USA > California > A picture of pioneer times in California, illustrated with anecdotes and stores taken from real life > Part 30
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" Not a bad name," said Alice. " Where is the boy who took the goods home ? Call him in, Edmund."
The boy appeared, and Edmund questioned him as to where the ladies he went with lived. The boy then described their residence as a beautiful house, surrounded by grounds, with flowers and shrubbery, beautifully kept. " The ladies," said the boy, " wanted to take the parcel from me at the garden gate, but I knew, sir," he continued, with a half-cunning smile on his face, " that you wanted to know who that young lady was, so I refused to let them, and walked up to the door, and saw on the silver door-plate the name of ' Willard S. Morehouse.'"
" That is all right, Tom; you are a good boy, but what put it into your head that I wanted to know the name of that young lady, as you say ?"
" I do not know, sir; but you looked so kind of sorry when she left the store."
" Go, go, Tom, and don't mind how I look in future, but attend to your own business."
As the boy left, Edmund could not help joining his sister in a hearty laugh.
" That is a good boy," said he, " but he is as cunning as a pet fox, and will get himself into a scrape some day watching other people's business, instead of attending to his own."
" Now," said Alice, "you know who she is; that is one satis- faction; she is Miss Ada Morehouse; I know her father is rich, but they are a sort of haughty, distant people. I know some- thing of them through an old schoolmate of mine, Sarah Wil- liams, who is Mrs. Morehouse's niece. She was married, you recollect, the same day I was."
" Yes, dear Alice, I recollect, but do not trouble yourself any more about the girl, for the last thing I will ever do is to go after a rich wife."
" But, if a girl is all right in every other way, would you ro- fuse to love her just because she happened to be rich, or have rich parents, as in this case?"
" No; not exactly that; but I will avoid all such girls, if I can; for the girl herself and her friends will be sure to think your at- tentions have a mercenary object in view, and there are plenty
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of nice, well-educated girls to choose from, who have not a dol- lar to quarrel about."
" Well," said Alice, "I will not argue with you, Edmund, for there may be something in what you say, and, if you get so that you can add up your accounts correctly, and not mix up Miss Ada Morehouse's praises with them, it is all well."
" Yes, dear sister, I will think no more of this foolish fancy, and I may never see her again; but I do say, Alice, she is one of the most charming girls I ever saw. I wish you knew her, Alice, just to see if you would agree with me. I have dismissed the whole matter from my mind, so please do not let Alfred know anything of it, or he would bother me, when, the fact is, I think no more about the girl. Strange you never heard of her before, Alice. Her voice is harmony and music itself; I started when first I heard it. Why, said I to myself, that sounds like what I would fancy was the voice of an angel."
" I see," said Alice, with a merry look beaming in her eye, " that you have wholly, as you say, Edmund, dismissed the young lady from your mind."
" Yes, wholly, I assure you, sister; I have something else to do than running after any girl, and particularly a rich girl, whose parents would turn up their proud noses at the bare thought of getting a retail drygoods man for their daughter's husband. No, I have, as we talk here, almost forgotten that I ever saw the girl. What drew my attention so particularly to her, for the few moments I did think of her, was her hand; I do wish you could have seen it. I always thought you had a beau- tiful hand, and that mother's hand was beautiful; but, Alice, I do wish you could have seen hers while she was trying on the gloves; such a model in shape, such delicacy of tinge of color! Yes, I wish, sister, you could have seen it just as a matter of curiosity, you know. Well, as I said, I have dismissed the whole subject from my thoughts. I only wish you could have seen her figure and form; they were faultless in every particular."
" Edmund," said his sister, laughing outright, and laying her hand on his shoulder, "don't you see, for mercy's sake, that you are half out of your head about this girl ?,'
" Why, Alice, I am surprised at you. Did I not tell you just now that I had dismissed all thoughts of her, and was going to say no more about her ?"
" Yes; but you continue to talk of her."
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" Oh, well, that was just for your satisfaction, and to let you know how really beautiful she is; but mind, you are not to tell . your husband, and I am to think of her no more."
"Well, we shall see how that turns out, brother Edmund," said Alice, as she arose to meet her husband, who was then just en- tering the store on his return from New York.
