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Cummins, Maria Susanna, 1827-1866 [1857], Mabel Vaughan. By the author of The lamplighter. (John P. Jewett and Company, Boston) [word count] [eaf533].
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Ay, years had passed,
Severing our paths, brave friend, and thus we meet at last.
Mrs. Hemans.

[figure description] Page 406.[end figure description]

One bright morning in September, a few months after the
events related in the last chapter, a modest equipage might be
seen stationed at Mr. Vaughan's door, awaiting a youthful party
who were about to start on a short pleasure excursion. The
first shock of bereavement being past, the orphaned Helen had
not refused to admit Harry's claim to constitute himself henceforth
her protector by the holiest ties; and about a week previously
she had exchanged the sympathy and hospitality of
Mr. Vaughan's roof for a permanent and honored place in the
home and heart of Harry. The neat dwelling-house which the
prosperous young farmer had recently built, and furnished with
tasteful simplicity for the reception of his bride, had never yet
been seen by any of his own family, and it was, therefore, with
no ordinary interest and excitement, that Mabel, Alick, and
Murray had projected a visit to the newly wedded pair.

The weather being lovely, but the road in some places heavy
and rough, a light, open wagon had been procured, as the most
desirable vehicle for a thirty miles drive, and old Sorrel, a
strongly-built animal belonging to Mr. Vaughan, was expected
to perform the labor of the journey. Murray, a handsome,
animated boy of thirteen, stood outside the door, cracking his
long whip-lash and his dry jokes, while Alick, two years older,
and nearly grown to man's stature, was patiently stowing away
numerous packages under the seats and on the floor of the

“Aunt Mabel, are you thinking of establishing an express
line?” cried Murray, “you seem to be testing the capacity of
this wagon to the utmost.”

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Mabel laughed. “Those are articles of Helen's property,
left in my care,” said she; “handle that gently, Alick, it is her
mother's picture. Oh, there is the luncheon basket!—we
must not forget that!”

“No, nor old Sorrel's dinner,” cried Murray, snatching up a
little bag of oats which lay on the ground.

“Here is the box of papers and books,” exclaimed Sabiah,
anxiously, as she stood looking on from the doorway; “you
are leaving no room for that, and it is the most important of

“That is true,” responded Mabel; “Helen would be disappointed
enough, if her father's letters and sermons were left
behind. What shall we do with that box, Alick?”

Poor Alick glanced at it with a blank expression of countenance;
but he was not one easily to be discouraged, and lifting
it to the back of the wagon, he tried it one way, then turned
it round and tried it the other way, but the vacant space would
not accommodate it.

“It's no use, Al!” exclaimed Murray; “you'll have to
take out the back seat; it is the only way.”

Alick hesitated.

“Never mind,” cried Murray, who, when Alick's patient
expedients failed, was always good-naturedly ready to accommodate
even at a personal sacrifice; “out with the old bench!
now, you and Aunt Mabel sit in front and I'll ride on the
box—the favorite seat always for sporting characters.” And,
suiting the action to the word he vigorously exerted himself in
the proposed arrangement, threw a buffalo robe over the rough
packing-case, and sprung upon it, with his back to the horse
and his feet dangling behind. “It's pretty much like an English
dog-cart, after all, is n't it, grandfather?” continued he, as
the spare from of old Mr. Vaughan appeared on the door-step,
“only a thousand times more jolly!”

The old gentleman, whose face had worn a most mournful
gravity, at what appeared to him the degrading dilemma to
which the party were reduced, could not resist a faint smile, as
he seldom could when challenged to it by this merry-andrew

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of the family; and, descending one step more, he handed Mabel
to her seat.

Alick gathered up the reins. “Now give him the road, Al!”
cried Murray, flinging back his head and speaking over his
shoulder. “I saw that the old fellow had four quarts extra
last night, and this morning, too—hurrah!” and, as they left
the village behind them, and passed through the adjacent farms,
he waved his hand to the sturdy husbandmen, whom they met
by the way-side, with a mingled joyousness and civility, which
drew smiles from many an honest face.

