Rosamond, or, the Youthful Error: A Tale of Riverside; And Other Stories

by Mary Jane Holmes

"So, Maggie," said she to her niece, a dark-haired, white-browed girl of fifteen, who, at noon, came bounding in from school, "so Maggie, you must watch the store, for there's no knowing how long I shall be gone. Miss Thornton may ask me home with her, and it would not be polite to refuse."

For an instant Maggie's dark brown eyes danced with mischief as she thought how improbable it was that the lofty Mrs. Thornton would seek to renew her acquaintance with one in Miss Macey's humble position, but the next moment they filled with tears, and she said, "Oh, aunt, must I stay from school again? It is the third time within a week. I never shall know anything!"

"Never mind, Mag," shouted little Ben, tossing his cap across the room and helping himself to the largest piece of pie upon the dinner-table. "Never mind. I'll stay with you, for I don't like to go to school any way. And we'll get our lessons at home."

Maggie knew how useless it would be to argue the point, so with a dejected air she seated herself at the open window and silently watched her aunt until she disappeared in the distance—then taking up her book, she tired to study, but could not, for the heavy pain at her heart which kept whispering of injustice done to her, unconsciously, perhaps, by the only mother she had ever known. Very dear to Miss Macey were the orphan children of her only sister, and faithfully did she strive to fulfill her trust, but she could not conceal her partiality for fun-loving, curly-haired Ben, nor the fact that the sensitive and ambitious Maggie, who thirsted for knowledge, was wholly unappreciated and misunderstood. Learning—learning was what Maggie craved, and she sat there alone that bright June afternoon, holding upon her lap the head of her sleeping brother, and watching the summer shadows as they chased each other over the velvety grass in the meadow beyond, she wondered if it would ever be thus with her—would there never come a time when she could pursue her studies undisturbed, and then, as the thought that this day made her fifteen years of age, her mind went forward to the future, and she said aloud—"Yes—three years from to-day and I shall be free—free as the air I breathe!"

But why that start, sweet Maggie Lee? Why that involuntary shudder as you think of the long three years from now? She cannot tell, but the shadows deepen on her fair, girlish face, and leaning her brow upon her hand, she thinks long and earnestly of what the three years may bring. A footstep on the floor—the first which has fallen there that afternoon—and Maggie looks up to see before her a tall, fine-looking man, who, the moment his eye fell upon her, checked the whistle, intended for his dog, which was trembling on his lip, and lifting his hat deferentially, he asked if "this were Miss Macey's store?"

"Yes, sir," answered Maggie, and laying Bennie gently down, she went round behind the counter, while the young man, gazing curiously at her, continued, "You surely are not Miss Macey?"

There was a most comical expression in the brown eyes which met the black ones of the stranger, as Maggie answered, "No sir, I am nobody but Maggie Lee."

There must have been something attractive either in the name or the little maiden who bore it, for long after the gentleman had received the articles for which he came, he lingered, asking the young girl numberless questions and playing with little Ben, who now wide awake, met his advances more than half way, and was on perfectly familiar terms both with the stranger and the dog Ponto, who had stretched his shaggy length before the door.

"Mag cries, she does, when Aunt Livy makes her stay home from school," said Ben, at last, beginning to feel neglected and wishing to attract attention.

Showing his white, handsome teeth, the gentleman playfully smoothed the silken curls of little Ben, and turning to the blushing Maggie, asked "if she were fond of books?"