It was the day before Thanksgiving. The brief cloudy Novemberafternoon was fast merging into early twilight. The trees, nowgaunt and bare, creaked and groaned in the passing gale, clashingtheir icy branches together with sounds sadly unlike theslumberous rustle of their foliage in June. And that same foliagewas now flying before the wind, swept hither and thither, likeexiles driven by disaster from the moorings of home, at timesfinding a brief abiding-place, and then carried forward to partsunknown by circumstances beyond control. The street leading intothe village was almost deserted; and the few who came and wenthastened on with fluttering garments, head bent down, and ashivering sense of discomfort. The fields were bare and brown; andthe landscape on the uplands rising in the distance would havebeen utterly sombre had not green fields of grain, like childlikefaith in wintry age, relieved the gloomy outlook and prophesied ofthe sunshine and golden harvest of a new year and life.But bleak November found no admittance in Mrs. Alford's coseyparlor. Though, as usual, it was kept as the room for stateoccasions, it was not a stately room. It was furnished withelegance and good taste; but what was better, the genial homeatmosphere from the rest of the house had invaded it, and one didnot feel, on entering it from the free-and-easy sitting-room, asif passing from a sunny climate to the icebergs of the Pole.Therefore I am sure my reader will follow me gladly out of thebiting, bolsterous wind into the homelike apartment, and as westand in fancy before the glowing grate, we will make theacquaintance of the May-day creature who is its sole occupant.Elsie Alford, just turning seventeen, appeared younger than heryears warranted. Some girls carry the child far into their teens,and Head the mirthful innocence of infancy with the richer, fullerlife of budding womanhood. This was true of Elsie. Hers was notthe forced exotic bloom of fashionable life; but rather one of thenative blossoms of her New England home, having all the delicacyand at the same time hardiness of the windflower. She was also asshy and easily agitated, and yet, like the flower she resembled,well rooted among the rocks of principle and truth. She was theyoungest and the pet of the household, and yet the "petting" wasnot of that kind that develops selfishness and wilfulness, butrather a genial sunlight of love falling upon her as a focus fromthe entire family. They always spoke of her as "little Sis," orthe "child." And a child it seemed she would ever be, with herkittenish ways, quick impulses, and swiftly alternating moods. Asshe developed into womanly proportions, her grave, businesslikefather began to have misgivings. After one of her wild sallies atthe table, where she kept every one on the qui vive by herunrestrained chatter, Mr. Alford said:"Elsie, will you ever learn to be a woman?"Looking mischievously at him through her curls, she replied, "Yes;I might if I became as old as Mrs. Methuselah."They finally concluded to leave Elsie's cure to care and trouble--two certain elements of earthly life; and yet her experience ofeither would be slight indeed, could their love shield her.But it would not be exactly care or trouble that would sober Elsieinto a thoughtful woman, as our story will show.Some of the November wind seemed in her curling hair upon thisfateful day; but her fresh young April face was a pleasantcontrast to the scene presented from the window, to which she keptflitting with increasing frequency. It certainly was not thedismal and darkening landscape that so intensely interested her.The light of a great and coming pleasure was in her face, and hermanner was one of restless, eager expectancy. Little wonder. Herpet brother, the one next older than herself, a promising youngtheologue, was coming home to spend Thanksgiving. It was time heappeared. The shriek of the locomotive had announced the arrivalof the train; and her ardent little spirit could scarcely endurethe moments intervening before she would almost concentrateherself into a rapturous kiss and embrace of welcome, for thefavorite brother had been absent several long months.Her mother called her away for a few moments, for the good oldlady was busy indeed, knowing well that merely full hearts wouldnot answer for a New England Thanksgiving. But the moment Elsiewas free she darted back to the window, just in time to catch aglimpse, as she supposed, of her brother's well-remembered dark-gray overcoat, as he was ascending the front steps.A tall, grave-looking young man, an utter