THE NEW OLD HOME.
The doctor lent them money enough to hire a pleasant, sunny room in the
village street, where her mother could sit and watch the passers by when
she was tired of knitting and reading, for she was alone now almost all
the day, and Violet was mistress of the village school.
One morning, as Mary sat in her comfortable chair, and was wishing old
Reuben could see what a beautiful home she had, a carriage drove to the
door below, and then came a knock at her own door, and Dr. Story
entered.
"I have come to give you a ride this pleasant day," he said. "We will
call for Violet. Wouldn't you like to see how I have improved the old
blackberry field?"
Mary was delighted. She had never ridden in a carriage in her life; and
to go in that splendid one of the doctor's, with velvet cushions, and
footmen behind! She sat very straight, you may be sure, and kept tucking
in her gown; for though it was new, she was afraid it might harm the
seats, and her wrinkled face was shining all over with smiles.
They met Violet on her way home from school, and she was almost as much
pleased as the old lady with her ride.
But what was their surprise to find, instead of the little footpath, a
broad avenue through the pasture, with young trees on each side, and the
hill where the blackberry vines had been, covered with waving oats, and
in front of Violet's own beloved wood a beautiful great house large as a
palace!
"But now look on the other side," said Dr. Story.
Where the old hut had stood was the prettiest little cottage you ever
saw, with the very clematis, and honeysuckle, and wild roses Violet had
planted trained over it; and there was Reuben's garden all in order,
just as they had left it; and under the great elm tree there was his
grave, with a new white stone at the head, and the old man's name and
age cut in it.
They alighted at the cottage door, and Violet noticed how the air was
perfumed with her own favorite flowers. While Alfred stooped to gather
some of these for Violet, his father said,--
"Do you remember, Mary, whose birthday this is?"
"Sure enough, it's Violet's!" exclaimed the old woman.
"And this," said the doctor, "is Violet's birthday present--this house
and garden, and these beds of flowers."
But before they could thank him, he added,--
"In return, you are to give up your school, and teach my own children.
Will you do it, Violet? They are so young it will be easy at first, and
meantime you shall have teachers yourself."
Pleased as Violet and Mary were, I don't think they were half as glad as
Alfred, who threw his book down into the grass so suddenly at his
father's speech, I should not be surprised if it broke fairy Ambition's
head.