Alice now took her husband's arm, who was going to accom- pany her home; and, as she did so, turned to her brother, and said:
" Edmund, when you come to dinner, the first thing I will ask you is, if you have that line of figures added up yet, and if you are sure that seven and nine make sixteen."
Edmund shook his head significantly, and laid his finger across his lips in token that he plead for silence. Of course, the first thing Mrs. Roman did was to tell her husband all about Edmund and Ada Morehouse, concluding with "Now, Alfred, do not pre- tend to know a word of all this, for Edmund begged of me not to tell you; just as if it was possible for a married woman to keep such things from her husband."
Alice said this with a tone of pity for her brother's ignor- ance.
"Of course, my love," said Alfred; "it would be very wrong to keep anything from me."
"O, yes ; you say so, dear ; but do you tell me everything ? " laying emphasis on every.
"Why, of course, love, everything it is proper for me to tell."
" Then you do keep some things from me, Alfred ?" said Alice, sorrowfully.
" Nothing, dear; nothing that is. of consequence to you to know do I ever keep from you."
" Well, that is right, dear Alfred; that is my idea exactly-no secrets between man and wife."
" Yes, love; a wife should never have a secret that was not to be shared with her husband."
" Yes," said Alice, "we agree on that point exactly-as we do in everything; don't we, love ?"
" Certainly, my darling wife, we do." Then he continued: " Now, as to Edmund ; I do not know what may be the result, for I never knew him to be so attracted before by any girl. So this may have struck in, as they say; and yet it may glance off, and not be heard of again. We shall see."
CHAPTER IV.
THE POOR WIDOW-MR. MOREHOUSE AND EDMUND.
When Edmund Allen appeared for dinner at his sister's house, where he boarded, Alice saw that he was making efforts to ap- pear, as he always did, cheerful and happy. He made a failure of it, however; and Alice remarked that his great pet, the baby, remained almost unnoticed. All that night Edmund was turn- ing box after box of gloves over in his dreams. When he awoke the next morning, the first thing he said was:
" Well, confound those gloves. I am so glad I have dismissed all thoughts of that girl from my mind. It would just have un- fitted me for business, if I had allowed my head to run on think . ing of her."
Strange to tell, Edmund happened, by accident, of course, to walk by Mr. Morehouse's residence that evening, the next even- ing, and the next. On the third evening of this accidental walk, he met Miss Morehouse, with some lady friend, returning from a walk. Just then, Miss Morehouse dropped her handkerchief, by accident, of course, and walked on, not observing it. In an instant Edmund picked it up, and, raising his hat, presented it to her with a smile, in which there was a half-recognition.
" Thank you, Mr. Allen," said Ada, with what was to poor Edmund a bewitching manner.
In a moment the ladies were out of sight. Edmund now walked on fast, and apparently wrapped in some exciting thought.
" How well my name sounded when she spoke it," he said, half aloud. "What if I could hear her call me Edmund ? I would just like to hear how it would sound when spoken by her. I never liked the name; but I do believe I would be satisfied with it forever afterwards if I once heard it spoken by her."
In a few days after this accidental meeting, Ada and her cousin, Mrs. Eaton, who had been Alice's schoolmate, called at Allen & Roman's, and made a good many purchases for the
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benefit of a poor widow and children, who were destitute of clothes.
Edmund, unasked, subscribed liberally himself, and every one in the store gave something. Then he helped the ladies in making the selections, for he had now a sort of joint interest in the mat- ter, and found himself, before he knew it, in most charming, half confidential talks with Miss Morehouse. An hour passed, and yet the widow's clothes were not half selected. Happy widow! you will be well paid for the happiness your necessities bring two young, sympathetic hearts; for while their eyes, their thoughts, are all for each other, they purchase and bestow on you without limit.
That evening, after dinner, Edmund found himself alone with his sister. He asked her to play and sing for him. She threw open her piano, and sang and played the songs and pieces he asked for. Suddenly she turned to him with: "Why, Edmund, do you ask for all those sad and plaintive songs? What is the matter with you, my brother?" And as she spoke a smile played on her handsome face. Then she added: " How much are seven and nine ?"
Edmund let his head drop on his hand while his arm rested on the piano, and did not at once speak. Then he said, in a low voice:
"Alice, dear sister, do not laugh at me ; but help me. You know you said you would."