stranger to the placeand family, had his hand upon the doorbell; but before he couldring it, the door flew open, and a lovely young creatureprecipitated herself on his neck, like a missile fired fromheavenly battlements, and a kiss was pressed upon his lips that heafterward admitted to have felt even to the "toes of his boots."But his startled manner caused her to lift her face from under hisside-whiskers; and though the dusk was deepening, she could seethat her arms were around an utter stranger. She recoiled from himwith a bound, and trembling like a windflower indeed, her largeblue eyes dilating at the intruder with a dismay beyond words. Howthe awkward scene would have ended it were hard to tell had notthe hearty voice of one coming up the path called out:"Hi, there, you witch! who is that you are kissing, and thenstanding off to see the effect?"There was no mistake this time; so, impelled by love, shame, andfear of "that horrid man," she fled, half sobbing, to his arms."No, he isn't a 'horrid man,' either," whispered her brother,laughing. "He is a classmate of mine. Why, Stanhope, how are you?I did not know that you and my sister were so well acquainted," headded, half banteringly and half curiously, for as yet he did notfully understand the scene.The hall-lamp, shining through the open door, had revealed thefeatures of the young man (whom we must now call Mr. Stanhope), sothat his classmate had recognized him. His first impulse had beento slip away in the darkness, and so escape from his awkwardpredicament; but George Alford's prompt address prevented this andbrought him to bay. He was painfully embarrassed, but managed tostammer: "I was taken for you, I think. I never had the pleasure--honor of meeting your sister.""Oh, ho! I see now. My wild little sister kissed before shelooked. Well, that was your good-fortune. I could keep twoThanksgiving days on the strength of such a kiss as that," criedthe light-hearted student, shaking the diffident, shrinking Mr.Stanhope warmly by the hand. "You will hardly need a formalintroduction now. But, bless me, where is she? Has the Novemberwind blown her away?""I think your sist--the lady passed around to the side entrance. Ifear I have annoyed her sadly.""Nonsense! A good joke--something to tease the little witch about.But come in. I'm forgetting the sacred rites."And before the bewildered Mr. Stanhope could help himself, he washalf dragged into the lighted hall, and the door shut between himand escape.In the meantime, Elsie, like a whirlwind, had burst into thekitchen, where Mrs. Alford was superintending some savory dishes."Oh, mother, George has come and has a horrid man with him, whonearly devoured me."And, with this rather feminine mode of stating the case, shedarted into the dusky, fire-lighted parlor, from whence, unseen,she could reconnoitre the hall. Mr. Stanhope was just saying:"Please let me go. I have stood between you and your welcome longenough. I shall only be an intruder; and besides, as an utterstranger, I have no right to stay." To all of which Elsie devoutlywhispered to herself, "Amen."But Mrs. Alford now appeared, and after a warm, motherly greetingto her son, turned in genial courtesy to welcome his friend, asshe supposed.George was so happy that he wished every one else to be the same.The comical episode attending Mr. Stanhope's unexpected appearancejust hit his frolicsome mood, and promised to be a source ofendless merriment if he could only keep his classmate over thecoming holiday. Moreover, he long had wished to become betteracquainted with this young man, whose manner at the seminary haddeeply interested him. So he said:"Mother, this is Mr. Stanhope, a classmate of mine. I wish youwould help me persuade him to stay.""Why, certainly, I supposed you expected to stay with us, ofcourse," said Mrs. Alford, heartily.Mr. Stanhope looked ready to sink through the floor, his facecrimson with vexation."I do assure you, madam," he urged, "it is all a mistake. I am notan invited guest. I was merely calling on a little matter ofbusiness, when--" and there he stopped. George exploded into ahearty, uncontrollable laugh; while Elsie, in the darkness, shookher little fist at the stranger, who hastened to add, "Please letme bid you good-evening, I have not the slightest claim on yourhospitality.""Where are you staying?" asked Mrs. Alford, a little mystified."We would like you to spend at least part of the time with us.""I do not expect to be here very long. I have a room at thehotel.""Now, look here, Stanhope," cried George, barring all egress byplanting