Mr. Draper had thought it quite impossible to give a part of the next morning to his family, but he always found time for business. Accordingly, when the morning arrived, they rode over to Clyde Farm.
“I remember that farm perfectly well,” said Mr. Draper; “it was my favorite resort when I was a boy.”
“I remember those times too,” replied Howard, “when I used to lie stretched at full length by the side of the waterfall, getting my amo, amas, and only now and then roused by the distant sound of your gun, which put all the little birds to flight.”
“Has it still that fine run of water?” asked Mr. Draper.
“Precisely the same,” replied Howard; “this very stream that flows through my pasture, and sparkles in the morning sun, comes from old Clyde. Look this way, and see what a leap it takes over those rocks.”
Clyde Farm was just such a spot as a romantic, visionary mind might choose for its vagaries,—such a spot as an elevated, contemplative one might select for its aspirations after higher hopes, which seldom come in the tumult of life. Mr. Draper felt at once that the place was congenial to the taste and habits of his wife; it awoke in his own mind the recollection of his boyish days, and from these he naturally reverted to the days of courtship, when he talked of scenery and prospect as eloquently as Frances. With a light step he followed his brother along the stream that came leaping and bounding from the hills, till they arrived at the still little lake whence it took its course. The mists of the morning had dispersed, and the blue sky and white clouds were reflected from its glassy surface, while on its borders the deep, dark foliage of the woods lay inverted. Both of the brothers stood silent when they reached the edge of the water; both were impressed with the beauty of the scene.
“How delighted Frances would be with this spot!” said Howard. “It is like the calm, tranquil mirror of her own mind, which seems formed to reflect only the upper world, with its glorious firmament. I think we have before us two excellent prototypes of our wives:—while the clear, peaceful lake represents yours, this happy, joyous, busy little stream may be likened to my Charlotte, who goes on her way rejoicing, and diffusing life and animation wherever she bends her course.”
“I wish Frances had a little more of her gayety,” said Mr. Draper.
“Depend upon it,” said Howard, “they will operate favorably on each other. I perceive already a mingling of character. I will venture to predict, Charlotte will have a boat with its gay streamers winding the shore before long, and persuade her sister to become the ‘Lady of the Lake.’”
The matter was soon decided; the sisters visited the place, and were enchanted with it; and Howard was authorized by his brother to make the purchase.