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BY P. HAMILTON MYERS.

Baltus Van Kleeck left the world without disposing of that portion
of it which he claimed to own, and when his pretty daughter
Getty became, by operation of law, sole proprietress of several
square miles of the terrestrial globe, without any guardian or man
of business to guide or instruct her in its management, her position
was one of no little embarrassment. Not that she would have so
regarded it had she been left quite to herself in exercising her sovereignty,
for Getty was an easy, good-natured soul, who said yes to
every body's advice, and to all applications for favors.

Not a tenant but would have had his rent lowered, or his house
repaired, or some privilege granted, or restriction removed, had it not
been for the perpetual interference of Aunt Becky, a shrivelled,
nervous old lady, who was kept in a continual state of excitement by
the fear that her niece would be imposed upon.

“Do n't you do it, Getty!” were the words with which she
usually burst in upon these conferences, spectacles on nose, without
waiting to hear the specific subject of negotiation.

“I 'll tell you what, Aunt,” said the heiress, one day, after one
of these interviews, from which the applicant had retired discomfited
by the very first gleam of Madame Becky's glasses, “I must have
an agent to manage these matters, for they are quite beyond my
comprehension. What with farms to hire, and farms to sell, and

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stock to be disposed of, and rents to be collected, I shall go crazy; I
know I shall. I must have an agent.”

“What for, then, would you have an agent?” said the dame, in a
loud key, scowling meanwhile over the black rims of her spectacles.
“To cheat you out of every thing, and grow rich on your money,
hey?”

“No, Aunt; some good, reliable man — ”

“Good, reliable fiddlestick, Getty!”

“I say no, Aunt.”

“I say yes, child. He will charge you half for taking care of
your property; and he 'll run away with the rest. Do n't talk to me
about agents.”

Getty had never divested herself of the dread with which, from
childhood, she had regarded her scolding relative, and so, without
fully resolving either to carry or yield the point, she sought to escape
further altercation, at present, by not pressing it.

“But these repairs, aunt,” she said, “which are so much needed
for these poor men?”

“It is no such thing! There are no repairs wanted. Why, one
would think the houses and fences had all tumbled down the moment
poor Baltus was gone. It is no such thing, I say. They are well
enough. I have been in every house on the estate within a fortnight,
and they are well enough.”

“But Mr. Jones, who has eight children, can 't make his rent out
of the farm.”

“Let him give it up, then, to some one who can What business
has he with so many children?”

“And Mr. Smith has lost one of his best oxen.”

“He must take better care of his oxen, then. He need not
expect us to pay him for it; I can tell him that.”

“But I gave him ten dollars, at all events,” replied Getty, not
without alarm.

“Ten dollars, child! Well now, did ever any body hear the
like of that? Ten dollars to that idle, whimpering fellow! Why,
Getty, you will be in the poor-house in a year, if that is the way
you are going on; that you will. Ten dollars!”

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Becky could hardly throw accent enough upon these two words
to express her appreciation of the magnitude of the waste.

“I dare say it was too much,” said Getty, who had always been
accustomed to give way to her imperious aunt, and had not the
courage to disenthral herself from her tyranny, “but he told a very
pitiful story.”

“Yes, yes! they'll tell pitiful stories enough, if they can only find
any one silly enough to believe them. But I 'll see to it that there is
no more such throwing away of Baltus's money. Give me the key!”

Getty submissively took from a side-pocket a small bunch of
keys, and slipping the smallest off the steel-ring which held them
together, handed it to her aunt. No sooner, however, had she done
so than the absurdity of the command and compliance became
apparent to her, and, with rising wrath, she was about to recall her
act, when her eyes met the dark scowl of the old lady, and yielding
to the force of habit, she remained quiet.

Now Becky's conduct, harsh as it seemed, was altogether caused
by excessive anxiety for her niece's interest; for she was, to the
full extent, as honest as she was crabbed. She felt her responsibility
as the only surviving adult relative of her brother, and as a sort
of natural guardian both of the heiress and her estates, a position
which she was by no means desirous of retaining longer than the welfare
of Gertrude required it.

Her only hope of relief from her self-imposed duties was in
seeing Gertrude married to some “stiddy, sober man;” but on this
point she had a morbid anxiety even greater than that which related
to the property; for she was in constant trepidation lest the heiress
should fall a victim to some needy fortune-hunter, in which class she
ranked all suitors who did not follow the plough, and wear homespun.
She even went so far as to question more than one presuming beau
as to his intentions; and one timid young man who had been a whole
month accumulating courage enough to make a first call upon Gertrude,
was so frightened by the fierce manner in which Aunt Becky
asked him what he wanted, that he only stammered out something
about having got into the wrong house, and retreated without ever
seeing the object of his hopes.

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Strangely enough too, although Getty knew her aunt's conduct in
this instance, and her general asperity toward gentlemen visitors, she
did not seem to resent it, or to be rendered at all unhappy by it;
nay, she was even suspected of rejoicing at so easy a mode of escaping
the persecution of lovers. She was unwilling, however, that the
imputation of inhospitality or impoliteness should rest upon her
family; and on this point she remonstrated with the duenna.

“Let the molly-yhacks stay at home, then,” said Becky. “What
business have they to come here `sparking?' Let them stay at home,
and when we want them we 'll send for them.”

