nights a-steddyin . An I made up my mind thet 
 es I d ben the cause o trouble to ye I d oughter 
 try an sorter balance the thing. I allers lowed 
 parents lied a duty to their child en. An I ses, 
 Thar s some things thet kin be altered an some 
 thet cayn t. Let s alter them es kin ! 
 
 She remembered the words well, and now she 
 saw clearly the dreadful pain they had expressed ; 
 they cut her to her soul. 
 
 " Oh ! father," she cried. " How could you ? " 
 
CONFESSIONS. 13 1 
 
 " I d oughter knowed ye better, Louisianny," 
 he repeated. "But I didn t. I ses, What 
 money an steddyin an watchin ll do fer her to 
 make up, shell be done. I ll try to make up 
 fer the wrong I ve did her onwillin ly onwill- 
 in ly. An I went to the Springs an I watched 
 an steddied thar, an I come home an I watched 
 an steddied thar an I hed the house fixed, an 
 I laid out to let ye go to Europe though what 
 I d heern o the habits o the people, an the bri 
 gands an sich, went powerful agin me makin up 
 my mind easy. An I never lost sight nary min- 
 nit o what I d laid out fer to do but I wasn t 
 doin ye jestice an didn t suffer no more than I d 
 oughter. An when ye stood up thar agen the 
 door, honey, with yer tears a-streamin an yer 
 eyes a-shinin , an told me what ye d felt an what 
 ye d said about wa l," (delicately) "about thct 
 thar as ye thought ye wasn t worthy to do, it set 
 my blood a-tremblin in my veins an my heart 
 a-shakin in my side, an me a-goin all over an 
 I was struck all of a heap, an knowed thet the 
 Lord hed ben better to me than I thought, an 
 an even when I was fondest on ye, an proudest 
 on ye, I hadn t done ye no sort o jestice in the 
 world an never could ! " 
 
 There was no danger of their misunderstanding 
 
132 LOUISIANA. 
 
 each other again. When they were calmer they 
 talked their trouble over simply and confidingly, 
 holding nothing back. 
 
 " When ye told me, Louisianny," said her father, 
 "that ye wanted nothin but me, it kinder went 
 agin me more than all the rest, fer I thinks, ses I 
 to myself, It aint true, an she must be a-gettin 
 sorter hardened to it, or she d never said it. It 
 seemed like it was kinder onnccessary. Lord ! 
 the onjestice I was a-doin ye ! " 
 
 They bade each other good-night again, at last. 
 
 " Fer ye re a-lookin pale," he said. "An" I ve 
 been kinder out o sorts myself these last two or 
 three ^vceks. My dyspepsy s bin back on me agin 
 an thct thar pain in my side s bin a-workin on 
 me. We must take keer o ourselves, bein es 
 thar s on y us two, an we re so sot on each other." 
 
 He went to the door with her and said his last 
 words to her there. 
 
 " I m glad it come to-night," he said, in a grate 
 ful tone. " Lord ! how glad I am it come to-night ! 
 S posin somethin hed happened to ary one of us 
 an the other hed ben left not a-knowin how it was. 
 I m glad it didn t last no longer, Louisianny." 
 
 And so they parted for the night. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " lANTHYl " 
 
 IT was later than usual when Louisiana awak 
 ened in the morning. She awakened suddenly 
 and found herself listening to the singing of a bird 
 on the tree near her window. Its singing was so 
 loud and shrill that it overpowered her and aroused 
 her to a consciousness of fatigue and exhaustion. 
 
 It seemed to her at first that no one was stir 
 ring in the house below, but after a few minutes 
 she heard some one talking in her father s room 
 talking rapidly in monotonous tone. 
 
 " I wonder who it is," she said, and lay back 
 upon her pillow, feeling tired out and bewildered 
 between the bird s shrill song and the strange 
 voice. 
 
 And then she heard heavy feet on the stairs and 
 listened to them nervously until they reached her 
 door and the door was pushed open unceremoni 
 ously. 
 
134 LOUISIANA. 
 
 The negro woman Nancy thrust her head into 
 the room. 
 
 " Miss Louisianny, honey," she said. " Ye aint 
 up yet ? " 
 
 11 No." 
 
 " Ye d better 7^ up, honey an come down 
 stairs." 
 
 But the girl made no movement. 
 
 " Why ? " she asked, listlessly. 
 
 " Yer pappy, honey he s sorter cur us. He 
 don t seem to be right well. He didn t seem to 
 be quite at hisself when I went to light his fire. 
 He- 
 Louisiana sat upright in bed, her great coil of 
 black hair tumbling over one shoulder and making 
 her look even paler than she was. 
 
 " Father ! " she said. " He was quite well late 
 last night. It was after midnight when we went to 
 bed, and he was well then." 
 
 The woman began to fumble uneasily at the 
 latch. 
 
 "Don t ye git skeered, chile," she said. 
 " Mebbe taint nothin but seemed to me like- 
 like he didn t know me." 
 
 Louisiana was out of bed, standing upon the 
 floor and dressing hurriedly. 
 
 " He was well last night," she said, piteously. 
 
"lANTHYJ" 135 
 
 " Only a few hours ago. He was well and talked 
 to me and " 
 
 She stopped suddenly to listen to the voice 
 down-stairs a new and terrible thought flashing 
 upon her. 
 
 "Who is with him?" she asked. "Who is 
 talking to him ? " 
 
 " Thar aint no one with him," was the answer. 
 "He s by hisself, honey." 
 
 Louisiana was buttoning her wrapper at the 
 throat. Such a tremor fell upon her that she 
 could not finish what she was doing. She left the 
 button unfastened and pushed past Nancy and ran 
 swiftly down the stairs, the woman following her. 
 
 The door of her father s room stood open and 
 the fire Nancy had lighted burned and crackled 
 merrily. Mr. Rogers was lying high upon his 
 pillow, watching the blaze. His face was flushed 
 and he had one hand upon his chest. He turned 
 his eyes slowly upon Louisiana as she entered and 
 for a second or so regarded her wonderingly. 
 Then a change came upon him, his face lighted 
 up it seemed as if he saw all at once who had 
 come to him. 
 
 " lanthy ! " he said. "I didn t sca cely know 
 ye ! Ye ve bin gone so long ! Whar hev ye 
 bin?" 
 
136 LOUISIANA. 
 
 But even then she could not realize the truth. 
 It was so short a time since he had bidden hef 
 good-night and kissed her at the door. 
 
 "Father!" she cried. "It is Louisiana! 
 Father, look at me ! " 
 
 But he was looking at her, and yet he only 
 smiled again. 
 
 "It s bin such a long time, lanthy," he said. 
 " Sometimes I ve thought ye wouldn t never come 
 back at all." 
 
 And when she fell upon her knees at the bed 
 side, with a desolate cry of terror and anguish, 
 he did not seem to hear it at all, but lay fondling 
 her bent head and smiling still, and saying hap 
 pily : 
 
 " Lord ! I am glad to see ye ! " 
 
 When the doctor came he was a mountaineer 
 like the rest of them, a rough good-natured fellow 
 who had "read a course" with somebody and 
 " tended lectures in Cincinnatty " he could tell 
 her easily enough what the trouble was. 
 
 " Pneumony," he said. "And pretty bad at 
 that. He haint hed no health fer a right smart 
 while. He haint never got over thet spell he hed 
 last winter. This yere change in the weather s 
 what s done it. He was a-complainin to me the 
 
"IANTHY!" 137 
 
 other day about thet thar old pain in his chist. 
 Things lies bin kinder cumylatin on him." 
 
