artificial and hollow-hearted. In short, while thinking far more of family, and accomplishments, and style, than he ought, he was yet heartily tired of the butterflies who flitted so constantly around him, offering to be caught if he would but stretch out his hand to catch them. This he would not do, and disgusted with the world as he saw it in New York, he had gone to the Far West, roaming a while amid the solitude of the broad prairies, and finding there much that was soothing to him, but not discovering the fulfillment of the great want he was craving, until, coming back to Canandaigua, he met with Katy Lennox. He had smiled wearily when asked by Mrs. Woodhull to go with her to the examination then in progress at the seminary. There was nothing there to interest him, he thought, as Euclid and algebra, French and rhetoric were bygone things, while young school misses in braided hair and pantalets were shockingly insipid. Still, to be polite to Mrs. Woodhull, a childless, fashionable woman, who patronized Canandaigua generally, and Katy Lennox in particular, he consented to go, and soon found himself in the crowded room, the cynosure of many eyes as the whisper ran around that the fine-looking man with Mrs. Woodhull was the Wilford Cameron from New York, and brother to the proud, dashing Juno Cameron, who once spent a few weeks in town, Wilford knew they were talking about him, but he did not care, and assuming as easy an attitude as possible, he leaned hack in his chair, yawning indolently, and wishing the time away, until the class in algebra was called and Katy Lennox came tripping on to the stage, a pale blue ribbon in her golden hair and her simple dress of white relieved by no ornament except the cluster of wild flowers fastened in her belt and at her graceful throat. But Katy needed no ornaments to make her more beautiful than she was at the moment when, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, modestly cast down for a moment as she took her place, and then as modestly uplifted to her teacher's face, she first burst upon Wilford's vision, a creature of rare, bewitching beauty, such as he had never dreamed about.
Wilford had met his destiny, and he felt it in every throb of blood which went rushing through his veins.
"Who is she?" he asked of Mrs. Woodhull, and that lady knew at once whom he meant, even though he had not designated her.
An old acquaintance of Mrs. Lennox when she lived in East Bloomfield, Mrs. Woodhull had petted Katy from the first day of her arrival in Canandaigua with a letter of introduction to herself from the ambitious mother, and being rather inclined to match-making, she had had Katy in her mind when she urged Wilford to accompany her to the seminary. Accordingly, she answered him at once: "That is Katy Lennox, daughter of Judge Lennox, who died in East Bloomfield a few years ago."
Lennox was a good name, while the title of judge increased its value. Wilford would not have acknowledged that, perhaps, but it was nevertheless the truth, and Mrs. Woodhull, who understood exactly the claim which Mr. Lennox had to the title, knew it was true, and that was why she spoke as she did. It was time Wilford Cameron was settled in life, and with the exception of wealth and family position, he could not find a better wife than Katy Lennox, and she would do what she could to bring the marriage about.
"Pretty, is she not?" was her question put to Wilford after answering his inquiry, but Wilford did not hear, having neither eye nor ear for anything save Kitty, acquitting herself with a good deal of credit as she worked out a rather difficult problem, her dimpled white hand showing to good advantage against the deep black of the board; and then her voice, soft-toned and silvery as a lady's voice should be, thrilled Wilford's ear, awaking a strange feeling of disquiet, as if the world would never again be quite the same to him that it was before he met that fair young girl now passing from the room.
Mrs. Woodhull saw that he was interested, and mentally congratulating herself upon the successful working of her plan, first gained the preceptress' consent, and then asked Katy home with her to tea that night. And this was how Wilford Cameron came to know little Katy Lennox, the simple-hearted child, who blushed so prettily when first presented to him, and blushed again when he praised her recitations, but who after that forgot the difference in their social relations, laughing and chatting as merrily in his presence as if she had been alone with Mrs. Woodhull. This was the great charm to Wilford, Katy was so wholly unconscious of himself or what he might think of her, that he could not sit in judgment upon her, and he watched her eagerly as she sported, and flashed, and sparkled, filling the room with sunshine, and putting to rout the entire regiment of blues which had been for months harassing the city-bred young man.
If there was any one thing in which Katy excelled, it was music, both vocal and instrumental, a taste for which had been developed very early, and fostered by Morris Grant, who had seen that his cousin had every advantage which Silverton could afford. Great pains, too, had been given to her style of playing while at Canandaigua, so that as a performer upon the piano she had few rivals in the seminary, while her bird-like voice filled every nook and corner of the room, where, on the night after her visit to Mrs. Woodhull, a select exhibition was held, Katy shining as the one bright star, and winning golden laurels for beauty, grace and perfect self-possession from others than Wilford Cameron, who was one of the invited auditors.
"Juno herself could not equal that," he thought, as Katy's fingers flew over the keys, executing a brilliant and difficult piece without a single mistake, and receiving the applause of the spectators easily, naturally, as if it were an everyday occurrence. But when by request she sang "Comin' through the Rye," Wilford's heart, if he had any before, was wholly gone, and he dreamed of Katy Lennox that night, wondering all the ensuing day how his haughty mother would receive that young schoolgirl as her daughter, wife of the son whose bride she fancied must be equal to the first lady in the land. And if Katy were not now equal she could be made so, Wilford thought, wondering if Canandaigua were the best place for her, and if she would consent to receive a year or two years' tuition from him, provided her family were poor. He did not know as they were, but he would ask, and he did, feeling a pang of regret when he heard to some extent how Katy was circumstanced. Mrs. Woodhull had never been to Silverton, and so she did not know of Uncle Ephraim, with his old-fashioned spouse and his older-fashioned sister, but she knew that they were poor—that some relation sent Katy to school; and she frankly told Wilford so, adding, as she detected the shadow on his face, that one could not expect everything, and that a girl like Katy was not found every day. Wilford admitted all this, growing more and more infatuated, until at last he consented to join the traveling party, provided Katy joined it too, and when on the morning of their departure for the Falls he seated himself beside her in the car, he could not well have been happier, unless she had really been his wife, as he so much wished she was.
It was a most delightful trip, and Wilford was better satisfied with himself than he had been before in years. His past life was not all free from error, and there were many sad memories haunting him, but with Katy at his side, seeing what he saw, admiring what he admired, and doing what he bade her do, he gave the bygones to the wind, feeling only an intense desire to clasp the young girl in his arms and bear her away to some spot where with her pure fresh life all his own he could begin the world anew, and retrieve the past which he had lost. This was when he was with Katy. Away from her he could remember the difference in their position, and prudential motives began to make themselves heard. Never but once had he taken an important step without consulting his mother, and then, alas! the trouble it brought him was not ended yet, and never would be ended until death had set its seal upon the brow of one almost as dear as Katy, though in a far different way. And this was why Katy came back to Silverton unengaged, leaving her heart with Wilford Cameron, who would first seek advice from his mother ere committing himself by word. He had seen the white-haired man with his coarse, linen coat and coarser pants, waiting eagerly for her when the train stopped at Silverton, but standing there as he did, with his silvery locks parted in the center, and shading his honest, open face, Uncle Ephraim looked like some patriarch of old rather than a man to be despised, and Wilford felt only a respect for him until he saw Katy's arms wound so lovingly around his neck as she kissed and called him Uncle Eph. That sight grated harshly, and Wilford, knowing this was the uncle of whom Katy had often spoken, felt glad that he was not bound to her by any pledge. Very curiously he looked after the couple, witnessing the meeting between Katy and old Whitey, and guessing rightly that the corn-colored vehicle was the one sent to transport Katy home. He was very
