, Vol. i.
pp. 60-66.]
[Footnote 15: _North Amer. Review_, April, 1860, p. 475.]
[Footnote 16: _Amer. Journal of Science_, July, 1860, p. 146.]
* * * * *
A MODERN CINDERELLA:
OR, THE LITTLE OLD SHOE.
HOW IT WAS LOST.
Among green New England hills stood an ancient house, many-gabled,
mossy-roofed, and quaintly built, but picturesque and pleasant to the
eye; for a brook ran babbling through the orchard that encompassed it
about, a garden-plot stretched upward to the whispering birches on the
slope, and patriarchal elms stood sentinel upon the lawn, as they had
stood almost a century ago, when the Revolution rolled that way and
found them young.
One summer morning, when the air was full of country sounds, of mowers
in the meadow, blackbirds by the brook, and the low of kine upon the
hill-side, the old house wore its cheeriest aspect, and a certain
humble history began.
"Nan!"
"Yes, Di."
And a head, brown-locked, blue-eyed, soft-featured, looked in at the
open door in answer to the call.
"Just bring me the third volume of 'Wilhelm Meister,'--there's a dear.
It's hardly worth while to rouse such a restless ghost as I, when I'm
once fairly laid."
As she spoke, Di pushed up her black braids, thumped the pillow of the
couch where she was lying, and with eager eyes went down the last page
of her book.
"Nan!"
"Yes, Laura," replied the girl, coming back with the third volume for
the literary cormorant, who took it with a nod, still too intent upon
the "Confessions of a Fair Saint" to remember the failings of a
certain plain sinner.
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