 " He does not know me!" said Louisiana. 
 " He is very ill he is very ill ! " 
 
 Doctor Hankins looked at his patient for a mo 
 ment, dubiously. 
 
 " Wa-al, thet s so," he said, at length. " He s 
 purty bad off purty bad ! " 
 
 By night the house was full of visitors and vol 
 unteer nurses. The fact that " Uncle Elbert Ro 
 gers was down with pneumony, an Louisianny 
 thar without a soul anigh her " was enough to 
 rouse sympathy and curiosity. Aunt Mandy, 
 Aunt Ca line and Aunt Nervy came up one after 
 the other. 
 
 " Louisianny now, she aint nothin but a young 
 thing, an don t know nothin ," they said. "An" 
 Elbert bein sich nigh kin, it d look powerful bad 
 if we didn t go." 
 
 They came in wagons or ricketty buggies and 
 brought their favorite medicines and liniments 
 with them in slab-sided, enamel-cloth valises. 
 They took the patient under their charge, applied 
 their nostrums and when they were not busy 
 seemed to enjoy talking his symptoms over in low 
 tones. They were very good to Louisiana, reliev 
 ing her of every responsibility in spite of herself, 
 
133 LOUISIANA. 
 
 and shaking their heads at each other pityingly 
 when her back was turned. 
 
 "She never give him no trouble," they said. 
 " She s got thet to hold to. An they was pow 
 erful sot on her, both him an lanthy. I ve heern 
 em say she allus was kinder tender an easy to 
 manage." 
 
 Their husbands came to " sit up " with them at 
 night, and sat by the fire talking about their crops 
 and the elections, and expectorating with regular 
 ity into the ashes. They tried to persuade Louisi 
 ana to go to bed, but she would not go. 
 
 " Let me sit by him, if there is nothing else I 
 can do," she said. " If he should come to him 
 self for a minute he would know me if I was near 
 him." 
 
 In his delirium he seemed to have gone back to 
 a time before her existence the time when he 
 was a young man and there was no one in the 
 new house he had built, but himself and " lanthy." 
 Sometimes he fancied himself sitting by the fire 
 on a winter s night and congratulating himself 
 upon being there. 
 
 " Jest to think," he would say in a quiet, spec 
 ulative voice, " that two year ago I didn t know 
 ye an thar ye air, a-sittin sewin , and the fire 
 a-cracklin , an the house all fixed. This yere s 
 
"IANTHY!" 139 
 
 what I call solid comfort, lanthy jest solid com 
 fort !" 
 
 Once he wakened suddenly from a sleep and 
 finding Louisiana bending over him, drew her 
 face down and kissed her. 
 
 " I didn t know ye was so nigh, lanthy," he 
 whispered. " Lord ! jest to think yer allers nigh 
 an thar cayn t nothin separate us." 
 
 The desolateness of so living a life outside his, 
 was so terrible to the poor child who loved him, 
 that at times she could not bear to remain in the 
 room, but would go out into the yard and ramble 
 about aimless and heart-broken, looking back 
 now and then at the new, strange house, with a 
 wild pang. 
 
 " There will be nothing left if he leaves me," 
 she said. " There will be nothing." 
 
 And then she would hurry back, panting, and 
 sit by him again, her eyes fastened upon his un 
 conscious face, watching its every shade of ex 
 pression and change. 
 
 " She ll take it mighty hard," she heard Aunt 
 Ca line whisper one day, " ef " 
 
 And she put her hands to her ears and buried 
 her face in the pillow, that she might not hear 
 the rest. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 "DON T DO NO ONE A ONJESTICE." 
 
 HE was not ill very long. Toward the end of 
 the second week the house was always full of 
 visitors who came to sympathize and inquire and 
 prescribe, and who, in many cases, came from 
 their farms miles away attracted by the news 
 that " Uncle Elbert Rogers" was " mighty bad 
 off." They came on horseback and in wagons or 
 buggies men in homespun, and women in sun- 
 bonnets and they hitched their horses at the 
 fence and came into the house with an awkwardly- 
 subdued air, and stood in silence by the sick bed 
 for a few minntes, and then rambled towards the 
 hearth and talked in spectral whispers. 
 
 "The old man s purty low," they always said, 
 he s purty low." And then they added among 
 themselves that he had " allers bin mighty clever, 
 an a good neighbor." 
 
 When she heard them speak of him in this 
 
"DON T DO NO ONE A ONJESTICE." 141 
 
 manner, Louisiana knew what it meant. She 
 never left the room again after the first day that 
 they spoke so, and came in bodies to look at him, 
 and turn away and say that he had been good 
 to them. The men never spoke to her after their 
 first nod of greeting, and the women but rarely, 
 but they often glanced hurriedly askance at her as 
 she sat or stood by the sick man s pillow. Some 
 how none of them had felt as if they were on very 
 familiar terms with her, though they all spoke in 
 a friendly way of her as being " a mighty purty, 
 still, kind o a harmless young critter." They 
 thought, when they saw her pallor and the anguish 
 in her eyes, that she was " takin it powerful 
 hard, an no wonder," but they knew nothing of 
 her desperate loneliness and terror. 
 
 " Uncle Elbert he ll leiive a plenty," they said 
 in undertones. " She ll be well pervided fer, 
 will Louisianny." 
 
 And they watched over their charge and nursed 
 him faithfully, feeling not a little sad themselves 
 as they remembered his simple good nature and 
 neighborliness and the kindly prayers for which 
 he had been noted in " meetin ." 
 
 On the last clay of the second week the doctor 
 held a consultation with Aunt Nervy and Aunt 
 Ca line on the front porch before he went away, 
 
142 LOUISIANA. 
 
 and when they re-entered the room they spoke in 
 whispers even lower than before and moved about 
 stealthily. The doctor himself rode away slowly 
 and stopped at a house or so 011^ the wayside, 
 where he had no patients, to tell the inhabitants 
 what he had told the head nurses. 
 
 " We couldn t hev expected him to stay allers," 
 he said, " but we ll miss him mightily. He haint 
 a enemy in the county nary one ! " 
 
 That afternoon when the sun was setting, the 
 sick man wakened from a long, deep sleep. The 
 first thing he saw was the bright pale-yellow of a 
 tree out in the yard, which had changed color 
 since he had seen it last. It was a golden tree 
 now as it stood in the sun, its leaves rustling in a 
 faint, chill wind. The next thing, he knew that 
 there were people in the room who sat silent and 
 all looked at him with kindly, even reverent, eyes. 
 Then he turned a little and saw his child, who 
 bent towards him with dilated eyes and trembling, 
 parted lips. A strange, vague memory of weary 
 pain and dragging, uncertain days and nights 
 came to him and he knew, and yet felt no fear. 
 
 (< Louisianny ! " he said. 
 
 He could only speak in a whisper and tremu 
 lously. Those who sat about him hushed their 
 very breath. 
 
"DON T DO NO ONE A ONJESTICE." 143 
 
 " Lay yer head on the piller nigh me," he 
 said. 
 
 She laid it down and put her hand in his. The 
 great tears were streaming down her face, but she 
 said not a word. 
 
 " I haint got long honey," he faltered. " The 
 Lord He ll keer fer ye." 
 
 Then for a few minutes he lay breathing faintly, 
 but with his eyes open and smiling as they rested 
 on the golden foliage of the tree. 
 
 Plow yaller it is!" he whispered. "Like 
 gold. lanthy was powerful sot on it. It 
 kinder beckons." 
 
 It seemed as if he could not move his eyes from 
 it, and the pause that followed was so long that 
 Louisiana could bear it no longer, and she lifted 
 her head and kissed him. 
 
