The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 92, June, 1865: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
History
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 92, June, 1865: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
Miss Johns meets the new-comer with as large a share of kindness as she
can force into her manner; but her welcome lacks, somehow, the
sympathetic glow to which Adele has been used; it has not even the
spontaneity and heartiness which had belonged to the greeting of that
worldly woman, Mrs. Brindlock. And as the wondering little stranger
passes up the path, and into the door of the parsonage, with her hand in
that of the spinster, she cannot help contrasting the one cold kiss of
the tall lady in black with the shower of warm ones which her old
godmother had bestowed at parting. Yet in the eye of the Doctor sister
Eliza had hardly ever worn a more beaming look, and he was duly grateful
for the strong interest which she evidently showed in the child of his
poor friend. She had equipped herself indeed in her best silk and with
her most elaborate toilet, and had exhausted all her strategy,--whether
in respect of dress, of decorations for the chamber, or of the profuse
supper which was in course of preparation,--to make a profound and
favorable impression upon the heart of the stranger.
The spinster was not a little mortified at her evident want of success,
most notably in respect to the elaborate arrangements of the chamber of
the young guest, who seemed to regard the dainty hangings of the little
bed, and the scattered ornaments, as matters of course; but making her
way to the window which commanded a view of both garden and orchard,
Adele clapped her hands with glee at sight of the flaming hollyhocks and
the trees laden with golden pippins. It was, indeed, a pretty scene:
silvery traces of the brook sparkled in the green meadow below the
orchard, and the hills beyond were checkered by the fields of buckwheat
in broad patches of white bloom, and these again were skirted by masses
of luxuriant wood that crowned all the heights. To the eye of Adele,
used only to the bare hill-sides and scanty olive-orchards of
Marseilles, the view was marvellously fair.
"_Tiens!_ there are chickens and doves," said she, still gazing eagerly
out; "oh, I am sure I shall love this new home!"
And thus saying, she tripped back from the window to where Miss Eliza
was admiringly intent upon the unpacking and arranging of the little
wardrobe of her guest. Adele, in the flush of her joyful expectations
from the scene that had burst upon her out of doors, now prattled more
freely with the spinster,--tossing out the folds of her dresses, as they
successively came to light, with her dainty fingers, and giving some
quick, girlish judgment upon each.
"This godmother gave me, dear, good soul!--and she sewed this bow upon
it; isn't it coquette? And there is the white muslin,--oh, how
crushed!--that was for my church-dress, first communion, you know; but
papa said, 'Better wait,'--so I never wore it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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