For some miles their road led directly along the bank of the
river, which was glowing brightly in the morning sunshine;
then, branching to the left, it stretched across the rolling prairie
and through the rich grain-fields, now ripening for the harvest;
and anon, a heavy oak thicket refreshed them with its shade.
Towards noon, they again halted by the river bank, when the
boys released the horse from the wagon, removed his bridle,
and placed before him his provender. Mabel, meanwhile, converted
the packing-case to a new use, by spreading a napkin
over it, and making it answer the purpose of a table, from
which she and her nephews enjoyed an excellent luncheon.

Then, after refreshing themselves and old Sorrel with a
draught of cool water from the river, they proceeded on their
way. It still wanted some hours of sun-set, when they came
within sight of Harry's new residence, which Alick and
Murray recognized even more readily than Mabel, as occasional
visits to their uncle, in times past, had made them
familiar with the situation and out-buildings, while she had
been there once only, and that some three years before.

We pass over the cordial greeting which they received on
their arrival, the delight they expressed at the evidences
of comfort and taste which met them on every hand, and the
cheerful evening which they passed around the fireside, when,
as the night proved chilly, a bright blaze was kindled, and the
young couple had, literally, their first house-warming. It would
be equally in vain to attempt to follow them through the succeeding
day, when the boys accompanied Harry for miles about

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his farm, took an inventory of his promised crops, examined
his fat cattle, and drove a pair of newly-broken colts, while
Mabel, beside bestowing her time and praise upon all these
objects, had a thousand and one subjects of in-door interest to
which Helen was eager to call her attention.

“You ought to stay with us a week, a mouth, a year, Mabel,
before we should be satisfied,” exclaimed Harry, on the second
evening of their visit, as he drew her to a seat beside him.
“But, since you must go home to-morrow, there is one thing
which reconciles me to it: my friend Percival is to speak in
your town hall to-morrow night, on some of the great political
subjects that are being agitated at present, and I ventured to
extend the family hospitalities to him. I felt sure you would
be glad to give him a welcome.”

“Glad! we shall be delighted,” exclaimed Mabel; “I shall,
and so will father, I have no doubt. Boys, do you hear that?
Mr. Percival is to give us a political address to-morrow night.
I say `us,' Harry,” added she, with an arch smile. “I hope
ladies are not excluded.”

“No, indeed; you must go by all means, May. I would not
have you lose such an opportunity on any account. He is the
most eloquent man I ever heard speak, and he is bringing his
whole power into the field, for his heart is in the work he has
undertaken. If father should not feel able to attend the lecture,
the civilities of the house will devolve on you, Alick.
Judging from your face, you will not think the occasion an
unworthy one for their exercise.”

Alick's countenance was indeed full of enthusiasm at the
prospect of seeing and hearing this gifted stranger, and Murray's
scarcely less so; for while the elder lad aspired eagerly
to an intercourse with a man famed for high moral and intellectual
attainments, the mind of the younger was equally well
stored with facts illustrative of his taste for manly exercises,
and his skill in all those physical exploits which captivate the
mind of an adventurous boy.

“It was a mere accident which prevented you from seeing
Percival, Mabel, when you were here three years ago,” said

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Harry, “and both seasons since, he would gladly have accompanied
me on a visit to my father's, but I could not leave home
at the time agreed upon. Now, however, he is sure to be
there, for he never fails to keep an appointment; and, lest
the duties of hostess should devolve after all upon poor Aunt
Sabiah, Helen and I will speed the parting guests with an
early breakfast to-morrow; eh. Helen?”

Helen consented to this disinterested act of hospitality on
condition of a long visit from Mabel a few weeks later, and a
partial promise to that effect having been obtained, the hour
for departure was fixed upon, and shortly after sunrise the
travellers were on their homeward road.

Old Sorrel, however, did not, like the rest of the party, appreciate
the importance of the occasion, and had no sympathy
with their desire to make a quick passage. The creature did
not even seem, like most animals of his class, to comprehend
the fact that his face was turned towards home; for Sorrel's
earlier and happier days had been passed among a drove of
wild horses which enjoyed all the freedom of the open prairie;
and, although now for many years reduced to servitude, he had
imbibed few of the instincts of civilized life, and his temper
was surly and pertinacious in the extreme. He had rewarded
Murray's care by travelling with unusual promptness, on the
upward trip, but no coaxing could induce him to repeat the
experiment, and at mid-day the travellers had not yet reached
their previous halting place, which marked somewhat less than
half the journey. It was, therefore, towards the middle of the
afternoon when they at length found themselves at a point
where the road, leaving the river bank, took a direct line across
a prairic some six miles in extent. For the last half hour,
their winding course had led them through a belt of rich woodland,
under whose refreshing shade, they had paused to rest
their horse, and Mabel, meantime, removing her bonnet for
the freer enjoyment of the breeze, while Murray crept down
the river bank and made a collection of brilliant wild flowers,
which, as they continued their drive, he busied himself, on
his box behind, in wreathing into a tasteful garland. “Come,