 " Father ! " she cried. " Say something to 
 me ! Say something to me ! " 
 
 It drew him back and he looked up into her 
 eyes as she bent over him. 
 
 " Ye ll be happy" he said, "afore long. I 
 kinder know. Lord! how I ve loved ye, 
 honey an ye ve desarved it all. Don t ye do 
 no one a onjestice." 
 
 And then as she dropped her white face upon 
 the pillow again he saw her no longer nor the 
 
H4 LOUISIANA. 
 
 people, nor the room, but lay quite still with 
 parted lips and eyes wide open, smiling still at 
 the golden tree waving and beckoning in the 
 wind. 
 
 This he saw last of all, and seemed still to see 
 even when some one came silently, though with 
 tears, and laid a hand upon his eyes. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A LEAF. 
 
 THERE was a sunny old grave-yard half a mile 
 from the town, where the people of Bowersville 
 laid their dead under the long grass and tangle 
 of wild-creeping vines, and the whole country-side 
 gathered there when they lowered the old man 
 into his place at his wife s side. His neighbors 
 sang his funeral hymn and performed the last 
 offices for him with kindly hands, and when they 
 turned away and left him there was not a man or 
 woman of them who did not feel that they had 
 lost a friend. 
 
 They were very good to Louisiana. Aunt 
 Nervy and Aunt Ca line deserted their families 
 that they might stay with her until all was over, 
 doing their best to give her comfort. It was Aunt 
 Nervy who first thought of sending for the girl 
 cousin to whom the trunkful of clothes had been 
 given. 
 
 7 
 
146 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " Le s send for Leander s Jenny, Ca line," she 
 said. " Mebbe it d help her some to hev a gal 
 nigh her. Gals kinder onderstands each other, 
 an Jenny was all us powerful fond o Lowizyanny." 
 
 So Jenny was sent for and came. From her 
 lowly position as one of the fifteen in an " onfort - 
 nit" family she had adored and looked up to 
 Louisiana all her life. All the brightest days in 
 her experience had been spent at Uncle Elbert s 
 with her favorite cousin. But there was no bright 
 ness about the house now. When she arrived and 
 was sent upstairs to the pretty new room Louisi 
 ana occupied she found the girl lying upon the 
 bed. She looked white and slender in her black 
 dress; her hands were folded palm to palm under 
 her check, and her eyes were wide open. 
 
 Jenny ran to her and knelt at her side. She 
 kissed her and began to cry. 
 
 " Oh ! " she sobbed, "somehow I didn t ever 
 think I should come here and not find Uncle 
 Elbert. It don t seem right it makes it like a 
 strange place." 
 
 Then Louisiana broke into sobs, too. 
 
 " It is a strange place ! " she cried " a strange 
 place a strange place ! Oh, if one old room was 
 left just one that I could go into and not feel so 
 lonely ! " 
 
A LEAF. 147 
 
 But she had no sooner said it than she checked 
 herself. 
 
 11 Oh, I oughtn t to say that ! " she cried. " I 
 wont say it. He did it all for me, and I didn t 
 deserve it." 
 
 "Yes, you did," said Jenny, fondling her. 
 " He was always saying what a good child you 
 had been and that you had never given him any 
 trouble." 
 
 " That was because he was so good," said 
 Louisiana. "No one else in the whole world was 
 so good. And now he is gone, and I can never 
 make him know how grateful I was and how I 
 loved him." 
 
 " He did know," said Jenny. 
 
 " No," returned Louisiana. " It would have 
 taken a long, long life to make him know all I 
 felt, and now when I look back it seems as if we 
 had been together such a little while. Oh ! I 
 thought the last night we talked that there was a 
 long life before us that I should be old before he 
 left me, and we should have had all those years 
 together." 
 
 After the return from the grave -yard there was 
 a prolonged discussion held among the heads of 
 the different branches of the family. They gath 
 ered at. one end of the back porch and talked of 
 
148 LOUISIANA. 
 
 Louisiana, who sat before the log fire in her room 
 upstairs. 
 
 "She aint in the notion o leavin the place," 
 said Aunt Nervy. " She cried powerful when I 
 mentioned it to her, an wouldn t hear to it. She 
 says over an over ag in Let me stay in the home 
 he made for me, Aunt Ca line. I reckon she s a 
 kind o notion Elbert lowed fur her to be yere 
 when he was gone." 
 
 " Wa-al now," said Uncle Leander, "I reckon 
 he did. He talked a heap on it when he was in a 
 talkin way. He s said to me I want things to 
 be jest as she d enjoy em most when she s 
 sorter lonesome, es she will be, mebbe. Seemed 
 like he hed it in his mind es he warnt long fur 
 this world. Don t let us cross her in nothin . 
 He never did. He was powerful tender on her-, 
 was Elbert." 
 
 " I seed Marthy Lureny Nance this mornin ," 
 put in Aunt Ca line, " an I told her to come up 
 an kinder overlook things. She haint with no 
 one now, an I dessay she d like to stay an keep 
 house." 
 
 " I don t see nothin ag in it," commented 
 Uncle Steve, "if Louisianny don t. She s a set 
 tled woman, an s bin married, an haint no family 
 to pester her scnce Nance is dead." 
 
A LEAF. 149 
 
 " She was allers the through-goin kind," said 
 Aunt Nervy. "Things 11 be well looked to 
 an she thought a 4ieap o Elbert. They was 
 raised together." 
 
 "S pos n ye was to go in an speak to Louisi- 
 anny," suggested Uncle Steve. 
 
 Louisiana, being spoken to, was very tractable. 
 She was willing to do anything asked of her but 
 go away. 
 
 " I should be very glad to have Mrs. Nance 
 here, Aunt Minerva." she said. " She was 
 always very kind, and father liked her. It won t 
 be like having a strange face near me. Please 
 tell her I want her to come and that I hope she 
 will try to feel as if she was at home." 
 
 So Marthy Lureny Nance came, and was for 
 mally installed in her position. She was a tall, 
 strongly-built woman, with blue eyes, black hair, 
 and thick black eyebrows. She wore, when she 
 arrived, her best alpaca gown and a starched and 
 frilled blue sun-bonnet. When she presented her 
 self to Louisiana she sat down before her, re 
 moved this sun-bonnet with a scientific flap and 
 hung it on the back of her chair. 
 
 " Ye look mighty peak-ed, Louisianny," she 
 said. " Mighty peak-ed." 
 
150 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " I don t feel very well," Louisiana answered, 
 " but I suppose I shall be better after a while." 
 
 "Ye re takin it powerful hard, Louisianny," 
 said Mrs. Nance, "an I don t blame ye. I aint 
 gwine to pester ye a-talkin . I jest come to say 
 I lowed to do my plum best by ye, an ax ye 
 whether ye liked hop yeast or salt risin ? " 
 
 At the end of the week Louisiana and Mrs. 
 Nance were left to themselves. Aunt Nervy 
 and Aunt Ca line and the rest had returned to 
 their respective homes, even Jenny had gone 
 back to Bowersviile where she boarded with a 
 relation and went to school. 
 
 The days after this seemed so long to Louisi 
 ana that she often wondered how she lived 
 through them. In the first passion of her sorrow 
 she had not known how they passed, but now 
 that all was silence and order in the house, and 
 she was alone, she had nothing to do but to 
 count the hours. There was no work for her, 
 no one came in and out for whom she might in 
 vent some little labor of love ; there was no one 
 to watch for, no one to think of. She used to sit 
 for hours at her window watching the leaves 
 change their color day by day, and at last flutter 
 down upon the grass at the~ least stir of wind. 
 
A LEAF. 151 
 
 Once she went out and picked up one of these 
 leaves and taking it back to her room, shut it up 
 in a book. 
 
