Sometimes, after sitting for five consecutive hours at the piano,
guiding the clumsy fingers of tyros, and listening to a tiresome
round of scales and exercises, Beulah felt exhausted, mentally and
physically, and feared that she had miserably overrated her powers
of endurance. The long, warm days of August dragged heavily by, and
each night she felt grateful that the summer was one day nearer its
grave. One afternoon she proposed to Clara to extend their walk to
the home of her guardian, and, as she readily assented, they left
the noise and crowd of the city, and soon found themselves on the
common.
"This is my birthday," said Beulah, as they passed a clump of pines
and caught a glimpse of the white gate beyond.
"Ah! How old are you?"
"Eighteen--but I feel much older."
She opened the gate, and, as they leisurely ascended the avenue of
aged cedars, Beulah felt once more as if she were going home. A
fierce bark greeted her, and the next moment Charon rushed to meet
her; placing his huge paws on her shoulders, and whining and barking
joyfully. He bounded before her to the steps, and lay down
contentedly on the piazza. Harriet's turbaned head appeared at the
entrance, and a smile of welcome lighted up her ebon face, as she
shook Beulah's hand.
Mrs. Watson was absent, and, after a few questions, Beulah entered
the study, saying: "I want some books, Harriet; and Miss Sanders wishes to see the
paintings."
Ah! every chair and book-shelf greeted her like dear friends, and
she bent down over some volumes to hide the tears that sprang into
her eyes. The only really happy portion of her life had been passed
here; every article in the room was dear from association, and,
though only a month had elapsed since her departure, those bygone
years seemed far, far off, among the mist of very distant
recollections. Thick and fast fell the hot drops, until her eyes
were blinded, and she could no longer distinguish the print they
were riveted on. The memory of kind smiles haunted her, and kinder
tones seemed borne to her from every corner of the apartment. Clara
was eagerly examining the paintings, and neither of the girls
observed Harriet's entrance, until she asked: "Do you know that the yellow fever has broke out here?"
"Oh, you are mistaken! It can't be possible!" cried Clara, turning
pale.
"I tell you, it is a fact. There are six cases now at the hospital;
Hal was there this morning. I have lived here a good many years,
and, from the signs, I think we are going to have dreadfully sickly
times. You young ladies had better keep out of the sun; first thing
you know, you will have it."