his back against the door, "do you take me, a half-fledged theologue, for a heathen? Do you suppose that I could besuch a churl as to let a classmate stay at our dingy, forlornlittle tavern and eat hash on Thanksgiving Day? I could never lookyou in the face at recitation again. Have some consideration formy peace of mind, and I am sure you will find our home quite asendurable as anything Mr. Starks can provide.""Oh! as to that, from even the slight glimpse that I have had,this seems more like a home than anything I have known for manyyears; but I cannot feel it right that I, an unexpected stranger--""Come, come! No more of that! You know what is written about'entertaining strangers;' so that is your strongest claim.Moreover, that text works both ways sometimes, and the strangerangel finds himself among angels. My old mother here, if she doesweigh well on toward two hundred, is more like one than anything Ihave yet seen, and Elsie, if not an angel, is at least part witchand part fairy. But you need not fear ghostly entertainment frommother's larder. As you are a Christian, and not a Pagan, no moreof this reluctance. Indeed, nolens volens, I shall not permit youto go out into this November storm to-night;" and Elsie, to herdismay, saw the new-comer led up to the "spare room" with a sortof hospitable violence.With flaming cheeks and eyes half full of indignant tears, she nowmade onslaught on her mother, who had returned to the kitchen,where she was making preparations for a supper that might almostanswer for the dinner the next day."Mother, mother," she exclaimed, "how could you keep thatdisagreeable stranger! He will spoil our Thanksgiving.""Why, child, what is the matter?" said Mrs. Alford, raising hereyes in surprise to her daughter's face, that looked like a redmoon through the mist of savory vapors rising from the amplecooking-stove. "I don't understand you. Why should not yourbrother's classmate add to the pleasure of our Thanksgiving?""Well, perhaps if we had expected him, if he had come in someother way, and we knew more about him--""Bless you, child, what a formalist you have become. You stand ona fine point of etiquette, as if it were the broad foundation ofhospitality; while only last week you wanted a ragged tramp, whohad every appearance of being a thief, to stay all night. Yourbrother thinks it a special providence that his friend should haveturned up so unexpectedly.""Oh, dear!" sighed Elsie. "If that is what the doctrine of specialprovidence means, I shall need a new confession of faith." Then, asudden thought occurring to her, she vanished, while her mothersmiled, saying:"What a queer child she is, to be sure!"A moment later Elsie gave a sharp knock at the spare room door,and in a second was in the further end of the dark hall. Georgeput his head out."Come here," she whispered. "Are you sure it's you?" she added,holding him off at arm's-length.His response was such a tempest of kisses and embraces that in hernervous state she was quite panic-stricken."George," she gasped, "have mercy on me!""I only wished to show you how he felt, so you would have somesympathy for him.""If you don't stop," said the almost desperate girl, "I will shutmyself up and not appear till he is gone. I will any way, if youdon't make me a solemn promise.""Leave out the 'solemn.'""No, I won't. Upon your word and honor, promise never to tell whathas happened--my mistake, I mean.""Oh, Elsie, it's too good to keep," laughed George."Now, George, if you tell," sobbed Elsie, "you'll spoil myholiday, your visit, and everything.""If you feel that way, you foolish child, of course I won't tell.Indeed, I suppose I should not, for Stanhope seems half frightenedout of his wits also.""Serves him right, though I doubt whether he has many to lose,"said Elsie, spitefully."Well, I will do my best to keep in," said George, soothingly, andstroking her curls. "But you will let it all out; you see. Theidea of your keeping anything with your April face!"Elsie acted upon the hint, and went to her room in order to removeall traces of agitation before the supper-bell should summon herto meet the dreaded stranger.In the meantime, Mr. Alford and James, the second son, had come upfrom the village, where they had a thriving business. They greetedGeorge's friend so cordially that it went some way toward puttingthe diffident youth at his ease; but he dreaded meeting Elsieagain quite as much as she dreaded meeting him."Who is this Mr. Stanhope?" his parents asked, as they drew Georgeaside for a little private talk after his long absence."Well, he