ELMWOOD, June 15, 18--

I have been out among my flowers all the morning, digging, weeding, and

transplanting, and then stopping a little to rest. Such perfect

successes as my roses are this year, while my white lilies are the

wonder of the town, and yet my heart was not with them to-day, and it

was nothing to me that those fine people staying at the Towers came into

the grounds while I was at work, "just to see and admire," they said,

adding that there was no place like Elmwood in all the town of

Cuylerville. I know that, and Guy and I have been so happy here, and I

loved him so much, and never dreamed what was in store for me until it

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came so suddenly and seemed like a heavy blow.

Why did he want to get married, when he has lived to be thirty years

old, without a care of any kind, and with money enough to allow him to

indulge his taste for books, and pictures, and travel, and is respected

by everybody, looked up to as the first man in town, and petted and

cared for by me as few brothers have ever been petted and cared for;

why, I say, did he want a change, and, if he must be married, why need

he take a child of sixteen, whom he has only known since Christmas, and

whose sole recommendation, so far as I can learn, is her pretty face?

Daisy McDonald is her name, and she lives in Indianapolis, where her

father is a poor lawyer, and Guy met her last winter in Chicago and fell

in love at once, and made two or three journeys West on "important

business," he said, and then, some time in May, told me he was going to

bring me a sister, the sweetest little creature, with such beautiful

blue eyes and wonderful hair. I was sure to love her, he said, and when

I suggested that she was very young, he replied that her youth was in

her favor, as he could more easily mold her to the Thornton pattern.

Little he knows about girls, but then he was perfectly infatuated and

blind to everything but Daisy's eyes, and hair, and voice, which is so

sweet and winning that it will _speak_ for her at once; and he asked me

to see to the furnishing of the rooms on the west side of the house, two

which communicate with his own private library, where he spends a great

deal of time with his books and writing. The room adjoining this he

would have for Daisy's boudoir or parlor, where she could sit when he

was occupied and she wished to be near him. This he would have fitted up

in blue, as she had expressed a wish to that effect, and he said no

expense must be spared to make it as pretty and attractive as possible.

So the walls were frescoed and tinted, and I spent two entire days in

New York hunting for a carpet of the desirable shade, which should be

right both in texture and design.




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