 "Everything has happened to me since the 
 day it was first a leaf," she said. " I have lived 
 just as long as a leaf. That isn t long." 
 
 When the trees were bare, she one day remem 
 bered the books she had sent for when at the 
 Springs, and she went to the place where she had 
 put them, brought them out and tried to feel in 
 terested in them again. 
 
 " I might learn a great deal," she said, "if I 
 persevered. I have so much time." 
 
 But she had not read many pages before the 
 tears began to roll down her cheeks. 
 
 <4 If he had lived," she said, " I might have 
 read them to him and it would have pleased him 
 so. I might have done it often if I had thought 
 less about myself. He would have learned, too. 
 He thought he was slow, but he would have 
 learned, too, in a little while, and he would have 
 been so proud." 
 
 She was very like her father in the simple ten 
 derness of her nature. She grieved with the 
 hopeless passion of a child for the unconscious 
 wrong she had done. 
 
 It was as she sat trying to fix her mind upon 
 
152 -LOUISIANA. 
 
 these books that there came to her the first thought 
 of a plan which was afterwards of some vague com 
 fort to her. She had all the things which had fur 
 nished the old parlor taken into one of the unused 
 rooms the chairs and tables, the carpet, the or 
 naments and pictures. She spent a day in plac 
 ing everything as she remembered it, doing all 
 without letting any one assist her. After it was 
 arranged she left the room, and locked the door 
 taking the key with her. 
 
 " No one shall go in but myself," she said. " It 
 belongs to me more than all the rest." 
 
 " I never knowed her to do nothin notionate 
 but thet," remarked Mrs. Nance, in speaking of 
 it afterwards. "She s mighty still, an sits an 
 grieves a heap, but she aint never notionate. 
 Thet was kinder notionate fer a gal to do. She 
 sets store on em cos they was her pappy s an her 
 ma s, I reckon. It cayn t be nothin else, fur they 
 aint to say stylish, though they was allers good 
 solid-appearin things. The picters was the on y 
 things es was showy." 
 
 " She s mighty pale an slender scnce her pappy 
 died," said the listener. 
 
 "Wa-al, yes, she s kinder peak-ed," admitted 
 Mrs. Nance. " She s kinder peak-ed, but she ll 
 git over it. Young folks allers does." 
 
A LEAF. 153 
 
 But she did not get over it as soon as Mrs. 
 Nance had expected, in view of her youth. The 
 days seemed longer and lonelier to her as the win 
 ter advanced, though they were really so much 
 shorter, and she had at last been able to read and 
 think of what she read. When the snow was on 
 the ground and she could not wander about the 
 place she grew paler still. 
 
 " Louisianny," said Mrs. Nance, coming in 
 upon her one day as she stood at the window, 
 " ye re a-beginnin to look like ye re Aunt Mc- 
 lissy." 
 
 "Am I?" answered Louisiana. "She died 
 when she was young, didn t she? " 
 
 " She wasn t but nineteen," grimly. " She hed 
 a kind o love-scrape, an when the feller married 
 Emmcrlinc Ruggles she jest give right in. They 
 hed a quarrel, an he was a sperrity kind o thing 
 an merried Emmerline when he was mad. He 
 cut off his nose to spite his face, an a nice time 
 he hed of it when it was done. Melissy was a 
 pretty gal, but kinder consumpshony, an she 
 hedn t backbone enough to hold her up. She died 
 eight or nine months after they d quarreled. Meb- 
 be she d hev died anyhow, but thet sorter hastened 
 it up. When folks is consumpshony it don t take 
 much to set em off." 
 
154 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " I don t think I am consumpshony, " said 
 Louisiana. 
 
 " Lord-a-massy, no!" briskly, "an ye d best 
 not begin to think it. I wasn t a meanin thet. 
 Ye ve kinder got into a poor way steddyin bout 
 yere pappy, an it s tellin on ye. Ye look as if 
 thar wasn t a thing of ye an ye don t take no in- 
 t russ. Ye d oughter stir round more." 
 
 " I m going to stir round a little as soon as 
 Jake brings the buggy up," said Louisiana. " I m 
 going out." 
 
 " Whar?" 
 
 " Toward town." 
 
 For a moment Mrs. Nance looked at her charge 
 steadily, but aflength her feelings were too much 
 for her. She had been thinking this matter over 
 for some time. 
 
 "Louisianny," she said, "you re a-gwine to the 
 grave-yard, thet s whar ye re a-gwine an thar aint 
 no sense in it. Young folks hedn t ought to hold 
 on to trouble thataway taint nat ral. They don t 
 gin rally. Elbert d be ag in it himself ef he know- 
 ec i all I s pose he does. Like as not him an 
 lanthy s a-worryin about it now, an Lord knows 
 ef they air it ll spile all their enjoyment. King 
 dom come won t be nothin to em if they re on- 
 easy in their minds bout ye. Now an ag in it s 
 
A LEAF. 155 
 
 peared to me that mebbe harps an crowns an* the 
 company o postles don t set a body up all in a 
 minnit an make em forgit their flesh an blood an 
 nat ral feelin s teetotally an it kinder troubles 
 me to think o Elbert an lanthy worryin an not 
 havin no pleasure. Seems to me ef I was you I d 
 think it over an try to cheer up an take int russ. 
 Jest think how keerful yer pappy an ma was on 
 ye an how sot they was on hevin ye well an 
 happy." 
 
 Louisiana turned toward her. Her eyes were 
 full of tears. 
 
 " Oh ! " she whispered, " do you do you think 
 they know ? " 
 
 Mrs. Nance was scandalized. 
 
 " Know ! " she echoed. " Wa-al now, Louisi- 
 anny, ef I didn t know yer raisin , an thet ye d 
 been brought up with members all yer life, it d go 
 ag in me powerful to hear ye talk thetaway. Ye 
 know they know, an thet they ll take it hard, ef 
 they aint changed mightily, but, changed or not, 
 I guess thar s mighty few sperrits es haint sense 
 enough to see yer a-grievin more an longer than s 
 good fur ye." 
 
 Louisiana turned to her window again. She 
 rested her forehead against the frame-work and 
 
1 56 LOUISIANA. 
 
 looked out for a little while. But at last she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," she said. "It is 
 true it would have hurt them when they were 
 here. I think I ll try to to be happier." 
 
 " It s what ll please em best, if ye do, Louis- 
 ianny," commented Mrs. Nance. 
 
 " I ll try," Louisiana answered. " I will go 
 out now the cold air will do me good, an-d when 
 I come back you will see that I am better." 
 
 " Wa-al," advised Mrs. Nance, " ef ye go, 
 mind ye put on a plenty an don t stay long." 
 
 The excellent woman stood on the porch when 
 the buggy was brought up, and having tucked 
 the girl s wraps round her, watched her driven 
 away. 
 
 " Mebbe me a^speakin s I did ll help her," she 
 said. " Seems like it kinder teched her an sot 
 her thinkin . She was dretfle fond of her pappy 
 an she was allers a purty peaceable advise-takin 
 little thing though she aint so little nuther. 
 She s reel tall an slim." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 IT was almost dark when the buggy returned. 
 As Jake drove up to the gate he bent forward to 
 look at something. 
 
 " Thar s a critter hitched to the fence," he re 
 marked. " Taint no critter from round yere. I 
 never seen it afore." 
 
 Mrs. Nance came out upon the porch to meet 
 them. She was gently excited by an announce 
 ment she had to make. 
 
 " Louisianny," she said, " thar s a man in the 
 settin -room. He s a-waitin to see ye. I ask 
 ed him ef he hed anything to sell, an he sed no 
 he hedn t nothin . He s purty r;/-teel an sty 
 lish, but not to say showy, an he s polite sort o 
 manners." 
 