How and when Harry Vrail's acquaintance with Gertrude began,
it would be difficult to say; but for several preceding years his hunting
excursions had seemed to extend more often through her father's
forests than in any other direction; and the silvery stream which
tinkled across the meadows of Mynheer Van Kleeck afforded the
finest-flavored trout, in Harry's estimation, of the whole country
around. It was natural enough for him, on these expeditions, to stop
occasionally and chat with old Baltus on his stoop; and sometimes to
leave a tribute of his game with the proprietor of the domain on
which it was bagged.

If a string of finer fish than usual rewarded his afternoon's labors
the larger half was sure to be left at Baltus's door, despite all
resistance; and then the servant was to be instructed in the art of
dressing them, and Getty was to be taught the mystery of cooking
them, in the way which should best preserve their flavor.

Sometimes, too, the fatigued youth could be induced, at the close
of the day, to remain and see if his instructions were properly followed,
and at the bountiful board of the Dutchman, his seat chanced
ever to be beside that of Getty, who saw that he received of the
choicest portions of his own gifts. How she loaded his plate, too,
with dainties drawn from dark closets, the key of which was seldom
turned, save on such occasions as this! How the thickest cream
filled the old-fashioned silver cream-pot to the brim, and was half-emptied
over Harry's strawberries, or on Harry's currants, while with
her own white hand, she pitched the large wheaten slices, quoit-like,

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around his plate, enjoining upon him in the most approved fashion of
Dutch hospitality — to eat!

Nor did Harry always find himself sufficiently refreshed to start
for home as soon as the evening meal was finished. From the table
to the long covered stoop was a natural and easy transition, for there
the air was fresh and cool; and while Baltus planted himself, puffing,
in his favorite corner, and his silent vrow sat knitting and musing at
his side, and pussy, unreproved, now dandled the good dame's ball of
yarn in her paws, and now, tapping it fiercely, pursued it rolling far
across the floor; while the swallows darted daringly inside the pillars,
and skimming close to the ceiling, flew chirping out at the farthest
opening, Harry and Getty chatted and laughed together, talking
only on common themes, it is true, yet at times in tones which might
have been mistaken, by one who had not caught the words, for tones
of love.

And there was a time, when yet Harry's father was alive, and was
a man of wealth, that the young man dreamed of love. It was presumptuous,
he knew, in him, even then, to look up to one so fair and
pure as sweet Gertrude seemed to him, and one for whom so many
worthier than himself would be certain to aspire. Yet he could not
refrain from hoping, though with so faint a heart that he never found
courage to declare, or even most remotely to hint at, the love which
consumed him. But if, while he was the prospective heir of great
wealth, he felt thus unworthy of the object of his admiration, how
widely, hopelessly yawned the gulf of separation between them
when positive poverty became his lot! With a pang of unspeakable
intensity, he dismissed the bright vision which had gilded his heart,
and sought no more to recall so painful and illusive a dream.

Yet, strangely enough, while he held himself thus unworthy of
Gertrude, and considered that his changed position precluded him
from the right to offer her his hand, he saw no such obstacles in the
way of his brilliant cousin Tom, now about to enter, with a victor's
stride, upon that field which he had so ingloriously relinquished.

A very young lawyer was Tom; decidedly handsome, and possessing
a moderate amount of talent, flanked by a most immoderate
and inordinate vanity. But, in Harry's estimation, his merits were

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so many, and his fortunes so sure, that he might almost be entitled to
wed a princess; and although he was incensed, he was not surprised
at the very confident tone in which the young disciple of Themis had
spoken of winning the beautiful Gertrude, if he chose. Harry
thought so himself: he had often thought of it before, and had wondered
why his cousin had never seemed to notice this sparkling jewel
in his path, any more than if it were but common crystal.

But true love, even when hopeless, instinctively revolts at the
idea of seeing the beloved object won by another, however worthy;
and Harry, although not without some upbraidings of conscience, had
carefully abstained from saying any thing which should set the current
of Tom's thoughts in the direction of the great prize he had discovered.
Very great, therefore, was his alarm, when his good grandsire
had made his abrupt suggestion, and when Tom so coarsely and
ungraciously seemed to approve it. Yet he suppressed his great
grief, and replied truthfully to his cousin's inquiry, failing, in his
abundant charity, to perceive the utter selfishness which had so
entirely overlooked himself, or any predilections which he might
entertain.

He even acceded to his friend's request to accompany him on his
first visit to Getty; not because any formal introduction was needed,
for there had been a slight acquaintance existing between all the parties
from childhood, but because Tom thought it would serve to put
him at once on a better and more familiar footing with the heiress.
And so it did. Getty was delighted to see the cousins, for the lonely
child had few visitors, and she appreciated the kindness which remembered
her bereavement and her isolation. So very amiable and cheerful
did she appear, so naturally graceful and winning, especially when
conversing with Harry, with whom she was best acquainted, that Tom
was positively delighted with her, and on his return homeward, he
announced his fixed determination to offer himself within a week.

“Won't she be astonished?” he said.

“It will be rather abrupt,” replied Harry. “She will hardly
expect it so soon.”

“Very probable; but when a thing is to be done, the sooner it is
accomplished the better. Beside, it would be scarcely fair to keep
her in suspense.”

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