restraints of our way of life? Will she not wish herself back out of our still and formal circles, which are frequently held together only by the red and black pips on fifty-two cards, with her frolicsome kids and lambkins, her gabbling ducks and geese, and her cooing doves? Will she”
I should have stumbled upon a hundred more such “Will she’s?” had not a servant just then entered to inform me that supper was on the table.
Mimili too must have been meanwhile holding a soliloquy, which probably began with “Will he?” for she was serious and reserved.
It was not till her father inquired if any thing ailed her, that she made an effort to resume her accustomed cheerfulness, and to joke with him and me: but I was more sharp-sighted than the old man; I could see to the very bottom of her pure soul, and I cast into it the anchor of my hopes.
“To the seat where there is so much clover,” I softly whispered to her after supper. She nodded assent with a smile, and fetched her guitar. “Father,” said she, “the gentleman is fond of the bench where we sat last night; I will sing him to sleep there, and then I’ll chain him, and make him stay with us till the clover has done blossoming.”
The old man laughed, and we walked arm in arm to the seat. Mimili touched, unsolicited,