 " Has he been waiting long ? " Louisiana asked. 
 
 " He s ben thar half a hour, an I ve hed the 
 fire made up sence he come." 
 
158 LOUISIANA. 
 
 Louisiana removed her hat and cloak and gave 
 them to Mrs. Nance. She did it rather slowly, 
 and having done it, crossed the hall to the sitting- 
 room door, opened it and went in. 
 
 There was no light in the room but the light of 
 the wood fire, but that was very bright. It was 
 so bright that she had not taken two steps into 
 the room before she saw clearly the face of the 
 man who waited for her. 
 
 It was Laurence Ferrol. 
 
 She stopped short and her hands fell at her 
 sides. Her heart beat so fast that she could not 
 speak. 
 
 His heart beat fast, too, and it beat faster still 
 when he noted her black dress and saw how pale 
 and slight she looked in it. He advanced to 
 wards her and taking her hand in both his, led 
 her to a chair. 
 
 11 I have startled you too much," he said. 
 " Don t make me feel that I was wrong to come. 
 Don t be angry with me." 
 
 She let him seat her in the chair and then he 
 stood before her and waited for her to speak. 
 
 " It was rather sudden," she said, " but I am 
 not angry." 
 
 There was a silence of a few seconds, because 
 he was so moved by the new look her face wore 
 
HE KNEW THAT I LOVED YOU. 159 
 
 that he could not easily command his voice and 
 words. 
 
 "Have you been ill?" he asked gently, at 
 last. 
 
 He saw that she made an effort to control her 
 self and answer him quietly, but before she spoke 
 she gave up even the effort. She did not try to 
 conceal or wipe away the great tears that fell 
 down her cheeks as she looked up at him. 
 
 " No, I have not been ill," she said. " My 
 father is dead." 
 
 And as she uttered the last words her voice 
 sank almost into a whisper. 
 
 Just for a breath s space they looked at each 
 other and then she turned in her chair, laid her 
 arm on the top of it and her face on her arm, with 
 a simple helpless movement. 
 
 "He has been dead three months," she whis 
 pered, weeping. 
 
 His own eyes were dim as he watched her. Pie 
 had not heard of this before. He walked to the 
 other end of the room and back again twice. 
 When he neared her the last time he stopped. 
 
 " Must I go away ?" he asked unsteadily. " I 
 feel as if I had no right here." 
 
 But she did not tell him whether he must go or 
 stay. 
 
1 66 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " If I stay I must tell you why I came and why 
 I could not remain away," he said. 
 
 She still drooped against her chair and did not 
 speak, and he drew still nearer to her. 
 
 " It does not seem the right time," he said, 
 " but I must tell you even if I go away at once 
 afterwards. I have never been happy an hour 
 since we parted that wretched day. I have never 
 ceased to think of what I had begun to hope for. 
 I felt that it was useless to ask for it then I feel 
 as if it was useless now, but I must ask for it. 
 Oh ! " desperately, " how miserably I am saying 
 it all ! How weak it sounds ! " 
 
 In an instant he was kneeling on one knee at 
 her side and had caught her hand and held it be 
 tween both his own. 
 
 " I ll say the simplest thing," he said. " I love 
 you. Everything is against me, but I love you 
 and I am sure I shall never love another woman." 
 
 He clasped her hand close and she did not draw 
 it away. 
 
 "Won t you say a word to me?" he asked. 
 " If you only tell me that this is the wrong time 
 and that I must go away now, it will be better 
 than some things you might say." 
 
 She raised her face and let him see it. 
 
 " No," she said, " it is not that it is the wrong 
 
HE KNEW THAT I LOVED YOU. l6l 
 
 time. It is a better time than any other, because I 
 am so lonely and my trouble has made rny heart 
 softer than it was when I blamed you so. It is 
 not that it is the wrong time, but 
 
 " Wait a minute," he broke in. " Don t don t 
 do me an injustice ! " 
 
 He could not have said anything else so likely 
 to reach her heart. She remembered the last fal 
 tering words she had heard as she bent over the 
 pillow when the sun was shining on the golden 
 tree with the wind waving its branches. 
 
 " Don t do no one a onjestice, honey don t ye 
 do no one a onjestice." 
 
 u Oh," she cried out, " he told me that I must 
 not he told me, before he died ! " 
 
 "What ! " said Ferrol. " He told you not to 
 be unjust to me ? 
 
 " It was you he meant," she answered. " He 
 knew I had been hard to you and he knew 
 I- 
 
 She cowered down a little and Ferrol folded her 
 in his arms. 
 
 " Don t be hard to me again," he whispered. 
 " I have been so unhappy I love you so tender 
 ly. Did he know that you speak to me, Louise." 
 
 She put her hand upon his shoulder. 
 
1 62 LOUISIANA. 
 
 " He knew that I loved you," she said, with a 
 little sob. 
 
 She was a great favorite among her husband s 
 friends in New York the next year. One of her 
 chief attractions for them was that she was a " new 
 type." They said that of her invariably when 
 they delighted in her and told each other how 
 gentle she was and how simple and sweet. The 
 artists made " studies" of her, and adored her, 
 and were enthusiastic over her beauty ; while 
 among the literary ones it was said, again and 
 again, what a foundation she would be for a hero 
 ine of the order of those who love and suffer for 
 love s sake and grow more adorable through their 
 pain. 
 
 But these, of course, were only the delightful 
 imaginings of art, talked over among themselves, 
 and Louisiana did not hear of them. She was 
 very happy and very busy. There was a gay joke 
 current among them that she was a most tremen 
 dous book-worm, and that her literary knowledge 
 was something for weak, ordinary mortals to quail 
 before. The story went, that by some magic pro 
 cess she committed to memory the most appalling 
 works half an hour after they were issued from 
 
HE KNEW THAT I LOVED YOU. 163 
 
 the press, and that, secretly, Laurence stood very 
 much in awe of her and was constantly afraid of 
 exposing his ignorance in her presence. It was 
 certainly true that she read a great deal, and 
 showed a wonderful aptness and memory, and 
 that Laurence s pride and delight in her were the 
 strongest and tenderest feelings of his heart. 
 
 Almost every summer they spent in North 
 Carolina, filling their house with those of their 
 friends who would most enjoy the simple quiet 
 of the life they led. There \vere numberless pic 
 tures painted among them at such times and num 
 berless new "types" discovered. 
 
 " But you d scarcely think," it was said some 
 times, " that it is here that Mrs. Laurence is on 
 her native heath." 
 
 And though all the rest of the house was open, 
 there was one room into which no one but 
 Laurence and Louisiana ever went a little room, 
 with strange, ugly furniture in it, and bright- 
 colored lithographs upon the walls. 
 
 END. 
 
BY 
 
 FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, 
 
 Author of "THAT LASS O LOWRIE S." 
 
 One Vol. 12mo, Illustrated, ------ Price, $1.:0. 
 
 The publication of a new novel from Mrs. Burnett s pen has become an 
 event of more than ordinary moment, both to the critics and the public; 
 and HAWORTH S fulfills the best anticipations of both. It is in the 
 direct line of development of the author s strongest traits, and marks a 
 higher point than was reached even in the best passages of her first story. 
 
 CRITIC AT. NOTICES. 
 
 < ffawo rifts h a product of genius of a very high order *a piece of 
 work which will hold a permanent place in literature ; one of those mas 
 terly performances that rise wholly above the plane of light literature upon 
 which novels are generally placed." Evening Post. 
 
