_ It was the afternoon of Thursday, Aug. 25: and Dora, sitting beside
the bed where her little charge lay sleeping heavily, heard the
rattle of wheels, and, peeping from the window, saw Karl jumping
from the wagon, followed more slowly by a tall, handsome young
gentleman, whom she concluded to be Mr. Burroughs; her cousin having
gone to meet him at the railway-station, seven miles away.
"He's good-looking enough for a colonel," thought Dora, and then
started back, coloring a little; for Mr. Burroughs, in entering the
house, had glanced up, and caught her eye. The next minute, Kitty
darted into the room from her own chamber.
"They've come! Did you see him? Isn't he a real beauty? I do love a
tall man!-He's as tall as Mr. Brown, and his whiskers are ever so
much prettier; but, then, Mr. Brown's a minister. My! How nice you
look, Dora! Go right down, and I'll stay with little Molly."
Dora glanced involuntarily at the mirror, and caught the reflection
of a bright face, surrounded by heavy chestnut curls, and lighted
with clear hazel eyes, and flashing teeth, a head of queenly shape
and poise, and a firm, graceful figure, well set off by its white
dress, black bodice, and scarlet ribbons,--a charming picture, with
the quaintly decorated chamber for background, and the heavy black
frame of the old mirror for setting: and a brighter color washed
into the young girl's cheek as she recognized the fact; but she only
said,--
"Why do you call her Molly, Kitty?"
"Oh! just a fancy name. We must call her something, and can't find
out her right name."
"She called it Sunshine," said Dora, bending to kiss the pale little
face upon the pillow as she passed.
"Moonshine, more like," replied Kitty. "She didn't mean it for a
name, of course. You didn't understand. But come: your beau is
waiting."
"Don't, Kitty, please!"
"I might as well begin. Every man is a beau that comes near you. I
never saw such luck!"
Dora opened her lips, closed them tightly, and left the room. The
next moment she stood in the low doorway of the parlor, bowing
gravely, but not shyly, to the stately gentleman, whose head grazed
the great white beam in the ceiling as he came forward to meet her.
"Miss Darling, I presume," said he.
"Yes, sir; I am Dora Darling: and you are Mr. Burroughs; are you
not?"
"At your service," said the gentleman, bowing again; and, handing
Dora a chair, he took another for himself.
"Won't you have some water, or a glass of milk, after your drive,
Mr. Burroughs?" asked Dora with anxious hospitality; and, as the
gentleman confessed to an inclination for some water, she tripped
away, and presently returned with a tumbler, which Mr. Burroughs
very willingly took from her slender fingers instead of a salver.
"You know I was a vivandière, sir," said Dora, smiling frankly; "and
I always think of people being thirsty and tired when they come in
so."
Mr. Burroughs smiled, too, as he handed back the empty glass.
"I wish we had all turned our army experiences to as good account,"
said he.
"Were you in the army?" asked Dora with sudden animation.
"Yes: I was lieutenant in the Massachusetts Sixth, and went through
Baltimore with them," said Burroughs, tightening himself a little as
the associations of military drill came back upon him.
"Oh! were you there? Wasn't it glorious to be the very first?"
exclaimed Dora; and, with no further preamble, the two plunged into
a series of army reminiscences and gossip, that kept them busy until
Karl entered the room, saying,--
"Well, Dora, what do you think of Mr. Burroughs's news?"
"She has not heard it yet," said Mr. Burroughs, laughing a little.
"We have been so busy talking over our army experiences, that we
have not come to business."
"I am glad you have not; for I want to see how Dora will take it:
but you will be grieved, as well as pleased, little girl."
"Yes," pursued Mr. Burroughs. "I am sorry to inform Miss Dora, that
your friend Col. Blank is dead."
"Oh, Col. Blank dead!" exclaimed Dora, while a sudden shadow fell
upon her bright face.
"I am very, very sorry," continued she. "Mr. Brown went to see him
two months ago, and he was quite well then."
"Yes: this was rather a sudden illness; a fever, I believe. They
tell me, that, since his wife died, he has never been very well, and
at last was only ill three weeks."
"I am so sorry!" said Dora again. "He was very kind to me always."
"And no doubt died with feelings of affection and confidence for
you, Miss, Dora; since he has made you his heir."
"Me!" exclaimed the young girl in a tone more of fright than of
pleasure.
"Yes; and, although the property is not of any great available value
at present, I think, if properly managed, it may, in the future,
become something very handsome," said the lawyer.
"But I am so sorry Col. Blank is dead! Why, on Cheat Mountain, he
seemed so strong and well! He was never tired on the marches, and
hardly ever rode, but walked at the head of the column so straight
and soldierly!"
The two men glanced at each other, then at her, and gravely smiled.
The regret was so unaffected, so unselfish, and so unworldly, that
each, after his own fashion, admired and marvelled at it. Mr.
Burroughs was the first to speak; and, drawing a packet of papers
from his pocket, he spread before Dora's sorrowful eyes a copy of
Col. Blank's will, a plan of the estate bequeathed by it to her, and
an official letter from Mr. Ferrars, the principal executor. This
Mr. Ferrars, the lawyer informed his young client, was a personal
friend of his own, and had placed the matter in his hands, thinking
that the news might be more satisfactorily arranged by an interview
than by correspondence.
"And, as I was coming East at the time, I could very conveniently
call to see you on my way home," concluded Mr. Burroughs.
"Thank you, sir," said Dora meekly; and then, rather sadly, but very
patiently, listened while the lawyer described the property she had
inherited, and indicated the best course to pursue with regard to
it.