"And so I will, my darling brother," she said, as she leaned over and kissed his cheek ; " so let us be serious, and tell me all, so that I will know what to do."
" There is little to tell, dear sister, but that I cannot stop thinking, day or night, of Ada Morehouse."
" Have you seen her since ? "
" Only twice; once, by accident, near her house, and to-day, in our store."
"Did you speak when you met her by this accident, as you call it?" And here again a smile beamed on Alice's face.
Edmund looked at her, reproachfully, and said:
" It was quite an accident, I assure yon. Yes; I picked up her handkerchief, and when I handed it to her she thanked me by name, in the sweetest voice."
" Was she friendly, to-day, in her manner to you ?"
" She was sweetness itself, Alice; but I cannot say that it was
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anything particular to me, for I believe she cannot be anything else to any one. For my part, while she was in the store, I neither saw nor heard any one else, and, Alice, once or twice she stood very near me and whispered in my ear something about the widow's necessities, in the most confidential way. How it was I do not know, but I felt happier at that moment than I ever did in my life."
" Enough," said Alice; " I see the case plainly, brother; and there is only one cure for it."
" And what is that, sister?"
" That you go to work and convince her that you truly love her, and then that you ask her to marry you. If she accepts you, you can then love her at your leisure all your life long. If she rejects you-"
" Well," interrupted Edmund, " exactly; if she rejects me, what then ?"
" Why, brother dear, you will have to do as other men have done before you-get over your first love and find another angel who will value and return what the first rejects."
" Sister Alice, I see you don't understand this case, for if you did you would know that if Ada Morehouse refuses to love me, I will die an old bachelor, as sure as you and I sit here."
" Well, brother, that is all right. I have no wish to dispute your belief in that respect for the present. Now, what you want is to get better acquainted with Miss Morehouse, and to give her a better opportunity of knowing you; so I will turn the matter over in my mind and see what can be done."
" Good night, sister," said Edmund, kissing her. "I feel ever so much happier since I told you all."
" It is, in fact, love on first sight," murmured Alice after Ed- mund was gone, " a thing I never believed in before."
. The next day Mrs. Roman called on Mrs. Eaton, her old schoolmate, and invited her to a social lunch, to give them, as she said, a chance to talk over old school days.
Mrs. Eaton said: "Oh, that will be nice; I will go, by all means."
Then Alice went on to say: "I understand you have a beauti- ful cousin, a Miss Morehouse. Please get her to come with you; I would so like to know her."
" I will try; and perhaps my aunt will come, too."
" Oh, that will be yet more gratifying, I assure you," said Alice.
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The next day, at the appointed hour, Alice had a beautiful lunch, and all the ladies she had invited were there, including Ada and her mother. On their return home, both Mrs. More- house and Ada pronounced Mrs. Roman a charming lady and one of the sweetest of women. Then followed a lunch at Mrs. Morehouse's; then an evening party of a few friends at Mrs. Eaton's. Mr. and Mrs. Roman were invited, but Mrs. Roman sent an apology to say that she had no escort, as her husband had an engagement for that evening. Then came a note from Mrs. Eaton to ask Mrs. Roman to get her brother to escort her. Edmund did take her, and then for the first time met Ada in private social life. To him she looked more charming than ever. She was all life and wit, and seemed to enjoy herself to the ut- most. Some lady friends, who knew that she sang and played beautifully, requested her to give them some music. Just as she was going to take her seat, she addressed Edmund, saying: "Are you fond of music, Mr. Allen ?"
" Passionately fond of it," responded Edmund.
" Then come near me, and ask for what you like best."
Edmund's heart bounded at this compliment. He took his place near her, but his memory was sadly at fault, and he feared she thought him absolutely stupid, for not one piece of music or song could he bring to his memory to ask for; so, growing des- perate at this thought, he resolved to be candid, even at the risk of giving offence; so, stooping as if it were to get her a piece of music, he said, just loud enough for her to hear him: "The truth is, Miss Ada, that when I am near you I know nothing and can remember nothing, but that I am near you."
As quick as thought, her eyes flashed on his face. She thought that perhaps it was an idle compliment, which would have been offensive in so new an acquaintance. But no; her unerring woman's perception told her that what he said he meant, for in his eyes was an honest, truthful expression, that said in answer to her look: " Yes; what I said is from my heart."
