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A CHILD'S HOLIDAY.
When the next evening of our assembly came, I could see on Adela's face a
look of subdued expectation, and I knew now to what to attribute it: Harry
was going to read. There was a restlessness in her eyelids--they were
always rising, and falling as suddenly. But when the time drew near, they
grew more still; only her colour went and came a little. By the time we
were all seated, she was as quiet as death. Harry pulled out a manuscript.
"Have you any objection to a ballad-story?" he asked of the company
generally.
"Certainly not," was the common reply; though Ralph stared a little, and
his wife looked at him. I believe the reason was, that they had never
known Harry write poetry before. But as soon as he had uttered the title--
"_The Two Gordons_"--
"You young rascal!" cried his brother. "Am I to keep you in material for
ever? Are you going to pluck my wings till they are as bare as an egg?
Really, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, in pretended anger, while
Harry was keeping down a laugh of keen enjoyment, "it is too bad of that
scapegrace brother of mine! Of course you are all welcome to anything I
have got; but he has no right to escape from his responsibilities on that
account. It is rude to us all. I know he can write if he likes."
"Why, Ralph, you would be glad of such a brother to steal your sermons
from, if you had been up all night as I was. Of course I did not mean to
claim any more credit than that of unearthing some of your shy verses.--
May I read them or not?"
"Oh! of course. But it is lucky I came prepared for some escapade of the
sort, and brought a manuscript of proper weight and length in my pocket."
Suddenly Harry's face changed from a laughing to a grave one. I saw how it
was. He had glanced at Adela, and her look of unmistakeable disappointment
was reflected in his face. But there was a glimmer of pleasure in his
eyes, notwithstanding; and I fancied I could see that the pleasure would
have been more marked, had he not feared that he had placed himself at a
disadvantage with her, namely, that she would suppose him incapable of
producing a story. However, it was only for a moment that this change of
feeling stopped him. With a gesture of some haste he re-opened the
manuscript, which he had rolled up as if to protect it from the
indignation of his brother, and read the following ballad:
"The Two Gordons.
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