They had just returned to Washington; replaced their youngest daughters and their ward at school, and settled themselves, with their eldest daughter, in their town house, which had been renovated during their absence.
It was a season of repose coming between the summer travel and the winter’s dissipations. They were receiving no calls, making no visits, but just resting.
One morning the father, mother and daughter were seated in the back piazza which faced the west, and was therefore, on this warm morning in September, cool and shady. The piazza looked down upon a little back yard, such as city lots can afford. But every inch of the ground had been utilized, for a walk covered with an arbor of latticework and grapevines led down to a back gate and to the stables in the rear. On the right hand of this walk was a green plot, with a pear tree and a plum tree growing in the midst, and a border of gorgeous autumn flowers blooming all around. On the other side of the walk was another plot with a peach tree and an apple tree growing in the midst, and a border of roses all around. And the grapevine and the fruit trees were all in full fruition now, and supplied the dessert every day.
Mr., Mrs. and Miss Force were all seated in the pleasant Quaker rocking-chairs with which this back piazza was furnished.
Mr. Force had the morning paper in his hands and he was reading aloud to the two ladies, who were both engaged in crochet work, when the back door opened and a manservant came out and handed an enveloped newspaper to his master, saying:
“The postmaster has just left it, sir.”
“And nothing else?” inquired the gentleman.
“Nothing else, sir—only that.”
“Only a newspaper,” said Mr. Force, laying it down carelessly, without examination, as he resumed the Union and the article he had been engaged in reading.
No one felt the slightest interest in the paper that lay neglected on the little stand beside Mr. Force’s chair. Many newspapers came by mail, and but few of them were opened. Mr. Force went on with his reading, and Mrs. and Miss Force with their embroidery. And the neglected newspaper, with its tremendous news, lay there unnoticed and forgotten with the prospect of being thrown, unopened, into the dust barrel; which must certainly have been its fate, had not Odalite chanced to cast her eye upon it and to observe something unfamiliar in its style and character. In idle curiosity she took it up, looked at it, and gave a cry.