Then, as she looked back on her music, a flush crimsoned her face, and she proceeded for a minute in evident agitation. In another minute, however, she had regained her self-composure and repaid him for his compliment with a sweet smile, and all the evening she was a happy girl, and her dreams that night were of a paradise on earth. Following this party came some weeks of happiness almost unalloyed to Ada and Edmund. Edmund was
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now a constant and welcome visitor at Mr. Morehouse's. Ada had several suitors besides Edmund, all richer than he, but she discarded them all, one after the other. If Ada's parents had not been rich, Edmund would have long since proposed for her. Thinking over this one day, he resolved to go to her father and have a plain talk with him. Knowing his habits, he knew when to find him in his library. Mr. Morehouse was somewhat sur- prised at the call, but received him cordially and handed him a chair. Without a word of preface, Edmund went on to say:
" Mr. Morehouse, I came to speak to you of a matter of the utmost importance to me, and shall be perfectly open and candid, and will deem your taking what I say under consideration a great favor."
"I promise, unreservedly, Mr. Allen, to do that with pleas- ure."
" Thank you, Mr. Morehouse; your family have always been kind to me since I was so fortunate as to make their acquaintance, and it cannot, I think, have escaped your notice that Miss Ada's society has been peculiarly attractive to me."
Mr. Morehouse bowed in assent, and said:
" Mr. Allen, from the turn I see this conversation is likely to take, I would wish, if you have no objection, that Mrs. More- house should be present; for, to say truth, I have a great reliance on a mother's judgment in these matters, and deem it her right to have the fullest opportunity of judging of them for herself. And then my wife and I, sir, have made it a rule of life to share with each other all responsibilities."
"No objection, Mr. Morehouse, for it is just what I would wish."
Mr. Morehouse soon returned with his wife, who saluted Ed- mund in the kindest manner, and took her seat by her husband, leaning her arm on his chair.
" I have explained, Mr. Allen, to Mrs. Morehouse, the nature of your visit, so you can proceed in what you wish to say. We are all attention, sir."
" I have just spoken, Mrs. Morehouse, of the kindness and courtesy you have all shown me since I had the good fortune of your acquaintance ; and I was going to explain that it was far from me to desire to intrude, in an unwished-for way, on the notice of your family; but I come here to acknowledge to you, plainly and candidly, as it becomes a man of honor to do,
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that Miss Ada has become the object of my heart's truest love. I have not told her so, nor spoken to her of such feelings, but I am most desirous of doing so, if I can get your approval and consent. From the moment I first got acquainted with her I felt her extraordinary power over me. I tried to avoid her, and not to think of her, because I saw that you had a right to look higher than one in my position for the husband of your daughter, and such a daughter as I saw her to be. But in this I utterly failed."
Pausing for an instant, he continued, without a shadow of diffidence, but with an earnest voice, that trembled with deep feeling and evident emotion :
" So, as bold as the proposition may seem to you, I come to seek your consent to ask her for her hand in marriage. I would rather die than do this, if I did not feel sure that, under God, her happiness would be safe in my hands. I am not rich, it is true; but I propose to satisfy you that I am doing a good, pros- perous business, which will afford me ample means of supporting a family in all the comforts, if not the luxuries, of life. And, if I am successful in this suit, I want it distinctly understood that I neither look for nor will I accept any pecuniary endowment with the rich treasure of your daughter's hand. I come to you, friends, as your kindness to me gives me the right to style you, not rich, but with an honorable, untarnished name, a brave heart to encounter the vicissitudes of life, and with a vow of fidelity and truth, that I trust in God will remain unbroken till life's close, to ever promote the happiness and shield and protect her whose land I seek here to-day."
Happy mother! happy parents both! As you sit there you can- not but estimate the character of the youth before you at its true, its priceless value; and, as you do so, you feel intensely proud and happy that he so values her who is so near and dear to you. Yes, mother and father, this homage this true man yields to the result of your labors almost repays you for all that labor, care and anxiety in all the past for baby, child and girl.
