Democratic Sentinel, Volume 4, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 November 1880 — PASSION IN TATTERS. [ARTICLE]

PASSION IN TATTERS.

“She has got a face like one of her own rosebuds,” said Mr. Fitzalan. “I’ve heard of her more than once,” returned Frank Calverly. “ ‘The pretty Hower girl,’ the people call her, don’t they? Old Frixham has doubled his custom since she came there.” “And the best of it all,” added Fitzalan, with a laugh, “is that she is quite unconscious of her own attractions —a little country lassie, who thinks only of her own business, and never dreams that she herself is the sweetest Hower of all the assortment” “Let's go in and buy a Marechai Niel bud and. two or three sweet verbena leaves,” said Calverly. “I should like to see this modern Flora of yours.” Dorothy Penfield stood behind the counter of the florist’s store, sorting over a pile of fragrant blossoms which lay on a tray of damp, green moss. Trails of smilax wove, their green garlands up to the ceiling; heaps of gold and rosepetaled buds lay in the window; tufts of purple heliotrope perfumed the air, and white carnations lay like hillocks of snow against the panes of the show-window, while spikes of perfumed hyacinths and cape-jessamine flung their subtle scents upon the air. And Dolly herself, with her round, dimpled face, pink cheeks, and soft, brown eyes, exactly the shade of the rippled hair, which was brushed simply back from the broad, low brow, was a fitting accessory to the scene. She looked up as the two gentlemen entered, and a soft, crimson shadow overspread her face for a second. “ Have you got one of my favorite button-hole bouquets made up, Miss Penfield?” Fitzalan asked, with a careless bow and smile. “I know,” said Dolly, softly. “A rosebud and a sprig of heath, and two or three myrtle leaves; that is what you like. No; I have none made up, just at present; but I can tie one up in about half a minute, Mr. Fitzalan.” “One for me, too, if you please," said Calverly, touching his hat. “Just the same?” Dolly lifted her long eyelashes, which were like fringes of brown silk, and gave him a shy glance. “A little different, please. Consult vour own taste, Miss Penfield. ' “I like the double blue violets,” said Dolly, gently, “with geranium leaves.” “ Then they shall be my favorite flowers also,” said Calverly, gallantly. The gentlemen had hardly taken their leave, when old Frixham, the florist, bustled in, with round, red face, shining bald head, and an air of business all over him. “ Isn’t it time you had the theater bouquets ready?” said he, looking critically around, and moving a glass of freshly cut callas out of the level sunset beams which at that moment fell, like a sheen of golden laces, athwart the deep bow window.” “I shall have them ready directly,” said Dolly, starting from her reverie, “ the flowers are all sorted out.” “We have too many carnations on hand,” said the florist fretfully; “and those gaudy cape bells are so much dead toss. Let the man from the greenhouses know, please, there’s a demand for halfopen rosebuds and forced lilies-of-the valley. ” “ Yes,” said Dolly, dreamily, “ I will tell him—when he comes.” The closed country wagon with its freight of fragrant leaves and deliciously scented flowers, came early in the morning, long before the fat florist was out of

bed, and while the silence almost of an enchanted land lay upon Upper Broadway. But Dolly Penfield was there freshening up the stock of the day before with wet moss and cool water, and clipping the stems of the rosebuds. “ No more carnations, John,” she said briskly, * ‘ nor amaryllis flowers, and we want plenty of camellias and geraniums, and those bright flowers.” “I thought, perhaps,” said honest John Deadwood, who measured six feet in his stockings, and had the face of an amiable giant, “you might want to go back with me to-day, Dolly. Your aunt has come on from Kansas, and there is going to be a dance out in the old barn, with plenty of candles and evergreen boughs. And mother said she would be proud to welcome you to the old farm house, Dolly. Your oleander tree is kept carefully at the south window, and ” “Dear me!” carelessly interrupted Dolly; “why don’t they put it in the greenhouse?” “Because, Dolly,” said the young man, reddening, “it reminds us of you. And the meadow-lark in the cage sings beautifully' and old red brindle has a spotted calt. ” “ Has she?” questioned dolly indifferently. John Deadwood looked hard at her. “Dolly,” said he, “you don‘t care about the old home any longer!” “Yes, Ido,” said Dolly, rousing herself, “ but ” She paused suddenly, the rosy color rushed in a carmine tide to her cheek, an involuntary smile dimpling the corners of her fresh lips as she glanced through the smilax trails in the window. John Deadwood, following in the direction of her eyes, glanced, too, just in time to see a tall gentleman lift his hat and bow as he went jauntily past. “Is that it,” said John, bitterly. * ‘ls what?” petulantly retorted Dolly. “I’m sure I don’t know why we are standing here waiting for and I with twenty-eight bouquets to make up by 2 o’clock. That’s all, John, I think. Don’t forget the lilies of the valley.” “But you haven’t answered me, Dolly.” “Answered you what?” “About the dance in the old bam, and coming back with me when the wagon returns at 5 o’clock. ” “It is quite out of the question,” said Dolly, listlessly. “Dolly!” “Well.” “You promised me years ago—” “Nonsense,” said Dolly, flinging the azaleas and pinks around in fragrant confusion. “I was only a child then.” * ‘But you’ve no right to go back on your word, Dolly, child or no child.” “I never promised, John.” “But you let me believe that one day you would be my wife. And I’ve lived on the thought of Dolly, ever since.