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old Sorrel,” cried he, standing upright on the now empty box,
and, as he spoke, placing the wreath, with an air of playful
homage, on the uncovered head of Mabel, “here's a glorious
race-course for you. Try now and do some credit to your
mistress, while I crown her queen of the prairie.”

He had scarcely uttered these words, accompanied as they
were by a quick snapping of the whip on Alick's part, when a
sudden jerk and wrenching of the vehicle threw him from his
elevated position, prostrate to the ground, and a scene ensued
which wholly altered the face of affairs, leaving old Sorrel
master of the race-course indeed, and Mabel an enthroned, but
utterly helpless queen.

The road, where it left the thicket, diverged into two travelled
routes across the prairie, which, though pursuing the
same general direction, were wholly distinct from one another,
and Alick had purposly avoided that which they had chosen on
their previous trip, on account of a wide gully that intersected
it, and which recent rains had transformed into a slough of
deep, black mud. This same gully stretched across the opposite
road, but a bridge of logs had been thrown over it for
the convenience of travellers. Unfortunately, however, the rain
which had made the one almost impracticable, had rendered
the other positively dangerous, by displacing one of the logs,
and leaving a most insidious flaw in the rough and hastily-constructed
bridge. With a stumble and a plunge, old Sorrel
had escaped falling into this trap for the unwary, but the impetus
given to the animal's speed both by Alick's stroke of the
whip, and the disaster which immediately followed, proved
fatal to the safety of the vehicle.

In a single moment of time, before the travellers had discovered
their danger, the front wheels of the wagon were precipitated
into the hollow between the logs, the shafts were
instantaneously broken into shivers, and the frightened horse
had succeeded in clearing himself from the traces and bounded
off to a distance.

No one was injured, for Alick and Mabel had maintained
their seats in spite of the shock, and Murray was unharmed by

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his sudden fall; but their situation was ludicrous and provoking
in the extreme. Before them lay the wide expanse of prairie,
on which not a single object was discernible save the figure of
their raw-boned steed, who, prancing and throwing up his heels
in the distance, seemed to be taunting them with their misfortune
and triumphing in the sense of freedom. Behind them
was the little thicket from which they had just emerged, and
they well knew that there was not a human habitation within a
distance of several miles in either direction. But desperate as
the case might seem in a practical point of view, its comic effect
was irresistible; and, after exchanging with each other a single
glance of dismay, the united trio broke into a simultaneous fit
of laughter. Alick and Mabel presently controlled their sense
of the ridiculous so far as to utter a few ejaculations of inquiry
and regret, but Murray, as he stood first glancing at the pair
who occupied in regal state the seat of the broken wagon, and
then at the enfranchised horse who at a safe distance was performing
an evolution around them, shook with a merriment so
hearty and contagious, that it was impossible to take counsel
in reference to their difficulties.

At this crisis a sound was heard proceeding from the adjacent
thicket, which had the effect of composing the group into
an attentive and listening attitude; and in the silence which
now reigned among them, it was not difficult to recognize a
human voice breaking on the air in most harmonious song,—a
song so deep, full, and clear that its music seemed to make the
wild prairie ring.

All strained their ears to catch the welcome notes, and as
they came nearer and nearer, Mabel's face flushed with excitement
and expectancy. She had heard the voice, the words,
the glorious harmony but once before, and yet, though years
had passed over her since, and it seemed a marvel too great
to be fully realized, she knew that she could not be mistaken
in their source.