is a classmate with whom I have long wished to getbetter acquainted; but he is so shy and retiring that I have madelittle progress. He came from another seminary, and entered ourclass in this the middle year. No one seems to know much abouthim; and indeed he has shunned all intimacies and devotes himselfwholly to his books. The recitation-room is the one place where heappears well--for there he speaks out, as if forgetting himself,or rather, losing himself in some truth under contemplation.Sometimes he will ask a question that wakes up both class andprofessor; but at other times it seems difficult to pierce theshell of his reserve or diffidence. And yet, from little things Ihave seen, I know that he has a good warm heart; and the workingof his mind in the recitation-room fascinates me. Further thanthis I know little about him, but have just learned, from hisexplanation as to his unexpected appearance at our door, that heis very poor, and purposed to spend his holiday vacation as agentfor a new magazine that is offering liberal premiums. I think hispoverty is one of the reasons why he has so shrunk fromcompanionship with the other students. He thinks he ought to goout and continue his efforts tonight.""This stormy night!" ejaculated kind Mrs. Alford. "It would bebarbarous.""Certainly it would, mother. We must not let him. But you must allbe considerate, for he seems excessively diffident and sensitive;and besides--but no matter.""No fear but that we will soon make him at home. And it's apleasure to entertain people who are not surfeited with attention.I don't understand Elsie, however, for she seems to have formed aviolent prejudice against him. From the nature of her announcementof his presence I gathered that he was a rather forward youngman."There was a twinkle in George's eye; but he merely said:"Elsie is full of moods and tenses; but her kind little heart isalways the same, and that will bring her around all right."They were soon after marshalled to the supper-room. Elsie slippedin among the others, but was so stately and demure, and with hercurls brushed down so straight that you would scarcely have knownher. Her father caught his pet around the waist, and was about tointroduce her, when George hastened to say with the solemnity ofan undertaker that Elsie and Mr. Stanhope had met before.Elsie repented the promise she had wrung from her brother, for anyamount of badinage would be better than this depressing formality.She took her seat, not daring to look at the obnoxious guest; andthe family noticed with surprise that they had never seen thelittle maiden so quenched and abashed before. But George good-naturedly tried to make the conversation general, so as to givethem time to recover themselves.Elsie soon ventured to steal shy looks at Mr. Stanhope, and withher usual quickness discovered that he was more in terror of herthan she of him, and she exulted in the fact."I'll punish him well, if I get a chance," she thought with acertain phase of the feminine sense of justice. But the sadness ofhis face quite disarmed her when her mother, in well-meantkindness, asked:"Where is your home located, Mr. Stanhope?""In the seminary," he answered in rather a low tone."You don't mean to say that you have no better one than a forlorncell in Dogma Hall?" exclaimed George, earnestly.Mr. Stanhope crimsoned, and then grew pale, but tried to saylightly, "An orphan of my size and years is not a very movingobject of sympathy; but one might well find it difficult not tobreak the Tenth Commandment while seeing how you are surrounded."Elsie was vexed at her disposition to relent toward him; she sohardened her face, however, that James rallied her:"Why, Puss, what is the matter? Yours is the most unpromisingThanksgiving phiz I have seen today. 'Count your marcies.'"Elsie blushed so violently, and Mr. Stanhope looked so distressedthat James finished his supper in puzzled silence, thinking,however, "What has come over the little witch? For a wonder, sheseems to have met a man that she is afraid of: but the joke is, heseems even more afraid of her."In the social parlor some of the stiffness wore off; but Elsie andMr. Stanhope kept on opposite sides of the room and had verylittle to say to each other. Motherly Mrs. Alford drew the youngman out sufficiently, however, to become deeply interested in him.By the next morning time for thought had led him to feel that hemust trespass on their hospitality no longer. Moreover, he plainlyrecognized that his presence was an oppression and restraint uponElsie; and he was very sorry that he