After driving round the town we stopped at the Academy. Morning
prayers were over, and the scholars, some sixty boys and girls, were
coming downstairs from the hall, to go into the rooms, each side of a
great door. Dr. Price was behind them. He stopped when he saw us,
an introduction took place, and he inquired for Dr. Snell, as an old
college friend. Locke Morgeson sounded familiarly, he said; a member
of his mother's family named Somers had married a gentleman of that
name. He remembered it from an old ivory miniature which his mother
had shown him, telling him it was the likeness of her cousin Rachel's
husband. I replied we knew that grandfather had married a Rachel
Somers. Cousin Charles was surprised and a little vexed that the
doctor had never told him, when he must have known that he had been
anxiously looking up the Morgeson pedigree; but the doctor declared
he had not thought of it before, and that only the name of Locke had
recalled it to his mind. He then proposed our going to Miss Prior, the
lady who had charge of the girls' department, and we followed him to
her school-room.
I was at once interested and impressed by the appearance of my teacher
that was to be. She was a dignified, kind-looking woman, who asked me
a few questions in such a pleasant, direct manner that I frankly told
her I was eighteen years old, very ignorant, and averse from learning;
but I did not speak loud enough for anybody beside herself to hear.
"Now," said mother, when we came away, "think how much greater your
advantages are than mine have ever been. How miserable was my youth!
It is too late for me to make any attempt at cultivation. I have
no wish that way. Yet now I feel sometimes as if I were leaving the
confines of my old life to go I know not whither, to do I know not
what."
But her countenance fell when she heard that Dr. Price had been a
Unitarian minister, and that there was no Congregational church in
Rosville.
She went to Boston that Friday afternoon, anxious to get safely home
with Veronica. We parted with many a kiss and shake of the hand and
last words. I cried when I went up to my room, for I found a present
there--a beautiful workbox, and in it was a small Bible with my name
and hers written on the fly-leaf in large print-like, but tremulous
letters. I composed my feelings by putting it away carefully and
unpacking my trunk.
CHAPTER XV.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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