And if this city situation of yours should break up my life’s hope—” “Don’t hope anything about me, John!” brusquely interrupted the girl. ‘ ‘Here comes a customer. Please, John, don’t stand there any longer looking like * Arid honest, heart-broken John turned and went with heavy heart out to where the wagon stood, and old Roan was waiting with down-drooping head and halfclosed eyes. “It does seem to me,” he muttered between his teeth, “that there is nothing left to live for any longer.” Dolly looked half remorsefully after him. “I’ve almost a mind to call him back,” said she to herself as she picked out a bunch of white violets for the newcomer. I do like John Deadwood; but I think lie has no business to consider himself engaged to me, just because of that boy-and-girl nonsense. One’s ideas change as one gets on in life.” And Dolly’s cheek was like the reflection of the pink azaleas as she thought of Mr. Fitzalan and the turquoise ring that he had oiven her as a troth plight. Ami Mr. Frixham came in presently. “I’ve a note from the Sedgewicks, on Fifth avenue,” said he hurriedly. They always order their flowers from Servoss, but Servoss has disa} p tinted them. They want the house decorated for a party tonight—there’s not a minute to lose. I’ve telegraphed to Bolton’s for one hundred yards of smilax ami running fem and one hundred poinsettas; and I think we can manage the rest ourselves. You had better go at once, Miss Penfield, and plan the decorations—you’ve a pretty taste of your own—and I’ll send up the flowers with Hodges to help you.” And Dolly went, her mind still on the turquoise ring, with a band of virgin gold and its radiant blue stone. The Sedgewick mansion was a brown stone palace, with plate glass casements, and a ’vestibule paved with black and orange marble. Mrs. Sedgewick, a stately lady, in a Watteau wrapper and blonde cap, received Dolly in the great drawing room. “Oh!” said she, lifting her eye-glasses; “you’re from the florist’s, are you? Well, I know nothing about these things —I only want the rooms to look elegant. Tell your husband to spare no expense. ” “Mr. Frixham is not my husband,” said Dollv.

“Your father, then.” “Bat he isn’t my father,” insisted Dolly, half laughing. He’s no relation at all. I will tell him, however.” “Exactly,” said Mrs. Sedge wick. “I particularly desire plenty of white roses, as I am told they are customary at this sort of affair. It’s an engagement party. ” “Indeed!” said Dolly, trying to look I interested. “Between my daughter Clara and Mr. i Alfred Fitzalan,” said Mrs. Sedgewick, I with conscious complacency. ■ Dolly said nothing, but the room, with i its fluted cornices and lofty ceilings, | seemed to swim around her like the i waves of the sea. And as she went out, i with Mrs. Sedgewick still chatting about white rose-buds and begonia-leaves, she passed the half open door of a room, all hung with blue velvet, where a yellow tressed beauty sat smiling on a low divan, with Fitzalan bending tenderly | alxr/e her. “He has only been amusing himself 1 with me,” said Dolly to herseff. There was a sharp ache at her heart; i but after all, it was only the sting of wounded pride. Thank heaven—oh, ; thank heaven, it was nothing Worse than ; that! Honest John Deadwood was driving i old Roan steadily and solemnly along i past the patch of woods, where the vel--1 vet-mossed bowlders lay like dormant ! beasts of prey in the spring twilight, when a gray shadow glided out of the ' other shadows, and stood at his side. “John!” she whispered. “Dolly! it’s never you ?” , “Yes, John,” said the girl, gently but steadily. “I’m going back home with i you.” “God bless you, Dolly,” said the young man, fervently. “For good and all, John, if you’ll take ' me,” said Dolly, slowly. “I’ve had quite enough of city life; and I’ll help you with the green houses, and I’ll try and be a good little housekeeper at home. ShalM, John?” John put his arm around her and hugged her up to his side. “Darling!” said he, huskily, “it’s most too good news to be true; but, if my word is worth anything, you shall never regret your decision of this day.” So the pretty flower girl vanished out of the bower of smilax and rosebuds. The Sedgewick mansion wasn’t decorated at all, and Mr. Frixham had lost his new customer. And the turquoise ring came ; back to Mr. Fritzalan in a blank en- | velope.