"F. F."
XXXIII.
THE ORPHAN.—BY FANNY FERN.
It was a rough, dark, unsightly-looking, old farm-house. The doors were off the hinges, panes of glass were broken in the windows, the grass had overgrown the little gravel-path, and the pigs and poultry went in and out the door as if they were human. Farmer Brady sat sunning his bloated face on the door-step, stupid from the effects of the last debauch; his ungainly, idle boys were quarrelling which should smoke his pipe, and two great romps of girls, with uncombed locks and tattered clothes, were swinging on the gate in front of the house.
"Everything within doors was in keeping with the disorder that reigned without, save a young, fair girl, who sat at the low window, busily sewing on a coarse garment. Her features were regular and delicate, her hands and feet small and beautifully formed, and despite her rustic attire, one could see with a glance that she was a star that had wandered from its sphere.
"'I say, Lilla,' said one of the hoydens, bounding into the kitchen and pulling the comb out of Lilla's head, as she bent over her work, shedding the long, brown hair around her slight figure till her white shoulders and arms were completely veiled; 'I say, make haste about that gown. Ma said you should finish it by noon, and you don't sew half fast enough.'
"Lilla's cheeks flushed, and the small hands wandered through the mass of hair in the vain attempt to confine it again, as she said, meekly, 'Won't you come help me, Betsey? my head aches sadly, to-day.'
"'No, I won't. You think because you are a lady, that you can live here on us and do nothing for a living; but you won't, and you are no better than Peggy and I, with your soft voice, and long hair and doll face.' So saying, the romp went back again to her primitive gymnasium, the gate.
"Lilla's tears flowed fast, as her little fingers flew more nimbly, and by afternoon her task was completed, and she obtained permission from her jailers to take a walk. It was a joy to Lilla to be alone with nature. It was a relief to free herself from vulgar sights and sounds, to exchange coarse taunts, and rude jests, and harsh words, for the song of birds, the ripple of the brook, and the soft murmur of the wind as it sighed through the tall tree-tops.
"Poor Lilla! with a soul so tuned to harmony, to be condemned to perpetual discord! Through the long, bright, summer days, to drudge at her ceaseless toil, at the bidding of those harsh voices; at night, to creep into her little bed, but to recall tearfully a dim vision of childhood. A gentle, wasted form; a fair, sweet face, growing paler, day by day; large, lustrous, loving eyes, that still followed her by day and night; then, a confused recollection of a burial—afterwards a dispute as to her future home, ending in a long, dismal journey. Since then, scanty meals, the harsh blow, coarse clothing, taunting words and bitter servitude; and then she would sob herself to sleep as she asked, 'Must it always be thus? is there none to care for me?'
"The golden days of summer faded away; the leaves put on their dying glory, the soft wind of the Indian summer lifted gently the brown tresses from Lilla's sweet face. She still took her accustomed walks, but it was not alone. A stranger had taken up his residence at the village inn. He had met Lilla in her rambles, and his ready ingenuity soon devised a self-introduction. He satisfied himself that she claimed no affinity to the disorderly inmates of the farm-house; he drew from her her little history, and knew that she was an orphan, unprotected in her own sweet innocence, save by Him who guards us all.