"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky
Proclaim a hunting morning."
The second was one of those serene, sweet faces, possessing an attraction more subtle than beauty; eyes always full of silent sympathy, a little wistful sometimes, but never sad, and an expression of peace and patience that told of battles fought and victories won. A happy, helpful soul shone from that face and made it lovely, though its first bloom was past and a solitary future lay before it.
The third was rich in the charms that youth and health lend any countenance. But, in spite of the bloom on the rounded cheeks, the freshness of the lips, and the soft beauty of the eyes, the face that looked out from the bonny brown hair, blowing in the wind, was not a happy one. Discontent, unrest, and a secret hunger seemed to sadden and sharpen all its outlines, making it pathetic to those who could read the language of an unsatisfied heart.
Poor little Rose was waiting, as all women must wait, for the good gift that brightens life; and, while she waited, patience and passion were having a hard fight in the proud silence of her heart.
"It will be a capital day, girls," called Uncle Ben, in his cheery voice.
"I thought it would be," answered Milly, nodding back, with a smile.
"I know it will pour before night," added Rose, who saw every thing just then through blue spectacles.
"Breakfast is ready for us. Come on, girls, or you'll miss your morning red," called Uncle Ben, retiring, with a laugh.
"I lost mine six months ago," sighed Rose, as she listlessly gathered up the brown curls, that were once her pride.
"Hark! hark! the lark at Heaven's gate sings," sounded from Milly's room, in her blithe voice.