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Show Blue Spectacles That Gilbert Norcross should have had a somewhat over? Opinion of himself, is perhaps not strange. Had he been a brigadier-general in the late war, or chosen representative by an appreciative community. I do not know that he would have felt more lifted up than others under the same circumstances; but to be the only available young man in a New England village is a position calculated to turn the strongest brain. On the battle-field, or in the halls of Congress, he would have found many equals and some superiors, and the consciousness of this would have had a tendency to keep him humble, but in Paddletown he was absolutely without competition. Was there a picnic, a sleigh-ride, a Fourth of July celebration, or a Christmas festival, he was the acknowledged leader. To be sure, there were others who contributed to these entertainments, or the entertainments could not have been but their names were never heard, they seemed only puppets moved according as Gilbert Norcross pulled the wires. But it was among the young ladies of Puddletown that he achieved his proudest triumphs. He was like a butterfly in a garden of flowers, or rather like a wicked bumblebee that stole the honey and left the sting behind. First, there was Sally Smythe, a bright, black-eyed girl of seventeen. He escorted her home from circles and prayer-meetings, he took her our for moonlight drives, he bought her (unreadable) chocolate (unreadable) so long, ? an evening after the old folds were in bed, that the extra amount of kerosene consumed was a serious item to Sally's father. Then, just when everybody, Sally included, had set him down as Sally's lover, he suddenly and without warning betook himself and his peppermints to fair-haired Cora Dwight. And so he went from one to another, always stopping just short of the fatal question. It is a wonder that the morocco armchair in which he pursued his legal studies did not become a couch of thorns in requital of his abominable conduct, but in truth he seemed to find it very comfortable indeed, which was no doubt owing to the hardened state of his conscience. One day as he was reclining in its soft embrace-his head a trifle higher than the window-sill, and his feet a trifle higher than his head-he was startled to a more natural and becoming position with a suddenness that threw the sheep-skin volume in front of him to the floor, from which we refer that he was not so deeply engrossed in the volume aforesaid that the had not also an eye for what was going on outside. "Who is she?" was the exclamation he uttered. It is observable that although there were two ladies passing, he said, "Who is she?" instead of "Who are they?" although according to all the rules of grammar, two persons are plural and not singular. The fact is, he saw only one face, the pretty and smiling one, of the other he noted nothing but a pair of blue spectacles. "Who is she?" He spurned the sheep skin volume with his foot, for he was now engaged in the more interesting study than anything its pages contained. It was a case of infatuation at first sight, to be tried by a "higher law" than any put down in the books. He had no difficulty in finding out all he wished to know, for no stranger ever remained in Puddletown twenty-four hours incognito. The owner of the pretty face was Miss Bascom, a student at Wellesley College, who had come to pass her vacation with her aunt, Mrs. Tufts. Fortunately he knew Mrs. Tufts, so nothing was more natural than that he should call on her niece, which he lost no time in doing. Miss Bascom was not in the house on this occasion but presently came riding up from the field on top of a load of hay in company with an indefinite number of the Tuft's children. Her shade-hat had fallen off, and her yellow hair was tossed and tumbled by the wind, while the laughter of the merry party came floating in at the parlor windows with the fragrance of the new mown hay. "As much a child as any of them," said Mrs. Tufts. "Yes," assented Gilbert, absently, and wishing with all his might that something would happen which would serve as an excuse for his going out to the cart; when just then, to be sure, Billy tufts began to turn somersets on the hay. "See that boy-he's so venturesome," said Mrs. Tufts; "there, he's falling." Of course Gilbert ran to rescue Bill form his peril, followed by the distracted mother, but before they reached him he had rescued himself, and was standing comfortably on his head. Mrs. Tufts first administered a rebuke to her son, then introduced Gilbert and Miss Bascom, whereupon he took off his hat and bowed, and she laughed and blushed, and allowed him to help her down over the cartwheel. Here was an excellent beginning, and Gilbert improved it by passing the remainder of the evening, during which he was introduced to the young woman in blue spectacles whom he had first seen with Miss Bascom. He failed to catch her name, however, and noticed nothing more than that she was quite plain and somewhat deaf. Miss Bascom it was who occupied his dreams waking and sleeping and he continued his attentions as assiduously as circumstances would admit, but with what success he hardly knew himself. She seemed to him like a will o'-the-wisp, now close within his reach, now farther off than ever. With the perverseness common to mankind, this only made him more interested and determined in his pursuit. At length a time approached which seemed to favor his wishes. It was the glorious Fourth, which the young people were to celebrate by a picnic at Shamrock Grove. As usual, on such occasions, Mr. Flint's great wagon was engaged to convey the party, but Gilbert had far other plans, though he thought it prudent to keep them to himself till he was sure of carrying them out. He therefore wrote Miss Bascom a note requesting her to favor him with her company in a private conveyance. The not being finished, it popped into his head to add this postcript: "If you accept my company now, may I not