A moment more, and a figure on horseback emerged from
the wood, and as he caught sight of his unexpected audience,
ceased singing and came forward, looking about him as if

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striving to comprehend the scene. He was a young and powerfully-built
man, dressed in a simple hunting-suit; and the
rifle which was slung over his shoulder, and the string of
prairie-fowl suspended from his horse's neck, proclaimed him
to have been shooting successfully in the vicinity. He was a
traveller, moreover, as might be conjectured from the saddle-bags
and heavy surveyor's blanket strapped to his saddle, and
travelling quite at his leisure, too, if one might judge from the
pace at which he rode. Nor was it strange that the natural
burst of song died upon his lips, and his face indicated inquiry
and surprise at the novel and picturesque scene which presented
itself before him. Two youths, one a boy, the other a mere
stripling, stood beside the broken vehicle (for Alick had by
this time alighted), and alone in her elevated position, in the
midst of an unbroken prairie, sat a young and beautiful girl,
unconsciously crowned with the brilliant wreath which Murray
had placed on her head at the moment of the accident, while,
at some distance, the sorrel steed, with a portion of his harness
sweeping the ground, was triumphantly curvetting in forgetfulness
of his years. The ludicrous nature of the occasion would
have provoked the most stoical nature to a smile, and such was
the effect of a first glance at the little group, upon the face of
the new-comer. As he drew nearer, however, and surveyed
the party more attentively, other and less easily defined emotions
were depicted on the young man's countenance, and
Mabel's face was suffused with the deep and conscious blush
of the mutual recognition. For they were, and yet they were
not, strangers. They had met before, and then, as now, he
had come to her rescue, though in a far different cause. It
was six years and more since, in Mr. Bloodgood's dwelling, on
the night of Harry's disgrace, she had first beheld that manly
form and those noble features; and now, after this lapse of time
and under the most opposite circumstances, they had met again
in the solitude of a Western prairie.

The embarrassment which ensued, however, was but momentary,
for Bayard was a man of action; and before a second
glance could be exchanged between them, he had read with his

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quick eye the exact condition of affairs, and, without drawing
near enough to ask or obtain a syllable of explanation, he had
darted off in pursuit of the runaway steed. The task which
he had thus promptly undertaken was no easy one; to an unpractised
rider it would have been next to impossible, for time
and habit have no power to efface from the once wild horse of
the prairie the recollection of his ancient freedom, and the
sudden recovery of it seemed at once to have restored old Sorrel
to his juvenile strength and fleetness.

But Sorrel, even in his best days, had never been a match for
the superior animal on which Bayard was mounted; and this
fact, combined with a degree of dexterity which the young man
had acquired from experience, gave him an advantage over the
runaway which resulted in his speedy capture. Mabel and
the boys looked on with intense and eager interest, while now
describing a rapid circle, and now darting in an unforeseen
direction, the accomplished horseman, partly by speed and
partly by skilful manœuvre, gained the advantage of the deserter,
and, after a few moments' hot pursuit, grasped him by
the bridle and came bounding over the prairie with his unwilling
captive. Mabel, who had stood upright in the wagon
during the excitement of the chase, now gave her hand to
Alick and sprang to the ground, just in time to greet with a
smile of acknowledgment and thanks the victor in the animated
chase, who rode up, laughing himself at the nature and success
of his exploit; and springing lightly from the saddle, put the
bridle of old Sorrel into the hand of the admiring Murray, and,
with one arm passed through that of his own horse, lifted his
hat and bowed respectfully and gracefully to Mabel, saying—
“You have met with a serious accident and delay, Miss
Vaughan, but I hope you have none of you suffered any personal

“None at all, thank you,” replied Mabel; while the boys
looked their astonishment at hearing her name so confidently
spoken by the stranger. “You have paid the heaviest penalty
for our mishap, in the exertion you have so kindly made. We
were truly fortunate in having a friend at hand.”

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She spoke the simple word friend with an accent which
expressed how deeply and gratefully she felt its force; perhaps
he understood that it had reference to the past as well as the
present, for he replied in a tone equally impressive in its sincerity,
“Nothing can make me happier than to be of service to
you;” and then, as Murray eagerly commenced relating the
circumstances of the accident, he proceeded to an examination
of the disabled vehicle, which, with the boys' assistance, he
easily raised from the hollow into which it had sunk.

Its shattered condition, however, proved to be such as to
wholly unfit it for use, and the possibility of removing it across
the prairie was even doubtful. Some of the principal bolts had
given way, and the springs were also broken; but Alick volunteered
to supply the place of the former by strong wooden pegs,
while Bayard, placing his saddle-bags and blanket on the floor
of the wagon, employed the straps by which they had been
fastened in binding up the splintered shafts; after which, old
Sorrel was once more harnessed to the wreck, and it was found
that by carefully leading the horse over the level road, the
decrepit equipage could be safely transported.