had stayed at all. But whenhe made known his purpose the family would not listen to it."I should feel dreadfully hurt if you left us now," said Mrs.Alford, so decidedly that he was in a dilemma, and stole a timidlook toward Elsie, who at once guessed his motive in going away.Her kind heart got the better of her; and her face relented in asudden reassuring smile. Then she turned hastily away. Only Georgesaw and understood the little side scene and the reason Mr.Stanhope was induced to remain. Then Elsie, in her quickly varyingmoods, was vexed at herself, and became more cold and distant thanever. "He will regard me as only a pert, forward miss, but I willteach him better," she thought; and she astonished the family moreand more by a stateliness utterly unlike herself. Mr. Stanhopesincerely regretted that he had not broken away, in spite of theothers; but in order not to seem vacillating he resolved to staytill the following morning, even though he departed burdened withthe thought that he had spoiled the day for one of the family.Things had now gone so far that leaving might only lead toexplanations and more general annoyances, for George had intimatedthat the little mistake of the previous evening should remain asecret.And yet he sincerely wished she would relent toward him, for shecould not make her sweet little face repellent. The kiss she hadgiven him still seemed to tingle in his very soul, while her lastsmile was like a ray of warmest sunshine. But her face, neverdesigned to be severe, was averted.After having heard the affairs of the nation discussed in a sound,scriptural manner, they all sat down to a dinner such as had neverblessed poor Mr. Stanhope's vision before. A married son anddaughter returned after church, and half a dozen grandchildrenenlivened the gathering. There was need of them, for Elsie,usually in a state of wild effervescence upon such occasions, wasnow demure and comparatively silent. The children, with whom shewas accustomed to romp like one of them, were perplexed indeed;and only the intense excitement of a Thanksgiving dinner divertedtheir minds from Aunt Elsie, so sadly changed. She was consciousthat all were noting her absent manner, and this embarrassed andvexed her more; and yet she seemed under a miserable paralysisthat she could neither explain nor escape."If we had only laughed it off at first," she groaned to herself;"but now the whole thing grows more absurd and disagreeable everymoment.""Why, Elsie," said her father, banteringly, "you doubted the otherday whether Mrs. Methuselah's age would ever sober you; and yet Ithink that good old lady would have looked more genial onThanksgiving Day. What is the matter?""I was thinking of the sermon," she said.Amid the comic elevation of eyebrows, George said slyly:"Tell us the text."Overwhelmed with confusion, she darted a reproachful glance at himand muttered:"I did not say anything about the text.""Well, tell us about the sermon then," laughed James."No," said Elsie, sharply. "I'll quote you a text: 'Eat, drink,and be merry,' and let me alone."They saw that for some reason she could not bear teasing, and thatsuch badinage troubled Mr. Stanhope also. George came gallantly tothe rescue, and the dinner-party grew so merry that Elsie thawedperceptibly and Stanhope was beguiled into several witty speeches.At each one Elsie opened her eyes in wider and growingappreciation. At last, when they rose from their coffee, she cometo the surprising conclusion--"Why, he is not stupid and bad-looking after all."George was bent on breaking the ice between them, and so proposedthat the younger members of the family party should go up aswollen stream and see the fall. But Elsie flanked herself with asister-in-law on one side and a niece on the other, while Stanhopewas so diffident that nothing but downright encouragement wouldbring him to her side. So George was almost in despair. Elsie'seyes had been conveying favorable impressions to her reluctantmind throughout the walk. She sincerely regretted that such anabsurd barrier had grown up between her and Stanhope, but couldnot for the life of her, especially before others, do anything tobreak the awkward spell.At last they were on their return, and were all grouped togetheron a little bluff, watching the water pour foamingly through anarrow gorge."Oh, see," cried Elsie, suddenly pointing to the opposite bank,"what beautiful moss that is over there! It is just the kind Ihave been wanting. Oh, dear! there isn't a bridge within half amile."Stanhope glanced around a moment, and then said gallantly, "I