infer that you accept it for life?" He thought this a very neat thing, and sealed his note with a good deal of complacency. It then occured to him that he had never heard Miss Bascom's first name. It was of no great consequence, and he was about to direct it, "Miss Bascom." When he saw Bill Tufts coming from the postoffice, which was nearly opposite. He beckoned him over. It was the second time Billy had come to his relief, and he felt as though he could have embraced him, although he did not look particularly clean nor tempting. Billy had a letter in his hand which he had just taken to the office, and Gilbert saw at a glance that it was directed to "Miss Jane Bascom," so he directed his own accordingly ? told Billy (unreadable) of ? crackers and a pop gun if he would deliver his note and say nothing about it to anybody. flash. In less than an hour he was back again with an answer; it was propitious; Miss Bascom accepted the invitation, and would take the other proposition into consideration. There was no longer any occasion for secrecy, and Gilbert openly boasted that he was going to the picnic with the prettiest girl in town. The glorious Fourth rose clear and balmy, and at the tie appointed he drove up to Mrs. Tufts' door with a high-stepping horse and a basket-?. Mrs. Tufts looked out the window and said,- "Don't leave your horse, Mr. Norcross; Jane is all ready." There immediately appeared at the door, not the person he expected to see, but the wearer of the blue spectacles. "Good morning, sir, you see I am punctual; I make it a point never to keep any one waiting," said she. She wore a scant gray dress, which came just below her ankles, displaying a pair of clumsy boots; a black hat with a green berege veil, and gray cotton gloves. All was to the last degree proper and sensible, but also stiff and angular and uncompromising. Her very gait, as she stalked down to the phaeton, seemed to say, "You see I have none of the follies of my sex." It seemed to Gilbert that she had never looked so ugly as now in the bright morning sunshine, and the blue spectacles had never glared at him so maliciously. While this was passing through his mind he had made his bow and offered his hand to help her into the phaeton, since into the phaeton she appeared determined to go. "And the other young lady; is she not going?" he ventured to ask. "Cousin Blanche? Oh, she went some time ago, in the big team." He took his seat beside her, not knowing whether he was the victim of a terrible blunder or a vile conspiracy. As in duty bound, he made some attempt at conversation, but hardly knew whether he was talking sense or nonsense, and once found himself addressing his companion as "Miss Spectacles." Probably she did not understand him as she pulled form some hidden receptacle a speaking trumpet and applied it to her ear, saying that she always used it when riding. The wind and the rumbling of the carriage made hearing difficult. "Some persons are ashamed to use a trumpet," said she, "but I consider that a false pride. I don't know that Harriet Martineau was any less respected for using a trumpet." And then followed a glowing eulogy on Miss Martineau, who seemed to be Jane's special heroine. In all this there was consolation, for it seemed to imply that she had failed to comprehend his postcript, or was expecting him to shout his sentiments through the ear-trumpet? But presently she began,- "With regard to the second proposition in your note, Mr. Norcross,-" "Now it's coming!" thought he, with a shiver, and seriously contemplated jumping out of the carriage and running away, but her next words relived him. "I have given the matter due consideration and have decided that while I am at college any such entanglement would distract my mind, and as I shall afterwards give some years to the study of medicine, it would be long before I could entertain such a proposal. Harriet Martineau"---- What more she said he hardly noticed. He had got out of the matter better than he expected, and breathed freely once more. Arrived at the ? he got rid of Jane as soon as possible and went in search of Blanche. He found her sitting by a rock by the water's edge. She was dressed in something white and fluffy and charming-it might have been a cloud, for anything he knew-and flattering ends of ribbon peeped out from all manner of unexpected places, while her ?, drooping hat enhances the beauty it was intended to shade. "Good morning, Mr. Norcross, or shall I say Cousin Gilbert?" said she mischievously. "Miss Bascom, you know that note was intended for you," said he. "How should I?" My name isn't Jane," said she. "No, it was all a wretched blunder; but now that you do know it, what is your answer?" "My answer? Oh, you can't be serious, Mr. Norcross," she said. "I am serious, and should like a serious answer," said he, almost angrily. "What, me marry you? Why, it's just ridiculous!" and she burst into a girlish fit of laughter, "It was all very well for cousin Jane, she's so nice and discreet and sensible, and would take such good care of you; but ?- excuse me for laughing, Mr. Norcross, but it's so funny!' "It doesn't strike me in that light," said he. "Oh dear, I fear I've been rude-I didn't mean to be-but pray forget it all and let's be good friends, Mr. Norcross, just as if nothing had happened." "Come Blanche, the boat's ready," said a voice. "Coming!" called she. "Willie Breck and I are ? out for pond lilies. Good-by, Mr. Norcross." And Gilbert stood and saw her rowed of by an academy boy in a roundabout jacket. To be refused twice in one day is no common experience. Yet it had happened to Gilbert Norcross, and although Jane's rejection had been a relief, it was none the less mortification. He knew, from the smiles and jests of his companions, that the story had in some fashion spread ? them, which (unreadable) that he soon stole quietly away; and ever since the mere mention of Blue Spectacles has the same effect upon him that a read rag has on certain of the bovine species.-Youth's Companion |