CHAPTER VI.

POOR, POOR NELLIE.

And now, in the closing chapter of this brief sketch of the Gilberts, I come to the saddest part—­the fate of poor Nellie, the dearest playmate my childhood ever knew, she whom the lapse of years ripened into a graceful, beautiful girl, loved by everybody, even by Tom Jenkins, whose boyish affection had grown with his growth and strengthened with his strength.

And now Nellie was the affianced bride of William Raymond, who had replaced the little cornelian with the engagement ring.  At last the rumor reached Tom Jenkins, awaking him from the sweetest dream he had ever known.  He could not ask Nellie if it were true, so he came to me; and when I saw how he grew pale and trembled, I felt that Nellie was not altogether blameless.  But he breathed no word of censure against her; and when, a year or two afterward, I saw her given to William Raymond, I knew that the love of two hearts was hers; the one to cherish and watch over her, the other to love and worship, silently, secretly, as a miser worships his hidden treasure.

* * * * *

The bridal was over.  The farewells were over, and Nellie had gone—­gone from the home whose sunlight she had made, and which she had left forever.  Sadly the pale, sick mother wept, and mourned her absence, listening in vain for the light footfall and soft, ringing voice she would never hear again.

Three weeks had passed away, and then, far and near the papers teemed with accounts of the horrible Norwalk catastrophe, which desolated many a home, and wrung from many a heart its choicest treasure.  Side by side they found them—­Nellie and her husband—­the light of her brown eyes quenched forever, and the pulses of his heart still in death!

I was present when they told the poor invalid of her loss, and even now I seem to hear the bitter, wailing cry which broke from her white lips, as she begged them to unsay what they had said, and tell her Nellie was not dead—­that she would come back again.

It could not be.  Nellie would never return; and in six weeks’ time the broken-hearted mother was at rest with her child.

THE THANKSGIVING PARTY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

CHAPTER I.

NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING.

“Oh, I do hope it will be pleasant to-morrow,” said Lizzie Dayton, as on the night before Thanksgiving she stood at the parlor window, watching a dense mass of clouds, behind which the sun had lately gone to his nightly rest.

“I hope so, too,” said Lucy, coming forward and joining her sister; “but then it isn’t likely it will be.  There has been a big circle around the moon these three nights, and besides that, I never knew it fail to storm when I was particularly anxious that it should be pleasant;” and the indignant beauty pouted very becomingly at the insult so frequently offered by that most capricious of all things, the weather.