"Let us," she said faintly, "go into the conservatory."
*****
It is but a few years ago that the veracious chronicler of these pages
moved with a wondering crowd of sightseers in the gardens of the White
House. The war cloud had long since lifted and vanished; the Potomac
flowed peacefully by and on to where once lay the broad plantation of a
great Confederate leader--now a national cemetery that had gathered the
soldier dead of both sections side by side in equal rest and honor--and
the great goddess once more looked down serenely from the dome of the
white Capitol. The chronicler's attention was attracted by an erect,
handsome soldierly-looking man, with a beard and moustache slightly
streaked with gray, pointing out the various objects of interest to a
boy of twelve or fourteen at his side.
"Yes; although, as I told you, this house belongs only to the President
of the United States and his family," said the gentleman, smilingly, "in
that little conservatory I proposed to your mother."
"Oh! Clarence, how can you!" said the lady, reprovingly, "you know it
was LONG after that!"
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Clarence, by Bret Harte
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLARENCE ***
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