The Argosy — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

58 My Eldest Sister. he well remembers his little friend Gracie ; but he looks long and seirchingly into Ella’s dark eyes, as if in them he found again some > treasure unseen for many a long year. The colour mantles in her sweet face, as at last he turns away, murmuring: ‘ How like—how very like you are to your sister! I could fancy it was the same face—only ” “Which?” demands Ella, in her pretty peremptory fashion. ‘‘ Like Wordsworth’s famous family, ‘ we are seven,’ and I don’t know to which of my four sisters you may be alluding.” “The eldest—Miss Trevelyan—Janet. When I left England she was the exact image of what you are now.” “Janet!” The bare notion that our staid, prim, somewhat severe elder sister could ever have possessed Ella’s cherub-like beauty is incomprehensible to us both. Involuntarily we exchange glances of amazement. Sir Francis perceives his mistake, and moves hastily. “Well, I must go—my things are at the Knight’s Shield. I could not help running down the first fine day after we landed, for your father is my oldest and dearest friend, and ten years of exile have not cooled our friendship—on my side, at least. “Nor on his,” I answer, eagerly. ‘But don’t go to the hotel ; come home straight with us. The pony-cart holds four. ‘Please do. Papa will be so over-joyed.” Sir Francis hesitates ; meets Ella’s pleading eyes, and consents, though it is no easy matter to curl up his long legs in the small back-seat which he insists on sharing with Thomas, our groom. In less than half an hour we are at our own door. My father comes out hurriedly to see who our fourth passenger may be, and then there are joyful exclamations of “‘ Frank! dear old boy, this is too delightful to be true!” “Trevelyan, if does my heart good to see your face once more.” And in the hall, shaded and cool after the sunny glare, Janet meets us, and I see Sir Francis bend his stately head as he takes her outstretched hand, but I cannot hear the words of greeting. A moment later, Janet is at her usual post, by the tea-table, and I, stealing a glance at her, observe that she is deeply flushed, and that the hands with which she moves the cups are trembling visibly. It would seem that the arrival of his friend had awakened a new spring of life in my father. During the years that have elapsed since our mother’s death, cares have sat heavily upon him, and the bringing up of seven baims has been no small source of anxiety. Now he seems to have cast all troubles to the winds forthe nonce and to be once more the genial, light-hearted squire of former days. “You must take a shooting-box and settle near us, Frank,” he cries, rubbing his hands. ‘ There’s Woodlands to be had—it is quite time your fighting days were over.” comicbooks.com