willget you the moss, Miss Alford." They saw that in someinconceivable way he intended crossing where they stood. The gorgewas much too wide for the most vigorous leap, so Elsie exclaimedeagerly:"Oh, please don't take any risk! What is a little moss?""I say, Stanhope," remonstrated George, seriously, "it would be nolaughing matter if you should fall in there."But Stanhope only smiled, threw off his overcoat, and buttoned hisundercoat closely around him. George groaned to himself, "Thiswill be worse than the kissing scrape," and was about to lay arestraining grasp upon his friend. But he slipped away, andlightly went up hand-over-hand a tall, slender sapling on the edgeof the bank, the whole party gathering round in breathlessexpectation. Having reached its slender, swaying top, he threwhimself out on the land side. The tree bent at once to the groundwith his weight, but without snapping, showing that it was toughand fibrous. Holding firmly to the top, he gave a strong spring,which, with the spring of the bent sapling, sent him well over thegorge on the firm ground beyond.There was a round of applause from the little group he had justleft, in which Elsie joined heartily. Her eyes were glowing withadmiration, for when was not power and daring captivating to awoman? Then, in sudden alarm and forgetfulness of her formercoolness, she exclaimed:"But how will you get back?""This is my bridge," he replied, smiling brightly across to her,and holding on to the slender young tree. "You perceive that I wasbrought up in the country."So saying, he tied the sapling down to a root with a handkerchief,and then proceeded to fill another with moss.As George saw Elsie's face while she watched Stanhope gather thecoveted trifle, he chuckled to himself--"The ice is broken between them now."But Stanhope had insecurely fastened the sapling down. The strainupon the knot was too severe, and suddenly the young tree flew upand stood erect but quivering, with his handkerchief fluttering inits top as a symbol of defeat. There was an exclamation of dismayand Elsie again asked with real anxiety in her tone:"How will you get back now?"Stanhope shrugged his shoulders."I confess I am defeated, for there is no like sapling on thisside; but I have the moss, and can join you at the bridge below,if nothing better offers.""George," said Elsie, indignantly, "don't go away and leave Mr.Stanhope's handkerchief in that tree.""Bless you, child," cried George, mischievously, and leading theway down the path, "I can't climb anymore than a pumpkin. You willhave to go back with him after it, or let it wave as a memento ofhis gallantry on your behalf.""If I can only manage to throw them together without anyembarrassing third parties present, the ridiculous restraint theyare under will soon vanish," he thought; and so he hastened hissteps. The rest trooped after him, while Stanhope made his waywith difficulty on the opposite bank, where there was no path. Hisprogress therefore was slow; and Elsie saw that if she did notlinger he would be left behind. Common politeness forbade this,and so she soon found herself alone, carrying his overcoat on onebank, and he keeping pace with her on the other. She comfortedherself at first with the thought that with the brawling,deafening stream between them, there would be no chance forembarrassing conversation. But soon her sympathies became aroused,as she saw him toilsomely making his way over the rocks andthrough the tangled thickets: and as she could not speak to him,she smiled her encouragement so often that she felt it would beimpossible to go back to her old reserve.Stanhope now came to a little opening in the brush. The clearedground sloped evenly down to the stream, and its curent wasdivided by a large rock. He hailed the opportunity here offeredwith delight, for he was very anxious to speak to her before theyshould join the others. So he startled Elsie by walking out intothe clearing, away from the stream."Well, I declare; that's cool, to go and leave me alone without aword," she thought.But she was almost terror-stricken to see him turn and dart to thetorrent like an arrow. With a long flying leap, he landed on therock in the midst of the stream, and then, without a second'shesitation, with the impetus already acquired, sprang for thesolid ground where she stood, struck it, wavered, and would havefallen backward into the water had not she, quick as thought,stepped forward and given him her hand."You have saved me from a ducking, if not worse," he said, givingthe little rescuing hand a warm pressure."Oh!" exclaimed