“The frail nature of our repairs, Miss Vaughan, and the
broken springs, render it impossible to occupy the wagon,” said
Bayard, approaching Mabel, who stood a little apart, “but if
you will do me the honor to make use of my horse, we can
render the saddle comfortable for you with the help of this
blanket;” and, as he spoke, he unfolded the rich and ample
mantle of deep blue cloth and commenced laying it in heavy
masses over the back of the animal, which stood arching its
glossy neck, as if it, as well as its master, were proud of the
proposed honor.

Mabel earnestly deprecated the arrangement; begged that
he would not suffer them to interfere further with his journey,
and insisted that she could walk, in company with her nephews;
but Bayard, having assured himself that her refusal did not
proceed from any fear of his high-spirited horse, answered all
her objections with the simple assurance that he was not in
haste; that a walk of ten miles, which was the distance to the

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village, their common destination, was a trifle to one of his
pedestrian habits; and the boys having united their persuasions
to his, she blushingly and gratefully suffered herself to be
assisted to the saddle.

“Have you seen my bonnet, Alick?” said she, as they were
about to start. He handed it to her from the wagon, and as
she prepared to put it on she became, for the first time, conscious
that the garland, which she had noticed when Murray
commenced weaving it in the wood, rested on her brow.

“Murray, you rogue!” exclaimed she accusingly, as she
snatched it from her head, and flung it with such precision that
it rested on the crown of his hat.

All burst into an involuntary laugh, in which Mabel could
not resist joining, though glad to hide beneath her bonnet the
face which became crimson as she reflected on the singular and
ludicrous inconsistency which Bayard must have detected between
her crowned head and the awkward dilemma in which
he had discovered their party. She little knew that she had
never, in all her life, looked so radiantly lovely as when he first
caught sight of her, with the drooping scarlet blossoms contrasting
with the pure whiteness of her noble brow, and mingling
with the smooth folds of chestnut hair, to which the sun
imparted that golden tinge at once so rare and so beautiful.

There is nothing which more effectually relieves embarassment
than the presence of children; and whatever constraint
might have been occasioned by the peculiar reminiscences subsisting
between Bayard and Mabel was at once subdued by the
mediatory influence of the two lads, who, excited by their recent
adventure, were unusually loquacious and animated. Even
Alick, though looking up with enthusiastic admiration at the
stranger, whose attention to Mabel was alone sufficient to insure
his grateful regard, shook off, to a great degree, the modest
reserve which characterized him, and won, in his turn, the
friendly interest of the young man, who never undervalued the
ingenuous and original, though immature, intellect of boyhood.

Thus, with Bayard and Alick walking on either side of the
horse which Mabel rode, and Murray a little in the rear,

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performing the self-appointed office of leading old Sorrel, and
interlarding the others' conversation with his drollery, they proceeded
at the moderate, though regular pace suited to good
pedestrians, with a ten miles' journey in prospect.

“At what hour is this caravan expected to arrive at its
destination,” cried Murray, when they had gone about a mile.

Mabel looked at her watch. “It is now five o'clock,” said
she, then added in a tone of regret, “I had no idea it was so

“I thought of Uncle Harry,” said Alick, “at the moment
of the crash. I believe, when he hears of this delay and disappointment,
he will complain of the broken bridge more bitterly
than any of us.”

“More haste, worse speed,” said Murray. “It was that
last cut of the whip, Al, which settled the business so thoroughly
for us.”

“The boys were urging our old horse to the top of his speed
at the moment of the accident,” said Mabel to Bayard, by way
of explaining this little dialogue. “We already felt ourselves
somewhat belated, being anxious to reach home in good season,
on account of a lecture that is to be delivered in our village
this evening, which we are all anxious to attend.”

“I think you will yet have an opportunity of doing so,”
said Bayard, glancing at his own watch; “it is now five. A
lecture at this season would not commence before eight, or
half past seven at the earliest. We ought, certainly, to be
able to accomplish the remaining distance in two hours and a

“But Auntie is expected to play the part of hostess to the
orator,” said Murray. “If we meet with any further delay, I
fear she will strike spurs to your horse and leave us.”