 " It is but faint praise to speak of Haivortlis as merely a good novel. 
 It is one of the few great novels. . . . As a story, it is alive through 
 out with a thrilling interest which does not flag from beginning to end, 
 and, besides the story, there is in it a wonderfully clever study of human 
 nature." Hartford Courant. 
 
 kt Ifaiu jrttis will unquestionably be acknowledged one of the great 
 literary achievements of the day. The chief feature is its intense dramatic 
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 impress themselves on the mind of the reader, that the effect is more that 
 of seeing the story acted than of reading it." Boston Post. 
 
 u Conversation and incident move naturally and with perfect freedom, 
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 with the spirit of the book." Buffalo Courier. 
 
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 Every character is cut with the distinctness of a cameo, and every one is 
 unique. . . . The art of the volume is perfect. Every word is needed 
 to effect the result. The pictures fit into one another. The whole is a 
 faultless mosaic." Albany Argus. 
 
 >* For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent, prepaid, upon receipt cf price, by 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS, 
 
 743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 
 
n T*e "best original novel tltxt kas appeared in thu Country for 
 9**rs." -PHIL. PRKSS. 
 
 THAT LASS LOWRIB S. 
 
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 worthy a place in the family library beside Miss Muloch s John Hall- 
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 first page to last." Boston. Commonwealth. 
 
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 prehensive is its word and character painting." Boston Post. 
 
 ice, Paper Covers, 90 cents; or $1.50 Extra C/oth. 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS, 
 
 1 743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 
 
BOOK 
 
 HF the Author of "That L,ass o Lowrle . 
 
 SURLY TIM 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES. 
 
 by MRS. FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, 
 
 Author of " That Lass o" Loicrie s." 
 
 One volume, small i2mo. Cloth extra, $1.25. 
 
 The volume includes eight of Mrs. Burnett s shorter stories which TVAVI 
 appeared in the magazines during the last few years. It is needless to say 
 that these have been among the most popular tales that have lately been 
 written. Si*rly 7*i//t (told in Lancashire dialect), which gives the title 
 to the book, is perhaps better known than any short story yet published 
 in SCRIBNER S. 
 
 The present collection, including EsmeraUa, Lodtisky, Le Monsieur 
 de la Petite Dame, etc., shows that the author can be successful in other 
 scenes than those, the treatment of which has gained her so much critical 
 praise and such wide popularity. 
 
 CRITICAL NOTICES. 
 
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 The Cominontveallli, l>oston. 
 
 "A good service has been rendered to all lovers of good fiction by the publication ol 
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 Stories are interesting as showing the steps up which she has ascended to her acknow 
 ledged eminence." The Advance. 
 
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 arges paid, utcn receipt of the price by the publishers, 
 
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OLD CREOLE DAYS 
 
 11Y 
 
 GEORGE W. CABLE. 
 
 One Volume, 16xno, extra cloth, - - $1.OO. 
 
 Mr. Cable s sketches of life in the old French quarter of New Orleans 
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 far above their value as a mere collection of clever stories. " Sieur 
 George," " Madame Delicieuse, " Jean-ah Poquelin," and The Belles 
 Demoiselles Plantation," are some of the stories included carrying even 
 in their titles some of their quaint attractiveness. 
 
 CRITICAL NOTICES. 
 
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 of a writer of high artistic power and fresh observation, as this of Mr. Cable s. After 
 re-reading carefully, and with the keenest enjoyment, the stories now collected under one 
 heading, we not only have no hesitation in pronouncing their author a genius with special 
 and captivating endowments, but we feel it an imperative critical duty to so declare him." 
 
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 " Mr. Cable has the rare gift of keen observation united to great descriptive power. 
 . . . He has portrayed the character of the remnant of France stranded on a foreign 
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 which that character presents. . . The stories, themselves, display air-inventive genius 
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 this book is an artist, and over such a revelation one may be permitted strong words." 
 
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 and as to his women, they are . *s delightful as the scent of the flowers which he mentions 
 every now and then." N. Y. Times. 
 
 " The seven sketches which compose this bright little volume are full of a delicate pathetic 
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LIFE AND LETTERS OF 
 
 MADAME BONAPARTE. 
 
 BY E. L. DIDIER. 
 
 i Volume, lamo, Cloth. With Portrait, - $1.50. 
 
 The remarkable career of Madame Bonaparte, which ended at Balti 
 more, in April of this year, possessed features which make it as interesting 
 as a romance. Few of the present generation, when they read in the 
 daily papers the notice of the death, at the great age of ninety-four, of this 
 brilliant, fascinating, and once dazzlingly beautiful woman, realized what 
 a long and varied series of events had been comprised in her life. The 
 account of Elizabeth Patterson s marriage, at eighteen, to Jerome Bona 
 parte, the brother of Napoleon; of her desertion by her husband at 
 Napoleon s order, and of the ambitious woman s long and determined 
 struggle for her rights, make up a sufficiently eventful story. 
 
 But the wonderfully- full and varied character of Madame Bonaparte s 
 life is only fully appreciated when it is remembered that all this had hap 
 pened before she was thirty; that after the Restoration she was still to 
 spend years of brilliant social success, in different parts of Europe, among 
 the most prominent people of the time. 
 
 A great number of her letters, covering portions of her life as fully 
 as a diary, have come into the hands of Mr. Eugene L. Diclier, 
 who has been for several years a special student of everything bearing 
 upon Madame Bonaparte s career, and has had every advantage for making 
 a thorough biographical study. In her correspondence her opinions are 
 expressed with a peculiar candor ; and the cynical frankness with which 
 she avows her ambitions and motives, the pungency of her comments upon 
 the people about her, and the accuracy of her judgments, as they are found 
 in these pages, show clearly the sharp outlines of her singular character. 
 
 The publishers have had the privilege of consulting Mr. Charles 
 Bonaparte, of Baltimore, in regard to the publication of the volume, and, 
 while he is in no sense responsible for any portion of the book, they are 
 indebted to him for very valuable suggestions and criticisms. 
 
 The biography will be illustrated with a copy of Gilbert Stuart s 
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 three different views of the face on the same canvas. 
 
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The best Biography of the Greatest of the Romans. 
 
 C JE S A R : A SKETCH. 
 
 BY 
 JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE, M.A. 
 
 One vol., 8vo, cloth, -with a Steel Portrait and a Map. 
 Price, $2.50. 
 
 There is no historical writer of our time who can rival Mr. Froude in vivid 
 delineation of character, grace and clearness of style and elegant and solid 
 scholarship. In his Xi/e of Ccesar, all these qualities appear in their fullest 
 perfection, resulting in a fascinating narrative which will be read with keen 
 dslight by a multitude cf readers, and will enhance, if possible, Mr. Froude s 
 brilliant reputation. 
 
 CRITICAL NOTICES. 
 
 " The book is charmingly written, and, on the whole, wisely written. There are many 
 admirable, really noble, passages ; there are hundreds of pages which few living men 
 could match. * * * The political life of Caesar is explained wiih singular lucidity, 
 and with what seems to us remarkable fairness. The horrible condition of Roman 
 society under the rule of the magnates is painted with starting power and brilliance i-f 
 coloring. A tlantic Monthly. 
 
 " Mr. Froude s latest work, " Caesar," is affluent of his most distinctive traits. 
 Nothing that he has written is more brilliant, more incisive, more interesting. * * * 
 He combines into a compact and nervous narrative all that is known of the per.-onal. 
 social, political, and military life of Caesar ; and with his sketch of Caesar, includes other 
 brilliant sketches of the great men, his friends or rivals, who contemporaneously with 
 him formed the principal figures in the Roman world." Harper s Monthly. 
 
