Beulah - Page 127/348

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."