Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter — page 65: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MR. RAYMOND. 61 “Yes, Mr. Raymond, a ‘thundering big one. Brought my family this time to give em a chance to pick out a few things for themselves. My daughter, sir.” The merchant gave the young lady a chair. She took it, mechanically, but her heart, her eyes, were asking one ques- tion of the smiling, curious man, the friend and partner of her ewn Philip, who for the first time began to suspect the cause which had kept the latter so iong, “hunting and fishing” up at Wilde’s mill. Could he look so smiling, so assured, and her Philip be dead? The cry: “ Where is he?” trembled silently on her lips. ) “Yes, a thundering big raft we got out this spring. Wood- choppers to work all winter,” continued the raftsman, walking along farther from his daughter, and speaking with apparent carelessness. “By the way, where’s Mr. Moore? did he get home safe, after his spell of sickness, at our house last fall ?” “Oh, yes! he got home safe and in fine spirits). He was soon as well or better than ever. I expect he got pretty good care,” and the merchant glanced over at the young girl respectfully. Mr. Raymond was a good-hearted, refined young married man; but if he had been gross or impure, or not over-fastidious, or fond of a jest, there was something about both father and child to suppress all feelings but those of respect and wonder- ing admiration, Alice Wilde’s beauty was of a kind to defy criticism. She might have worn sackcloth and ashes, or flannel and thick boots, or a Turkish dress, or a Puritan maid- en’s, or a queen’s robe, it would have made but small differ- ence; her loveliness was of that overmastering kind which draws the hearts of high and low, and makes every man feel in her presence, forgetful of every lesser consideration—lo ! here is a beautiful woman! Such charms as hers have had great power whenever they have been found—they have exalted peasant women to thrones, and led men of genius and rank, as if they were children, hither and thither. It is not strange that Alice’s personal loveliness, added to her still more unusual unconsciousness of it, and infantile innocence, should at once have commanded the reverence of people of the world, in spite of the quaintness of manner and attire, in themselves pretty and piquant. (SO) comiclbooks