 "This book is a most fascinating biography, and is by far the best account of Julius 
 Caesar to be found in the English language." London Standard. 
 
 " It is the best biography of the greatest of the Romans we have, and it is in some 
 respects Mr. Froude s best piece of historical writing." Hartford Courant. 
 
 Mr. Froude has given the public the best of all recent books on the life, character 
 and career of Julius Ciesar." Fhila. Eve. Bulletin. 
 
 %* For sale by all. booksellers, or will be sent, prepaid, upon 
 receipt of price , by 
 
 CHARLES SCRTBNER S SONS, 
 
 743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 
 
the Way* 
 
 A VOLUME OF SHORT POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY MAPES DODGE, 
 
 Editor of St. Nicholas. 
 
 One volume, square 12mo, $1; extra cloth, - - $1.5O. 
 
 The most ardent admirer of Mrs. Dodge s previous works can hardly 
 be prepared for the new wealth of the present volume. These poems are 
 baautiful in thought and workmanship, and evince a wonderful power and 
 range of poetic faculty. As a collection of short poems, it is unlike any 
 thing that has preceded it, and deserves to be classed in the small list of 
 those books of song that belong to the ^daily life of the people, and go 
 straight to the popular heart. 
 
 CRITICAL. NOTICES. 
 
 " A handsome little volume of over 100 pages of bright, clear print, fairly rippling with 
 laughing carols and glad songs. T. iere is a breeze-like freshness in the poetry of thir 
 writer that stimulates without palling on the taste, and is buoyant without being light in 
 worth. There is the breath of spring in every poem, and the sparkle and puiity ot dew 
 in every thought expressed." Indianapolis Journal. 
 
 "Mrs. Mapes Dodge sings as naturally as the bobolink or nightingale, and enjoys 
 an equal delight with them in the flowery meadow arid the blossoming orchard. She has 
 listented to the voice of the grass and the trees, the airy tongues of the mountain stream, 
 and writes down the artless melodies which she has heard from the stars and the sea. 
 Her poetry betrays a deep sympathy with human life as well as with external nature." 
 
 N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 " Reading the poems one discovers in their construction and in the dexterous play 
 of fancy which inspires them, the s:uno winning cleverness that marks the author s 
 appeals to child nature ; but with it lie finds also ;i ..l :ptli of poetic feeling, the manifesta 
 tion of which is rarely possible 1:1 juvenile literature." . V. } . J^eiiing Past. 
 
 " It need scarcely be ad. led that they are full of charm, tender in feeling, graceful 
 in versification, and genuinely poetic in fancy and imagination. Those verses dealing 
 essentially with child life and child aspirations have a delicacy of sentiment peculiar to 
 Mrs. Dodge alone among all who sing on similar subjects." Boston Saturday Evening 
 Gazette. 
 
 "The poems are full of grace and melody, imaginative and refined in expression. 
 
 ttaltimore Gazette. 
 
 *."- For sale by all booksellers, or sent post-paid upon receipt of 
 price, bv 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS, 
 
 Nos. 743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 
 
The Boy s Froissart. 
 
 EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 By SIDNEY LANIER. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALFRED KAPPES. 
 
 One Volume, crown. Svo, extra cloth, - $3.OO. 
 
 " As you read of the fair knights and the foul knights for Froissart tells of 
 bv /i it cannot but occur to you that some/ton it seems harder to be a good knight 
 now-a-days thiin it was then . . . Nevert/ieless the same qualities wliich made 
 a man ful fighter then, make one 71010. To speak the verv truth, to perform a promise 
 to the utmost, ti> reverence all women, to maintain right and honesty, to help the 
 weak ; to treat hi^h and low with courtesy, to be constant to one love, to be fair to a 
 bitter foe, to despise luxury, to pursue simplicity, modesty and gentleness in heart 
 and bearing, this -axis in the oath of the young knight 711/10 took the stroke upon him 
 in the fourteenth century, and this is still the way to win love and glory in the 
 nineteenth^ EXTRACT FROM THE PREFACE. 
 
 CRITICAL, NOTICES. 
 
 " There is no reason why Sir John Froissart should not become as well known to 
 young readers as Robinson Crusoe himself." Literary World. 
 
 "Though Mr. Lanier calls his edition of Froissart a book for boys, it is a book for 
 men as well, and many there be of the latter who will enjoy its pages." N. Y, live. Mail. 
 
 " We greet this book with positive enthusiasm, feeling that the presentation of 
 Froissart in a shape- so tempting to youth is a particularly worthy task, particularly well 
 done." A 7 ". Y. live. Post. 
 
 "The book is romantic, poetical, and full of the real adventure which is so much 
 more wholesome, than the sham which fills so much of the stimulating juvenile literature 
 of the day." Detroit F ree Press. 
 
 "That boy will be lucky who gets Mr. Sidney Lanier* s Boy s Froissart for a 
 Christmas present this year. There is no better and healthier reading for boys than Fine 
 Sir John ; and this volume is so handsome, so well printed, and so well illustrated that 
 it is a pleasure to look it over. 1 Nation. 
 
 k Mr. Sidney Lanier, in editing a boy s version of Froissart, has not only opened to 
 them a world of romantic and poetic legend of the chivalric and heroic sort, but he has 
 given them something which ennobles and does not poison the mind. Old Froissart was 
 a gentleman every inch . he hated the base, the cowardly, the paltry ; he loved the 
 knightly, the heroic, the gentle, and this spirit breathes through all his chronicles. There 
 is a genuineness, too, about his writings that gives them a literary value." 
 
 Baltimore Gazette. 
 
 " In his work of editing the famous knightly chronicle that Sir Walter Scott declared 
 inspired him with more enthusiasm than even poetry itself, Mr. Lanier has shown, 
 naturally, a warm appreciativeness and also a nice power of discrimination. He has 
 culled the choicest of the chronicles, the most romantic, and at the same time most com 
 plete, and has digested them into an orderly compact volume, upon which the publishers 
 have lavished fir.e paper, presswork and binding, and that is illustrated by a number of 
 cuts." Philadelphia Times, 
 
 *** For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent, post-paid, upon receipt of price 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS, 
 
 Nos. 743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 
 
The 
 
 Letters of CbarlesDickens, 
 
 Edited by his Sister-in-Law and his Eldest Daughter. 
 With several Fac- simile Letters. 
 
 Two Volumes, 12mo, cloth, - $3.OO. 
 
 Parts of this correspondence record Dickens s experiences from day to 
 day with the minuteness of a diary, introducing the most capital anecdotes 
 and inimitable descriptions, and the letters have naturally aroused an 
 interest which hardly anything else could have awakened, unless it had 
 been a posthumous work of the great novelist. Indeed, the correspondence 
 is actually what the editors say in, their preface that they have tried to 
 make it "another book from Charles Dickens s own hands a portrait of 
 himself by himself." Altogether, the letters give such a revelation of 
 the man as nothing else could give so well, and as might make a substitute 
 for any biography. 
 
 CRITICAL, NOTICES. 
 
 "Their literary merit is great and genuine; they are freshly and spontaneously 
 written in Kiiglish that is clear and strong and unaffected in a high degree. The picture 
 they give of their author is striking and singularly pleasant. They bring home to the 
 reader the hill force of his personality, in -ill its richness and expansiveness, its indom 
 itable energy and splendid self-consciousness, its elasticity and resolution, the irresistible 
 authority of its union of vigor and charm ; and they heighten the reader s opinion of him 
 as a private man and as a man of genius." Londo;t A thaueum. 
 
