It was late when I arrived at the little village near which my friend resided, and I resolved to spend the night at the modest inn of the place. The gay singing of birds, mingled with the ringing of Sunday bells, caused my drowsy eyes to open on the morrow. A happy thought came to me as I lay enjoying the delightful freshness of all around me: "I will go to church: my little Innocence will be there. I know she is pious. As unconscious as the birds, and with as sweet a voice, she will, like them, be praising her Maker this bright morning."
I began to dress, looking each moment from the window with the hope that she might pass by. The street was quiet—no one to be seen. Presently, from a house near, tripped two pretty girls, and I eagerly came forward to see them. "If it is not my rose herself," I thought, "it maybe some relation—cousin, sister, friend: I am interested in the whole town since she lives here." The girls came nearer. They walked without affectation: you could imagine that the spirit of Modesty herself had taught them that quiet demeanor. Suddenly they looked up and saw me. Am I Mephistopheles, to produce such a dire effect? They looked down, they simpered, they laughed a laugh that was not natural: their voices grew louder.
"Did you see him?" said one.
"So perfectly lovely!" said the other.
"I wonder who he is?" remarked the first.
"My fate," I muttered as I turned away.
After breakfast I sallied forth, humming "Pure as the Snow." Taking a reconnoissance of the town, I came to a pretty house with woodbine-covered porch, and a slender figure at the window.
"I will not startle her with a rude glance," thought I, for I could see without appearing to look. As my step resounded the figure turned.
"Oh, do come here, Jessie! Who can he be?" said the slender figure to some one inside.
I raised my eyes slowly, and my hat. "Could you tell me the way to Mr. Hearty's?" I asked, not thinking of any other excuse for speaking to her.