“Look, grandmother!—a picture of our old home. Isn’t it natural?” exclaimed Lena, as she ran back to the parlor.
Yes, it was natural, and the old lady’s tears gushed forth the moment she looked upon it. There was the well, the garden, the gate partially open, the barn in the rear, now half fallen down, the curtain of the west window rolled up as it was wont to be, while on the doorstep, basking in the warm sunshine, lay a cat, which Mrs. Nichols’ declared was hers.
“John ought to see this,” said she, wiping the tears from her eyes, and turning towards the door, which at that moment opened, admitting her son, together with Mr. Graham, who had accidentally called. “Look here, John,” said she, calling him to her side—“Do you remember this?”
The deep flush which mounted to John’s brow, showed that he did, and his mother, passing it toward Mr. Graham, continued: “It is our old home in Massachusetts. There’s the room where John and Helleny both were born, and where Helleny and her father died. Oh, it seems but yesterday since she died, and they carried her out of this door, and down the road, there—do you see?”
This question, was addressed to Mr. Graham, who, whether he saw or not, made no answer, but walked to the window and looked out, upon the prospect beyond, which for him had no attractions then. The sight of that daguerreotype had stirred up many bitter memories, and for some time he stood gazing vacantly through the window, and thinking—who shall say of what? It would seem that the daguerreotype possessed a strong fascination for him, for after it had been duly examined and laid down, he took it in his hand, inspecting it minutely, asking where it was taken, and if it would be possible to procure a similar one.
“I have a fancy for such scenes,” said he, “and would like to have just such a picture. Mr. Slocum is stopping in Lexington, you say. He can take one from this, I suppose. I mean to see him;” and with his usual good-morning, he departed.
Two weeks from this time Durward again went down to Frankfort, determining, if a favorable opportunity presented itself, to offer ’Lena his heart and fortune.
He found her alone, Mabel having gone out to spend the day. For a time they conversed together on indifferent topics, each one of which was entirely foreign from that which lay nearest Durward’s heart. At last the conversation turned upon Joel Slocum, of whose visit Durward had heard.
“I really think, ’Lena,” said he, laughingly, “that you ought to patronize the poor fellow, who has come all this distance for the sake of seeing you. Suppose you have your daguerreotype taken for me, will you?”
Durward was in earnest, but with a playful shake of her brown curls, ’Lena answered lightly, “Oh, no, no. I have never had my picture taken in my life, and I shan’t begin with Joel.”