Norston's Rest. Ann S. Stephens

the "Norston's Rest" estate, but that was so broad and covered so many miles in extent that his position was still in doubt.

      Storms was not a man to occupy himself with scenery for its own sake, however beautiful or grand; so, after a hurried glance around him, he proceeded to mount higher up the hill. The declivity where he stood sank down to the river so gradually that several houses were built on its slope, and most of the land was under some sort of cultivation. The nearest of these houses was a low structure, old and dilapidated, on which the sunshine was lying with pleasant brightness. If nature had not been so bountiful to this lovely spot, the house might have been set down as absolutely poverty-stricken, but, years before, some training hand had so guided nature in behalf of the beautiful, that Time, in destroying, made it also picturesque.

      Storms observed this without any great interest, but he had attained some idea of thrift on his father's farm, and saw, with contempt, that no sign of plenty, or even comfort, was discernible about the place. It was a broken picture—nothing more; but an artist would have longed to sketch the old place, for a giant walnut-tree flung its great canopy of branches over the roof, and, farther down the slope of the hill, a moss-grown old apple orchard, whose gnarled limbs and quivering leaves would have driven him wild, had yielded up its autumnal fruit.

      There was a low, wide porch in front of the house, over which vines of scant leafiness and bristling with dead twigs crept toward the thatched roof. The walls about the house were broken in many places, and left in gaps, through which currant and gooseberry-bushes wound themselves outward in green masses.

      At the end of this enclosure there had been some attempts at gardening; but plenty of weeds were springing up side by side with the vegetables, and both were richly overtopped in irregular spaces by clusters of thyme that had found root at random among the general neglect.

      All this might have given joy to a man of æsthetic taste, but Storms would never have looked at it a second time but for some object that he saw flitting through the garden, that brightened everything around, as a tropical bird kindles up the dense foliage of a jungle.

      It was a young girl, with a good deal of scarlet in her dress and a silk handkerchief of many colors knotted about her neck. She was bareheaded, and the sunshine striking down on her abundant black hair, sifted a gleam of purple through it, rich beyond description.

      The young man was bewildered by this sudden appearance, and stood a while gazing upon it. Then his face flushed and a vivid light came into his eyes.

      "By Jove, there's something worth looking after here," he said. "The creature moves like a leopard, and jumps—goodness, how she does jump across the beds! I must get a nearer view."

      From that distance it was difficult to judge accurately of the girl's face; but there was no mistaking the easy sway of her movements or the picturesque contrast of her warmly hued garments with the leafy shadows around her.

      She was evidently a reckless gardener, for half the time she leaped directly into the vegetable beds, treading down the shoots that were tinging them with departing greenness. All at once she dropped on her knees and began to pull up some beets, from which she vigorously shook the clinging soil.

      When she arose with her handful of green leaves and roots, Storms became conscious that the old house, with all its proofs of neglect, made an attractive picture.

      "I will ask for a cup of milk or a drink of water," he thought; "that will give me a good look at her face."

      The old house was half-way down the hill, along which the young man strolled. The gate scraped a semicircle in the earth as he opened it and made for the porch, from which he could see a bare hallway and a vista through the back door, which stood open.

      A gleam of color which now and then fluttered in view led the young man on. The boards creaked under his tread as he went down the hall and stood upon the threshold of the door, watching the girl as she stooped by the well, holding her garments back with one hand while she dashed her vegetables up and down in a pail of water which she had just poured from the bucket.

      She looked up suddenly, and something that lay in those large black eyes, the mobile mouth, the bright expression fascinated him. She was picturesque, and just a little awkward the moment she became conscious that a stranger was so near her.

      "I have had a long walk, and am thirsty. Will you give me a glass of water or a cup of milk?" he said, moving toward the well. The girl dropped her beets into the pail, and stood gazing on her strange visitor, half shy, half belligerent. At last she spoke:

      "The cow has not been milked this morning," she said, "and yesterday's cream has not been skimmed; but here is water in the bucket, and I will bring a cup from the house."

      "Thank you."

      She was gone in an instant, and came back with a tumbler of thick, greenish glass in her hand, which she dipped into the bucket and drew out with the water sparkling like diamonds as it overflowed the glass.

      As the young man drank, a cow that had been pasturing in the orchard thrust its head over the wall and lowed piteously.

      The young man smiled as he took the glass from his lips.

      "I think the cow yonder would be much happier if I had a cup of her milk," he said.

      "Well, if you must have it!" answered the girl, dashing some water left in the glass on the stones around the well, and, with a careless toss of the head, she went into the kitchen and came out carrying a pail in one hand and an earthen mug in the other.

      "Shall I go with you?" questioned Storms, holding out his hand for the pail, but she swung it out of his reach and went down the empty hall, laughing the encouragement she would not give in words.

      The young man followed her. In pushing open the gate their hands met. The girl started, and a hot blush swept her face.

      "You should be a gentleman," she said, regarding his dress with some curiosity.

      Storms blushed crimson. The suggestion flattered him intensely.

      "Why should you think so?" he questioned.

      "Because working people in these parts never dress like that, gloves and all!" she answered, surveying him from head to foot with evident admiration. "A whole crowd of them—ladies too—went by just now with a swarm of yelping dogs ahead, and a little fox, scared half to death, running for its life. Are you one of them?"

      "I might have been, only the brute of a horse made a bolt and left me behind," said Storms, with rising anger.

      "A horse! oh, yes, I saw one limping over the hill after the rest went out of sight. Poor fellow, he was lamed."

      "I hope so, the brute, for he has given me a long walk home, and no end of trouble after, I dare say; but if it hadn't happened, I should have missed seeing you."

      Again the girl blushed, but carried her confusion off with a toss of the head.

      That moment the cow, impatient for notice, came up to her, lowing softly, and dropping foamy grass from her mouth. Usually it had been the girl's habit to plant her foot upon the grass and sit upon the heel as she milked; but all at once she became ashamed of this rough method, and looked around for something to sit upon. The garden wall had broken loose in places. The young man brought a fragment of rock from it and dropped it on the ground.

      As she seated herself, slanting the pail down before her, he took up the mug from the grass where she had dropped it.

      "I must have my pay first," he said, stooping down, and holding the mug to be filled.

      The soft sound of the milk, as it frothed into the mug, was overpowered by the laughter of the girl, who saucily turned the white stream on his hand.

      He laughed also, and shook off the drops, while the foam trembled on his lips; then he bent down again, asking for more. Thus, with his eyes meeting hers if she looked up, and his breath floating across her cheek, this girl went on with her task, wondering in her heart why work could all at once have become so pleasant.