she, panting, "please don't do any more dreadfulthings. I shall be careful how I make any wishes in your hearingagain.""I am sorry to hear you say that," he replied. And then there wasan awkward silence.Elsie could think of nothing better than to refer to thehandkerchief they had left behind."Will you wait for me till I run and get it?" he asked."I will go back with you, if you will permit me," she saidtimidly."Indeed, I could not ask so much of you as that.""And yet you could about the same as risk your neck to gratify awhim of mine," she said more gratefully than she intended."Please do not think," he replied earnestly, "that I have beenpracticing cheap heroics. As I said, I was a country boy, and inmy early home thought nothing of doing such things." But even thebrief reference to that vanished home caused him to sigh deeply,and Elsie gave him a wistful look of sympathy.For a few moments they walked on in silence. Then Mr. Stanhopeturned, and with some hesitation said:"Miss Alford, I did very wrong to stay after--after last evening.But my better judgment was borne down by invitations so cordialthat I hardly knew how to resist them. At the same time I nowrealize that I should have done so. Indeed, I would go away atonce, would not such a course only make matters worse. And yet,after receiving so much kindness from your family, more than hasblessed me for many long years--for since my dear mother died Ihave been quite alone in the world--I feel I cannot go awaywithout some assurance or proof that you will forgive me for beingsuch a kill-joy in your holiday."Elsie's vexation with herself now knew no bounds. She stopped inthe path, determining that she would clear up matters, cost whatit might."Mr. Stanhope," she said, "will you grant a request that willcontain such assurance, or rather, will show you that I amheartily ashamed of my foolish course? Will you not spend nextThanksgiving with us, and give me a chance to retrieve myself fromfirst to last?"His face brightened wonderfully as he replied, "I will only be tooglad to do so, if you truly wish it.""I do wish it," she said earnestly. "What must you think of me?"(His eyes then expressed much admiration; but hers were fixed onthe ground and half filled with tears of vexation.) Then, with apretty humility that was exquisite in its simplicity andartlessness, she added:"You have noticed at home that they call me 'child'--and indeed, Iam little more than one--and now see that I have behaved like avery silly and naughty one toward you. I have trampled on everyprinciple of hospitality, kindness, and good-breeding. I have nopatience with myself, and I wish another chance to show that I cando better. I--""Oh, Miss Alford, please do not judge yourself so harshly andunjustly," interrupted Stanhope."Oh, dear!" sighed Elsie, "I'm so sorry for what happened lastnight. We all might have had such a good time.""Well, then," said Stanhope, demurely, "I suppose I ought to bealso.""And do you mean to say that you are not?" she asked, turningsuddenly upon him."Oh, well, certainly, for your sake," he said with rising color."But not for your own?" she asked with almost the naivete of achild.He turned away with a perplexed laugh and replied: "Really, MissAlford, you are worse than the Catechism."She looked at him with a half-amused, half-surprised expression,the thought occurring to her for the first time that it might nothave been so disagreeable to him after all; and somehow thisthought was quite a relief to her. But she said: "I thought youwould regard me as a hoyden of the worst species.""Because you kissed your brother? I have never for a momentforgotten that it was only your misfortune that I was not he.""I should have remembered that it was not your fault. But here isyour handkerchief, flying like a flag of truce; so let bygones bebygones. My terms are that you come again another year, and giveme a chance to entertain my brother's friend as a sister ought.""I am only too glad to submit to them," he eagerly replied, andthen added, so ardently as to deepen the roses already in hercheeks, "If such are your punishments, Miss Alford, how deliciousmust be your favors!"By common consent the subject was dropped; and with tonguesreleased from awkward restraint, they chatted freely together,till in the early twilight they reached her home. The moment theyentered George exultingly saw that the skies were serene.But Elsie would never be the frolicsome child of the past again.As she surprised the family at dinner, so now at supper they couldscarcely believe that the