448 PONTO'S FIRST LESSON.
and can stand it. If they think so, let 'em;
more unlikely things have happened.”
Hetty grew silent, and moped; her duties seemed dull and commonplace; even the be- loved music had lost its charms. The little, quiet village had eyes, and noticed the change. Everybody said that “Miss Bab’s Hetty was queer for a young girl. Her aunt must be looking out for her when her single gentlemen came to board, bringing their pianers, and leaving them.” How happy they made them- selves with the business of other people, while poor Hetty sauntered over her work, stood still, sometimes, and looked at nothing, for I dare not say how long; found all the dear old songs he used to love, and practiced them till the piano must have ached, if it had any feeling.
“Hetty, Mr. Barstow’s nephew has come,” said aunt Bab, one morning, some three months after that gentleman had gone.
Hetty had just dressed herself for a call—the child had never looked more beautiful. So aunt ; Bab thought in spite of herself, but she only said,
“Well, if I was you, I wouldn’t turn so red for nothin’.”
“Is he like his uncle?” queried Hetty.
“Well, yes; he’s like, and he ain’t like—to my mind he’s a great deal finer looking, that’s all.”
Hetty met the stranger with a shy welcome. The excitement of seeing somebody who was related to her old friend, quickened her pulses, and brightened cheek and eye. How like his uncle he was, only younger! The tones, the very modulation of his voice, made her think of him. Presently she forgot that he was a stranger, and asked questions concerning Mr. Barstow. Whenever they met, she talked of him; she had practiced the music he left her; she had read the books he recommended; she had studied just as he had thought it best she should.
“Queer old gentleman, that uncle of mine,” the nephew said, one day, tired, no doubt, of hearing his praises reiterated. ‘Did you know that he wore a wig?”
“Not till after he had gone,” said Hetty. “Was he bald?”
“Well, yes, rather; just over a fever, you see, when he came here—ordered a wig and green spectacles. You’ve no idea how odd he looked without them.”
“Did he?” Hetty asked, absently. Some way, she fancied there was nothing in the world so becoming as green spectacles. ‘I wonder if he thought I should learn all the lessons he set me, before he comes back?" she said, quietly, smiling to herself.
“I'm afraid you’ll never see my uncle again,” said the young man.
She grew pale—so very pale that he was startled.
“Is he ill? Have you heard bad news? Is he going away? He said he would come.”
“No; but he is very much in love with a young lady of his acquaintance, and quite contented to remain where he is.”
“And he—he will marry her, I suppose,” said Hetty, in a faint voice.
“I think it likely he will marry her, if he can get her. She is a very sweet little person.”
“Then you have seen her?”
“Often.”
“She is—is beautiful, of course.”
“She is, to him,” replied the young fellow, regarding her with fascinated glances. He could not see how she trembled with the suddenness, the shock of her emotion. He had found some one to love, she thought, and would never, never come back—never think of her any more. It was cruel, agonizing, frightful! She did not know how she said it, but the words dropped from her trembling lips,
“He has found some one to love.”
“Yes, he has found some one to love, as well as, in this short time, I have learned to love you, little Hetty.”
Hetty started back, amazed.
“Oh! don’t speak of it! You don’t know how you hurt me,” cried the girl, with quivering lips.
“But, Hetty, he sent me here on purpose; he told me I must love you; that the moment I saw your innocent face I should love you—and I do, Hetty—I——”
“Hush!” Hetty stood up, feeling that her childish days, her childish heart were gone, forever. ‘‘Iam greatly obliged to Mr. Barstow,” she said, ‘‘for all his kindness; for the interest he took in one so lonely. He has been good— the best friend I ever had; but even he has no right”—her voice faltered; “I mean it is very ungenerous in him.” She stopped, struggling to command her feelings.
Still, amid her regrets, her passion of disappointment, she saw waving through her tears, the handsome face, so like, yet unlike, that other.
“Then you reject me?”
Hetty was silent; she had turned away, for the hot, heavy tears was dropping fast, and burned her cheeks.