"You will perceive, Miss Dora, that the bulk of the estate consists
of this large tract of territory in Iowa, containing a great deal of
valuable timber, a hundred or so common-sized farms of superb soil,
and prairie-land enough to graze all the herds of the West.
"Col. Blank had just invested all his property, except the estate in
Cincinnati, in the purchase of this tract, and was about to remove
thither, when Mrs. Blank died; and, as I said, he never seemed quite
himself after that event, and took no further steps toward
emigration. The house in Cincinnati might sell, Mr. Ferrars thought,
for three or four thousand dollars; enough, you see, to make a
beginning at 'Outpost,' as the colonel called it."
"Did he name the Iowa farm Outpost?" asked Dora rather eagerly.
"Yes: you see the name is written on this map of the estate."
"Then we will call it so; won't we, Karl?"
"But you don't advise my cousin to emigrate to the backwoods, do
you, Mr. Burroughs?" asked Karl disapprovingly.
"It is the only method of reaping any immediate benefit from her
inheritance," said the lawyer. "The territory is valuable, very; but
would not sell to-day for anything like the price paid by Col.
Blank, who fancied its situation, and intended to live there. The
only way to get back the money is to hold the land until better
times, or until emigration reaches the Des Moines more freely than
it has yet done."
"I shall certainly go there and live," said Dora with quiet
positiveness.
"You have decided?" asked Mr. Burroughs, looking into her face, and
smiling.
"Quite," said Dora.
Karl looked too, saw the firm line of the young girl's rosy lips,
and slightly raised his eyebrows.
"It is settled," said he with comic resignation.
Dora returned his gaze wistfully. She could not, in presence of a
stranger, say what was in her heart: but she longed to let him know
that this prospect of independence, of making a home of her own, of
assuming duties and pursuits of her own, was such a prospect as no
friend could wish her to forego; was the full and only cure for the
bitterness of heart she had been unable to conceal from him upon the
previous evening,--a bitterness so foreign to the sweet and noble
nature of the young girl, that it had affected her cousin's mind
with a sort of terror.
Something of all she meant must have stood visibly in the clear eyes
Dora now fixed upon Karl; for, in meeting that gaze, the young man
changed color, and said hastily,--
"But if you will be happier, Dora; if you are not contented here-It
is a humdrum sort of life, I know."
"Oh, no! not that; but I want to be doing something. I mean
something almost more than I can do, not ever so much less. I like
to feel as if I must use every bit of strength and courage I have,
and then I always find more than I thought I had."
Mr. Burroughs looked sharply at the young girl who made this
ungirlish avowal. Was this utter simplicity? or was it an ingenious
affectation? Was Dora Darling one of the noblest, or one of the most
crafty, of womankind?
Tom Burroughs was a man of the world and of society, and flattered
himself that neither man nor woman had art deeper than his
penetration; but as he rapidly scanned the broad brow, clear,
level-glancing eyes, firm, sweet mouth, queenly head, and mien of
innocent self-confidence, he asked himself again,--
"Is it the perfection of art, or can it be the perfection of
nature?"
But Karl was saying rather gloomily,--
"And what is to become of us, Dora?"
"Kitty and you?" asked Dora, open-eyed. "Why, of course, you are to
come too! Did you suppose I wanted to leave you? Of course, it is
your home and mine, just as this house has been: we are all one
family, you know."
"To be sure. Well, I fancy there will be something for me to do on
your Outpost farm. You must make me overseer."
"No: you shall be confidential adviser; but I am going to oversee
every thing myself, and you must go on with your medical studies."
"You are going to become practical farmer, then?" asked Mr.
Burroughs, raising his eyebrows never so slightly.
"Yes, sir; not to really work with my own hands out of doors, you
know, but to see to every thing. At first, I shan't understand much
about it, I suppose; but I shall learn, and I shall be so happy!"
"And how soon will you be ready to go?" asked Mr. Burroughs.
Dora considered for a moment, "To-day is Thursday. I think we might
start Monday morning; couldn't we, Karl?"
"And meantime sell this place and furniture?" asked Mr. Windsor,
smiling.
"Not sell, but let the place. There is Jacob Minot would be glad to
hire it, and a good tenant too. As for the furniture, we had better
carry it with us. Shall we have to build a house when we get there,
Mr. Burroughs?"
"Yes. Col. Blank had selected a site, and made some little
beginning: I believe nothing more than having the land cleared and a
cellar dug, however. You will begin with a log-cabin; shall you
not?"
"Yes: I suppose so. Well, Karl, mightn't we start on Monday?"
"Not in heavy marching order, I am afraid; but very soon, if you are
quite determined."
"Yes, quite; but what will Kitty think?" asked Dora suddenly.
"Oh! I think she will like it. Here she comes, and we can ask her."
The crisp rustle of muslin skirts swept down the stairs; and Mr.
Burroughs, turning his head, saw standing in the doorway a tall,
handsome brunette, with masses of black hair rolled away from a low
forehead, glancing black eyes, and ripe lips, showing just now the
sparkle of white teeth between, as the young lady half waited for an
introduction before entering.
"Mr. Burroughs, Kitty; my sister, sir," said Karl, rising, and
handing a chair to Kitty, who, with rather too wide a sweep of her
bright muslin skirts, seated herself, and said, half laughing,--
"I suppose you are through with your secrets by this time?"
"We were just wanting to tell you the new plan, and see how you will
like it," said Dora quickly; for she felt an involuntary dread lest
Kitty should, in presence of this courteous stranger, say something
to do herself discredit. _