A HOLIDAY AND VEAL POT-PIE. 23
THE YOUNG ARTISTS—JAJIES' NARRATIVE.
Edith had been four years at school. In those four years
she had grown into maidenhood; she was little Edith no
longer. The most lovely and beloved of the pupils at the
seminary, the pride of the principal upon all occasions of pub¬
lic display, and the heroine of a hundred romantic stories, she
still pined for some one to belong to, some one who would call
her daughter, and receive the lavish affection of her heart.
It was a very dangerous state for a young lady's heart to bo
in—this craving after love and confidence. Such stores of
affection lying ready to be given away, M'ould be very apt to
have somebody to beg them; and if their proper owner did
not appear to claim them, some interloper might receive what
had been accumulating for the benefit of that mysterious, un¬
known father, the ideal of manhood to her imagination. Amos
Potter, studying hard in a distant State, and laying up a sweet
thought of her with every honor he M'on, did not think much
of this danger. Occasionally he M-rote her a letter beginning
with '■'■Dear Edith;" to which she responded in a pretty, gos¬
siping way, beginning hers, " Dear brather."
One Saturday in May, Edith had permission to spend tlie
holiday at home. James had brought in her pony for her to
ride out, and Mrs. Potter had sent her word that she must
come there to dinner, for they'd killed the fatted calf, and
were going to have veal pot-pie.
As she cantered out of the village, which now had a long
row of handsome cottages stretching out into the country, with
iier satchel containing a supply of drawing-materials for com¬
pany, her heart exulted in fullness of youth and life. James,
fofloM'cd at a respectful distance behind, on a horse of his own,
marking, with aclmiring eyes, the lovely form and easy grace
of his youthful mistress. He looked not a day older than ha