Mabel smiled. “Your grandfather will be prompt in claiming
the privilege of having Mr. Percival for his guest, Murray,”
said she. “I fear I can plead only selfish motives for
being in haste. This gentleman is a stranger to us,” added
she, turning to Bayard, “but one for whom we have reason

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to feel the most grateful esteem, and we anticipate the highest
pleasure from his oratory.”

“We shall do but little credit to our physical training if we
are so late as to deprive you of the opportunity of hearing
him,” said Bayard. “I have less fear of that than of your
being disappointed in the orator, whose abilities you, perhaps,
estimate too highly.”

“I think not,” said Mabel confidently. “If we are in season,
and we have not caused you too much fatigue, I hope you
will share our enjoyment by being present at the address.”

Bayard bowed, and a moment after gave a new turn to the

It was nearly sunset when the party reached the extremity
of the prairie; the road then followed the river bank, and as
day was merging into night, and their path was, at intervals,
overshadowed by foliage, the figures of the little group were
gradually obscured in the twilight gloom, and their brisk and
lively discourse, now and then relapsed into thoughtful silence.
The church bell was ringing out clear and loud, when, at
length, shortly after dark, they entered the outskirts of the
now populous and thriving village.

“That bell must be for the lecture,” said Alick; “it is a
new acquisition to the church,” continued he, addressing Bayard,
“and the sexton loves to make it heard on all occasions,”
and the little party simultaneously quickened their pace.

“Here we are at last,” cried Murray, as they came in sight
of the familiar homestead. “Aunt Sabiah has put a light in
the window, and is, no doubt, watching anxiously for our arrival.”

Murray was right;—Aunt Sabiah was not only watching,
but listening, and his merry voice and laugh brought her
directly to the door.

“Will you not come in, Sir, and take some refreshment
with us?” said Mabel to Bayard, as he assisted her from his

He thanked her, but politely declined,—he had an appointment,
and was expected elsewhere.

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“I am greatly indebted to you,” said Mabel, with feeling, at
the same time frankly offering him her hand. “I do not know
how to express my sense of your repeated kindness.”

“Do not speak of it,” said he, receiving her hand with the
same unaffected cordiality with which it was offered; “it is I
who am under a lasting obligation. You have made my journey
across the prairie a delightful and a memorable one.”

Alick, meanwhile, was industriously restoring the saddle-bags
and blanket to their original places. “Keep those, if
you please,” said Bayard, as the youth was also about to suspend
the fruits of his shooting excursion around the horse's
neck; “if the poor fowls can be made serviceable for your
grandfather's table, my conscience will acquit me of mere
wanton destructiveness;” and, having shaken hands with Alick
and Murray, and glanced up at the house, where Mabel now
stood in the doorway, gaily relating their adventures to her
aunt, he mounted his horse and rode off at full speed.

“Father has gone to the lecture already,” said Mabel to the
boys, when, having delivered their dilapidated equipage into
the charge of James, they came bounding into the house; “but
see, Aunt Sabiah has a tempting supper prepared for us.”

“Let us make haste and devour it, then,” cried Murray,
throwing down his cap. “I am as hungry as a bear.”

“Aren't you tired, Auntie?” inquired Alick.”

“Not at all,” was the answer. “I have had a charming

“You'll all feel the better for your supper, I should think,”
said Aunt Sabiah, as she poured out tea for them. “I never
did see anything like you, though,—you, every one of you,
look as fresh as roses. I believe you could travel from Dan
to Beersheba and never feel tired.”

“It would depend considerably upon the kind of company
we had on the way,—wouldn't it, Aunt Mabel?” said Murray,
somewhat mischievously.

Mabel colored slightly, but with an unhesitating and intelligent
smile assented to Murray's remark.

“Auntie,” said Alick, “that gentleman knew you; he called

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you by name once or twice. How do you suppose that happened?
Did you ever see him before?”

“Yes, I met him in company once, Alick, some years ago,
when I was staying at Aunt Ridgway's, in L.”

“Well, now, if that isn't a coincidence!” exclaimed Sabiah.

“But,” added she, with a sigh scarcely warranted by the occasion,
“this is a strange world we live in; people are brought
together one way and another, who never expected to meet
again this side of the grave.”

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Cummins, Maria Susanna, 1827-1866 [1857], Mabel Vaughan. By the author of The lamplighter. (John P. Jewett and Company, Boston) [word count] [eaf533].
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