 " No formal portrait could be half so vivid. In this book, which was never intended 
 to be a book, we come nearer to the man as he was, than any biographer could have 
 brought us . . . The letters do iv>t show us Dickens at work, but Dickens at play, 
 relieved from the strain of facing the public, and tossing off the impressions of the 
 moment for the sympathetic appreciation of his own inner circle. The editors say that 
 no man ever expressed himself mor in his letters than Charles Dickens. No man 
 certainly ever expressed a livelier or more considerate friendship, a purer affection, or a 
 more exhilarating sense of the ridiculous." f<\>rt nightly Review. 
 
 "Some of the new letters published within the last week from the pen of Charles 
 Dickens are amongst the most amusing compositions in the English language. . . . 
 They fl.ish Dickens on you with as much vigor as if they gave you a glimpse of him in a 
 magic-lantern." Landau Spectator. 
 
 "That bright sparklmg style, that tenderness of heart and fund of cheery humoj; 
 that old, keen, hum ir ins wav of oiiserv ing and noting things, that appreciation of and 
 affection for hosts of friends, which we already knew lobe among his most lovable traits, 
 are to be yet once more tasted and enjoyed in these pages." Literary World. 
 
 "The attractiveness of these volumes lies in their free and natural exhibition of 
 Mr. Dickens s mind and heart. His personality saturates them." Congregationalist. 
 
 Of three things noticeable in this correspondence, one is the prevailing cheerful 
 ness of high spirits. . . . The other two noticeable things are the great excellence 
 flexibility and simpleness of style from the very first, and the surprising quantity of highly 
 entertaining epistolary writing produced by this one man." Boston Courier. 
 
 *#* For sale by* all booksellers, or sent postpaid, upon receipt of price^ 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS, 
 
 Nos. 743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 
 
Da J. G. HOLLAND S 
 
 POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 Each one vol., i2mo, cloth, _ . - $i 75 
 
 NICHOLAS MINTURN: 
 
 A Study in a Story. Illustrated. 
 
 "It is unquestionably DR. HOLLAND S ablest production The 
 characters are sketched by a master hand, the incidents are realistic, the 
 progress of events rapid, and the tone pure and healthy. The book is 
 superbly illustrated." Rock Island Union. 
 
 " Nicholas Mint urn is the most real novel, or rather life-story yet 
 produced by any American writer. "Philadelphia Press. 
 
 SEVENOAKS: 
 
 A Story of To- Day. Illustrated. 
 
 " DR. HOLLAND has added a leaf to his laurels. In Scvenoaks, he 
 has given us a thoroughly good novel, with the distinctive qualities of a 
 work of literary art. As a story, it is thoroughly readable; the action 
 is rapid, but not hurried ; there is no flagging, and no dullness." 
 Christian Union. 
 
 ARTHUR BONNICASTLE: 
 
 A Story of American Life. Illustrated. 
 
 " The narrative is pervaded by a fine poetical spirit that is alive to 
 the subtle graces of character, as well as to the tender influences of 
 natural scenes. ... Its chief merits must be placed in its graphic 
 and expressive portraitures of character, its tenderness and delicacy of 
 sentiment, its touches of heartfelt pathos, and the admirable wisdom and 
 soundness of its ethical suggestions." A 7 . Y. Tribune. 
 
 *#* The above books for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent, post or express 
 fharges paid, upon receipt of the price, bv 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS, PUHMSHERS, 
 
 743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 
 
. The charm of these nearly perfect toriea lie* In their 
 xqulsite simplicity and most tender humor." PHILADELPHIA TIME* 
 
 RUDDER GRANGE. 
 
 By FRANK R. STOCKTON. 
 
 One Volume, IGtno, Extra Cloth, attractive bindings, $1.2B 
 
 11 Humor like this is perennial." Washington Post. 
 
 tl Mr. Stockton has rare gifts for this style of writing, and has 
 developed in these papers remarkable genius." Pittsburgh Gazette. 
 
 u A certain humorous seriousness over matters that are not serious 
 surrounds the story, even in its most indifferent parts, with an atmosphere, 
 an aroma of very quaint and delightful humor." N. Y. Evening Post. 
 
 * Mr. Stockton s vein of humor is a fresh and rich one, that affords 
 pleasure to mature people as well as to your? ones. Thus far, Rudder 
 Grange is his best effort." Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 " Rudder Grange is an ideal book to take into the country for 
 summer reading." Portland Press. 
 
 " Rudder Grange is really a very delightful piece of fooling, but, like 
 all fooling that is worth the while, it has point and purpose." Phil. 
 Telegraph. 
 
 "The odd conceit of making his young couple try their hands at 
 house-keeping first in an old canal boat, suggests many droll situations, 
 which the author improves with a frolicsome humor that is all his own." 
 Worcester Spy. 
 
 ** There is in these chapters a rare and captivating drollery. . . . 
 We have had more pleasure in reading them over again than we had when 
 they first appeared in the magazine." Congregationalist. 
 
 *** Tht abovt book for talt by all booksellers^ or will bt tent^ frefaid^ ufon 
 ift of frice^ by 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK, 
 
A. N1CW VOLUME 
 
 In the "Common Sense in the Household" Series. 
 
 THE DINNER YEAR-BOOK. 
 
 By MARION HARLAND, 
 
 Author of " COMMON SKNSE IN THTJ HOUSEHOLD," " BREAKFAST, 
 LUNCHEON, AND TEA," etc., etc. 
 
 WITH SIX ORIGINAL FULL-PAGE COLORED PLATES. 
 One vol. 12mo, 72O pages, beautifully bound in cloth. Price $2.26, 
 
 KITCHEN EDITION IN OIL-CLOTH COVERS AT SAME PRICK. 
 
 THE DINNER YEAR BOOK is, in its name, happily descriptive of its purposes and char 
 acter. It occupies a place which, amid all the publications upon cookery and their 
 name is Legion has never yet been occupied. 
 
 The author tmly says that there have been dinner- giving books published, that is, 
 books of menus for company (linings, " Little Dinners," for especial occasions, etc., etc. ; 
 but that she has never yet met with a practical directory of this important meal 
 for every day in the year, In this volume site has furnished the programme 
 in all its details, and has superintended the preparation of each dish, proceeding even to 
 the pioper manner of serving it at table. The book has been prepared for 
 the family, for the home of ordinary means, and it has hit the 
 happy line where elegance and economy meet. 
 
 The most numerous testimonials to tht: value of Marion Harland s "Common Sense" 
 books which the publishers have received, both in newspaper notices and in private 
 communications, are to the effect always expressed with some astonishment that the 
 directions of these receipts, actually followed, produce the prom 
 ised result. We can prophesy the sam* for the new volume. 
 
 The purchaser will find that he has bought whnt the name purports The Dinner 
 Year-Book a practical guide for the purchase of the material and preparation, serving, 
 rc.. of the ordinary home dinner for every day of the year. To these are added 
 1 waive company dinners, one for each month, from which a selection can he 
 inade according to the time of the year equal to any occasion which wfll L/e presented 
 In the housekeeper. 
 
 This book, however, is not valuable merely as a directory for dinners appropriate to 
 Carious seasons. It contains the largest number of receipts for soups, fish, 
 ireat. vegetables, entrees of all descriptions, and desserts, ever offered to the 
 American public. The material for this work has been collected with great care 
 both at home and abroad, representing the diligent labor of many months. A very 
 marked feature of the new volume, and distinguishing it from any other in the Aim rican 
 market, is its series of beautiful colored plates, the entire preparation ol 
 which has been the work of the author s own hand. 
 
 %* Tke above books for sale by all booksellers, or will be senf, post or 
 tk*rfes faid t upon receipt of the price by the publishers, 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS, 
 
 743 \ND 745 BROADWAY NEW YORK 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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