“He is talking to Louisa. She has something she wants to show you, I know, Aunt Miranda.” And Mrs. Brown went with Alison to join her husband, who was looking curiously down into the little puckered face of Louisa’s first-born.
He turned to his wife. “Here is Louisa,” he said. “What do you think she has called this babe?”
“She’s named Miranda Christine, after you and Miss Tina,” said Louisa with pride, “and the preacher is going to christen her after a while.”
Aunt Miranda held out her arms. “It is the first baby ever named after me,” she said in a gratified voice. And Louisa felt that her infant was a person of importance to others beside herself.
Mrs. Van Dorn begged to entertain these lately arrived guests and to have the first week from them, and here began a series of visits which ended only after Alison’s marriage, for Neal was diplomatic enough to get upon the good side of Aunt Miranda, so, at her earnest request, the wedding took place before the good couple returned to their own home. Aunt Miranda so far loosened her purse strings as to offer to furnish the new house for her younger niece, and sent to New Orleans for such things as were required, taking a great interest in them. The house was a good substantial one with two rooms each side a wide gallery, which opened on another running along the back of the house. It overlooked the broad prairie on one side, but was sheltered from the north winds by the woods on the other.
True to her promise, Christine wore the gorgeous piece of embroidery, set in a gown, at her sister’s wedding, which took place in her brother’s house. It was a simpler affair than the other, but no one who saw the bride doubted that she was as happy a one as her sister.
It was on a lovely autumn day that Alison Jordan went forth to her new home. Out of her dreams had passed visions of knights and ladies, of moated castles and milk-white palfreys. She was entering a different world, the centre of which was that home to which she was going. There was to be a house-warming that evening, but she and Neal had started out alone to spend their first free hours under their own roof, and to make ready for those who should come later; first the helpers, Christine, Laura and Louisa, and then the company. This would be a somewhat mixed one, it is true, but all would bear good-will, rough though many might appear, inelegant of speech and astonishingly arrayed. Texan rangers and rancheros, loud of voice and ready for any sort of horse play; matrons and maids with the inevitable snuff stick; but not one among them who would not go to any lengths to do a neighborly service. Annamela Stuckett, bedizened beyond all conscience, Eliza Jane Binney, with hair curled on a hot poker, Hannah Maria in the gayest of calicoes and with her flashy breastpin fastening a collar much awry and none too clean, all these would be there, but Bud would be absent, as he had been from the wedding. Alison wondered a little when Hannah Maria told her that Bud had gone to a distant rancho on business, for when before had Bud missed an opportunity for a frolic? But she was too happy to waste many moments in regretting her friend’s absence. In contrast to these neighbors would be Mrs. Van Dorn in her quiet black silk, Aunt Maria similarly attired, and dignified Uncle Brown. Alison named them all over as she stood upon the step before her own door and waited for Neal to return from turning out the horses. One and all would have nothing in their hearts but love for her, and above all was the love of him whose home she had promised herself to make a happy one. Not her home alone, but his also, his harbor and refuge from the storms of the outside world. It was for her to keep the light of this home burning very brightly that his steps might be guided aright. It was not only her own happiness that she must look for, but his. His sorrows must be her sorrows, his cares hers. It must be share and share alike if she would fulfil the promise made to herself and to him. She watched him coming towards her, a smile of complete content upon his face. “We will go in together,” she said as she gave him her hand.
The American Girl Series
An admirable list of books by some of the best writers for girls,—educational and interesting. Fully illustrated. The paper, press work and cloth binding is of the best. Handsome colored jackets.
10 vols. 50 cents each net, 60 cents delivered