Bertha's Christmas Vision – An Autumn Sheaf. Alger Horatio Jr.

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СКАЧАТЬ situated on the principal street, but at some distance back, being separated from it by a front yard. Between this yard and the fence ran a prim-looking hedge, of very formal cut, being cropped in the most careful manner, lest one twig should, by chance, have the presumption to grow higher than its kindred. It was a two-story house, containing in each story one room on either side of the front door; making, of course, four in all.

      If we go in, we shall find the outward primness well supported by the appearance of things within. In the front parlor—we may peep through the door, but it would be high treason, in the present moistened state of our boots, to step within its sacred precincts—there are six high-backed chairs standing in state, two at each window. One can easily see, from the general arrangement of the furniture, that from romping children, unceremonious kittens, and unhallowed intruders generally, this room is most sacredly guarded.

      Without speaking particularly of the other rooms—which, though not furnished in so stately a manner, bear a family resemblance to “the best room,”—we will usher the reader into the opposite room, where he will find the owner and occupant of this prim-looking residence.

      Courteous reader! Miss Hetty Henderson. Miss Hetty Henderson, let me make you acquainted with this lady (or gentleman), who is desirous of knowing you better.

      Miss Hetty Henderson, with whom the reader has just passed through the ceremony of introduction, is a maiden of some thirty-five summers, attired in a sober-looking dress of irreproachable neatness, but most formal cut. She is the only occupant of the house, of which, likewise, she is proprietor. Her father, who was the village physician, died some ten years since; leaving to Hetty—or perhaps I should give her full name, Henrietta—his only child, the house in which he lived, and some four thousand dollars in bank-stock, on the income of which she lived very comfortably.

      Somehow, Miss Hetty had never married; though, such is the mercenary nature of man, the rumor of her inheritance brought to her feet several suitors. But Miss Hetty had resolved never to marry—at least, this was her invariable answer to matrimonial offers; and so, after a time, it came to be understood that she was fixed for life—an old maid. What reasons impelled her to this course were not known; but possibly the reader will be furnished with a clew before he finishes this narrative.

      Meanwhile, the invariable effect of a single and solitary life combined attended Hetty. She grew precise, prim, and methodical, to a painful degree. It would have been quite a relief if one could have detected a stray thread even upon her well-swept carpet; but such was never the case.

      On this particular day—this Thanksgiving Day of which we are speaking—Miss Hetty had completed her culinary preparations; that is, she had stuffed her turkey and put it in the oven, and kneaded her pudding; for, though she knew that but one would be present at the dinner, her conscience would scarcely have acquitted her if she had not made all the preparations to which she had been accustomed on such occasions.

      This done, she sat down to her knitting; casting a glance every now and then at the oven, to make sure that all was going on well. It was a quiet morning; and Miss Hetty’s thoughts kept time to the clicking of her knitting-needles.

      “After all,” thought she, “it’s rather solitary taking dinner alone, and that on Thanksgiving Day. I remember, a long time ago, when my father and my brothers and sisters were living, what a merry time we used to have round the table. But they are all dead; and I—I alone—am left.”

      Miss Hetty sighed; but, after a while, the recollections of those old times returned. She tried to shake them off; but they had a fascination about them, after all, and would not go at her bidding.

      “There used to be another there,” thought she—“Nick Anderson. He too, I fear, is dead.”

      Hetty heaved a thoughtful sigh, and a faint color came into her cheeks. She had reason. This Nicholas Anderson had been a medical student, apprenticed to her father; or rather placed with him, to be prepared for his profession. He was perhaps a year older than Hetty, and had regarded her with more than ordinary warmth of affection. He had, in fact, proposed to her, and had been conditionally accepted on a year’s probation. The trouble was, he was a little disposed to be wild, and, being naturally of a lively and careless temperament, did not exercise sufficient discrimination in the choice of his associates. Hetty had loved him as warmly as one of her nature could love. She was not one who would be drawn away beyond the dictates of reason and judgment by the force of affection. Still, it was not without a feeling of deep sorrow—deeper than her calm manner led him to suspect—that, at the end of the year’s probation, she informed Anderson that the result of his trial was not favorable to his suit, and that henceforth he must give up all thoughts of her.

      To his vehement asseverations, promises, and protestations, she returned the same steady and inflexible answer; and, at the close of the interview, he left her, quite as full of indignation against her as of grief for his rejection.

      That night, his clothing was packed up, and lowered from the window; and, when the next morning dawned, it was found that he had left the house, never, as was intimated in a slight note pencilled and left on the table in his room, to return again.

      * * * * *

      While Miss Henderson’s mind was far back in the past, she had not observed the approach of a man, shabbily attired, accompanied by a little girl apparently some eight years of age. The man’s face bore the impress of many cares and hardships. The little girl was of delicate appearance; and an occasional shiver showed that her garments were too thin to protect her sufficiently from the inclemency of the weather.

      “This is the place, Henrietta,” said the traveller at length, pausing at the head of the gravelled walk which led up to the front door of the prim-looking brick house.

      Together they entered; and a moment afterwards, just as Miss Hetty was preparing to lay the cloth for dinner, a knock sounded through the house.

      “Goodness!” said Miss Hetty, fluttered. “Who can it be that wants to see me at this hour?”

      Smoothing down her apron, and giving a look at the glass to make sure that her hair was in order, she hastened to the door.

      “Will it be asking too much, madam, to request a seat by your fire for myself and little girl for a few moments? It is very cold.”

      Miss Hetty could feel that it was cold. Somehow, too, the appealing expression of the little girl’s face touched her. So she threw the door wide open, and bade them enter.

      Miss Hetty went on preparing the table for dinner. A most delightful odor issued from the oven; one door of which was open, lest the turkey should overdo. Miss Hetty could not help observing the wistful glance cast by the little girl towards the tempting dish as she placed it on the table.

      “Poor little creature!” thought she. “I suppose it is a long time since she has had a good dinner.”

      Then the thought struck her, “Here I am alone to eat all this. There is quite enough for half a dozen. How much these poor people would relish it!”

      By this time the table was arranged.

      “Sir,” said she, turning to the traveller, “you look as if you were hungry as well as cold. If you and your little daughter would like to sit up, I should be happy to have you.”

      “Thank you, madam!” was the grateful reply. “We are hungry, and shall be much indebted to your kindness.”

      It was rather a novel situation for Miss Hetty—sitting at the head of the table, dispensing СКАЧАТЬ