elegant, graceful young lady was thewitch of yesterday. She had resolved with all her soul to try towin some place in Mr. Stanhope's respect before he departed, andnever did a little maiden succeed better.In the evening they had music; and Mr. Stanhope pleased them allwith his fine tenor, while Elsie delighted him by her clear,birdlike voice. So the hours fled away."You think better of the 'horrid man,' little Sis," said George,as he kissed her good-night."I was the horrid one," said Elsie, penitently. "I can neverforgive myself my absurd conduct. But he has promised to comeagain next Thanksgiving, and give me a chance to do better; sodon't you fail to bring him."George gave a long, low whistle, and then said: "Oh! ah! Seems tome you are coming on, for an innocent. Are we to get mixed upagain in the twilight?""Nonsense!" said Elsie, with a peony face, and she slammed herdoor upon him.The next morning the young man took his leave, and Elsie's lastwords were:"Mr. Stanhope, remember your promise."And he did remember more than that, for this brief visit hadenshrined a sweet, girlish face within his heart of hearts, and heno longer felt lonely and orphaned. He and George became theclosest friends, and messages from the New England home came tohim with increasing frequency, which he returned with prodigalinterest. It also transpired that he occasionally wrote for thepapers, and Elsie insisted that these should be sent to her; whilehe of course wrote much better with the certainty that she wouldbe his critic. Thus, though separated, they daily became betteracquainted, and during the year George found it not very difficultto induce his friend to make several visits.But it was with joy that seemed almost too rich for earthlyexperience that he found himself walking up the village streetwith George the ensuing Thanksgiving Eve. Elsie was at the door;and he pretended to be disconsolate that his reception was not thesame as on the previous year. Indeed she had to endure not alittle chaffing, for her mistake was a family joke now.It was a peerless Thanksgiving eve and day--one of the sun-lightedheights of human happiness.After dinner they all again took a walk up the brawling stream,and Stanhope and Elsie became separated from the rest, though notso innocently as on the former occasion."See!" cried Elsie, pointing to the well-remembered sapling, whichshe had often visited. "There fluttered our flag of truce lastyear."Stanhope seized her hand and said eagerly: "And here I again breakthe truce, and renew the theme we dropped at this place. Oh,Elsie, I have felt that kiss in the depths of my heart every hoursince; and in that it led to my knowing and loving you, it hasmade every day from that time one of thanksgiving. If you couldreturn my love, as I have dared to hope, it would be a happinessbeyond words. If I could venture to take one more kiss, as a tokenthat it is returned, I could keep Thanksgiving forever."Her hand trembled in his, but was not withdrawn. Her blushing facewas turned away toward the brawling stream; but she saw not itsfoam, she heard not its hoarse murmurs. A sweeter music was in herears. She seemed under a delicious spell, but soon becameconscious that a pair of dark eyes were looking down eagerly,anxiously for her answer. Shyly raising hers, that now were likedewy violets, she said, with a little of her old witchery:"I suppose you will have to kiss me this Thanksgiving, to makethings even."Stanhope needed no broader hint."I owe you a heavy grudge," said Mr. Alford, in the evening. "Ayear ago you robbed me of my child, for little, kittenish Elsiebecame a thoughtful woman from the day you were here; and now youare going to take away the daughter of my old age.""Yes, indeed, husband. Now you know how my father felt," said Mrs.Alford, at the same time wiping something from the corner of hereye."Bless me, are you here?" said the old gentleman, wheeling roundto his wife. "Mr. Stanhope, I have nothing more to say.""I declare," exulted George, "that 'horrid man' will devour Elsieyet.""Haw! haw! haw!" laughed big-voiced, big-hearted James. "The ideaof our little witch of an Elsie being a minister's wife!"* * * * * * *It is again Thanksgiving Eve. The trees are gaunt, the fields bareand brown, with dead leaves whirling across them; but a sweeterthan June sunshine seems filling the cosey parlor where Elsie, aradiant bride, is receiving her husband's first kiss almost on themoment that she with her lips so unexpectedly kindled the sacredfire, three years before.
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