The day was clear and
cloudless--the air almost as balmy as the air of spring. Such a Christmas
had not been known for years.
The sun shone brightly, and soft winds sighed through the leafless trees.
And Margie was married, and not a cloud came between her and the sun.
Peace and content dwelt with Archer Trevlyn and his wife in their
beautiful home. Having suffered, they knew better how to be grateful
for, and to appreciate the blessings at last bestowed upon them.
At their happy fireside there comes to sit, sometimes, of an evening, a
quiet, grave-faced man. A man whom Archer Trevlyn and his wife love as a
dear brother, prize above all other earthly friends. And beside Louis
Castrani, Leo sits, serene and contemplative, enjoying a green old age in
peace and plenty. Castrani will never marry, but sometime in the
hereafter, I think he will have his recompense.
CONSTITUTIONALLY BASHFUL.
I suppose there is no doubt but I was born with bashful tendencies, and
"What is bred in the bone, stays long in the flesh," to use the words of
some wise individual, who, like many another great genius, shunned
notoriety, and had for his _nom de plume_, Anonymous.
My mother tells me that, when an infant, I had the ridiculous habit of
turning over on my face in the cradle, when there was company; and if the
visitors happened to be ladies, I turned red in the cheeks, and purple
about the eyes, to such an alarming degree as could not fail of exciting
wonder and awe in the heart of the most indifferent beholder!
I remember that, when a child of four or five years, I used to take
refuge behind the great eight-day clock whenever my mother had callers;
and once I came near being frozen to death in the refrigerator, where I
had ensconced myself on the appearance of a couple of lady visitors.
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