" Thank you, Mr. Allen," responded Mr. Morehouse, " for your plain and outspoken statement of your wishes; and I must also acknowledge, which I do with great pleasure, that your way of proceeding is entirely unexceptionable, and in keeping with what I had reasonably to expect from a member of the family to which you belong. I will be equally candid and open with
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yourself, and say to you that your feelings towards our daughter have not been unobserved, either by Mrs. Morehouse or myself, and that, under these circumstances, we thought a conversation, such as we are now having, not unlikely to occur. In this view I thought it best for all parties interested that I should make such inquries as would enable us to judge of what should be the result of any such application as you have this morning made. In pursuance of this conceived duty, I have made full and minute inquiries. I found, in the first place, that your father, Captain Allen, was an old client of mine-a man of the highest honor and integrity, whom I am proud to class as a personal friend. In the next place, I found your school and academical record un- tarnished by one mean act. Then I found your old employers, Gould, Fox & Co., of New York, enthusiastic in your praise. Further on, I find all your New York business connections re- gard you as a valuable customer and a man of strict honor. Sir, I want no more, and Mrs. Morehouse agrees with me."
As he said this, he turned his head towards his wife, and she promptly said:
" Perfectly. You have our full consent to speak to our daugh- ter, and seek her consent to your proposal."
Edmund was on the point of jumping from his chair to ex- tend his hand, in gratitude and thanks, when Mr. Morehouse motioned him to let him proceed further; so Edmund remained in his chair, now like a fettered bird, to hear what Mr. More- house wished to add.
" You referred to the fact that you were not rich, and to your struggling position, and that you would not receive any money endowment with your wife. As to your not being rich, there were times, perhaps, when I built castles in the air as to riches for my daughter; but they were but air castles, not founded on good judgment, and have faded away. In you, sir, I feel, if you are the choice of our child, our views for her will be fully satisfied. As to the other point, we wish to reserve to ourselves the right to give, as well as not to give, to any of our children, married as well as single; and this I wish understood distinctly. God has intrusted me with considerable of this world's wealth. I shall hold what I do not use of it in trust for my children; and our intention is, as long as either of us live, not to lop off any of the branches of the parent oak, but to leave all its spreading shade as a common shelter for all our family, and
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their families-a harbor to fly to if the world frowns on any of them, where they will be sure of a home and a rest that will refresh and protect them."
" Mr. and Mrs. Morehouse, how can I thank you? I have no words to do it."
"Never mind, never mind, Edmund," exclaimed Mrs. More- house, tears streaming down her cheeks; " I will not call you Mr. Allen any more; we understand all that you would say. Come this evening and see Ada, and we both wish you success, with all our hearts. She will be home from New York this afternoon some time, and, of course, we will say nothing to her of your visit. You shall tell her all yourself."
" Thank you, dear Mrs. Morehouse, a thousand times thank you both." And, shaking hands, he was out of sight in a mo- ment.
CHAPTER V.
THE SONG-THE PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE.
As Edmund Allen walked quickly towards his sister's house, the world appeared a bright paradise spread out before him, without a cloud to cast one shadow on it. Yet, now he almost stops walking, and, half-aloud, exclaimed:
" What if I should have totally mistaken Ada's feelings to- wards me-but no," he said, cheerfully, " I cannot but believe that such eyes as hers always reflect truly the feelings of the heart."
Alice, who knew her brother's mission that morning, was watching for his return, and, as she saw him coming, threw open the door to receive him. Without speaking, the moment he en- tered she caught his hand, and, looking up into his face, ex- claimed :
" Oh, it is all right; you are accepted, my darling brother; I wish you joy a thousand times over."
" No, Alice, not exactly; I have only seen Mr. and Mrs. Morehouse. Their reception was all that I could ask, and more, in fact, than I could expect. I have their consent to see Ada this evening, and their good wishes for my success with her."
" Oh, then, I consider it as good as settled, my dear brother. Did you tell them your personal history ?"
" Yes; and I found out that father is an old acquaintance and friend of Mr. Morehouse, and he speaks of him in the highest terms."
" Oh, then, all is right, dear Edmund, and I know you have nothing to fear as to your interview with Ada to-night."
" Well, dear sister, I cannot help feeling confident myself, and, therefore, very happy."
When Ada returned from New York, that afternoon, she found her father and mother absent. They were not to be back, Mary, the hired girl, said, until nine o'clock in the evening.
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