f
doing so.

"Mr. Minot, I have not finished yet. Would you grant me one thing more?
May I have a little bit of your ground on the west side of your house,
say a piece not more than eighteen by twenty-five feet, with which to do
just as I please?"

Father looked thunderstruck, as he answered:

"What can you do with it, Clara?"

"Oh, never mind; may I?"

"Yes, yes," he said in a dreamy way.

And mother looked up, to be met by the eyes which sought her own, while
the sweet lips queried:

"Will you say so too if you like my plans?"

"I'll try to do what is best for us all"--and that meant volumes, for my
mother was thoroughly good, and as strong in what she deemed to be right
as mortal could be, and she never wavered a moment, where right was
considered. Unfaltering and true, her word was a law, and Clara at her
quiet answer felt the victory won. Now for the sequel, thought I, and
then Louis asked me to take a stroll in the moonlight, and although a
little curious at the revelation awaiting us, I could not deny him and
went for my hat and shawl. What a lovely night it was, and how the stars
stealing one by one into the sky seemed like breathing entities looking
down upon us. It seemed that night as if they heard what Louis said, and
you would not wonder had you seen the youthful fervor of this dark-eyed
youth; this strange combination of man and boy. When with him I felt
awed into silence, and though his thoughts always brought response from
my soul, yet did I hesitate for expression, language failing me utterly.
How many beautiful thoughts he uttered this night, and how strangely I
answered him! He was young and had not learned the lesson of waiting, if
effort of his own could hasten the development of any loved scheme. I
cannot, will not try to tell you all that he said, but he spoke so
positively, and commanded as it were an answer from my very soul. He
told me of his love for painting, of his great desire to do something
worthy of the best, as he expressed it.

"And my first picture is to be yourself," he said; "you shall speak on
canvas. You think yourself so plain; oh! you are not plain, Miss Emily;
I love you, and you are my wild flower, are you not? Speak to me, call
me your Louis! Love me, as I do you. Ah! if you did not love me I could
not stay here till to-morrow--you think me young and presumptuous--you
say I do not know myself and I will change--I will not change--I am not
young--I want great love,