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Updated: May 29, 2025
One of her earliest recollections was of taking tea at the Gilpin house in company with Genevieve and Allan Whittredge. Mild, fair-faced Miss Anne and her grim-visaged, cross-grained brother were a strangely assorted pair. Celia's childish soul had been filled with awe on these occasions.
Her granddaughter had not the Whittredge beauty, she was nothing of a Whittredge, and yet One day she had taken up the miniature on Rosalind's table, with a glance over her shoulder; and when she put it down and turned away, it was with the reluctant feeling that perhaps there had been some excuse for her son when he left father and mother and kindred and home for this young girl.
There were letters from the travellers, long and delightful and full of the genial spirit of the Forest, making her more than ever certain that they and she were alike journeying beneath its shelter, and at some turn of the road would surely meet again. Mrs. Whittredge also had a letter, "I trust you will not keep Rosalind secluded," her son wrote.
Miss Betty, who had declined the tea, now held out her hand. "This is Rosalind Whittredge, of course; I am your Cousin Betty." "I didn't know I had any cousins," said Rosalind. "You will find a few if you stay long enough," replied Miss Betty. "How do you come to be eating supper with Morgan, I'd like to know?
"Yes, I am especially glad to see you, because I have something to tell you. Something I can't tell any one else." "Bless me! this is interesting. Just wait till I find my checks, and we'll walk up town together." Belle, however, was not destined to relate her story just then, for no sooner had they started out, she in front with Mr. Whittredge, and Rosalind and the boys following, than Mr.
Sewing, embroidering, a little teaching, and, in season, pickling and preserving. Friends had been kind, but Celia was proud and determined to fight her own battle, and sometimes, as this morning, kindness made her burden seem harder to bear. The worst of it was the root of bitterness in her heart. She could never forgive Mrs. Whittredge.
"I remember you very well, Mr. Whittredge," Celia said, as Patterson took both her hands, and looked into her glowing face. "I haven't been told anything, but " he glanced inquiringly at Allan, who nodded, smiling. Rosalind caught sight of the ring on Celia's finger. "Oh," she said, "was that what the will meant? Are you going to wear it always?
Whittredge said gravely. "Why did you not come to me and tell me where you wished to go? Where have you been?" "To see the magician Morgan, I mean. I wanted so much to see him I did not think of anything else." "Why did you wish to see him?" continued her grandmother. The glow was fading from Rosalind's face. "Because " she hesitated, "because " "Well?"
All was quiet in the neighborhood. The bank doors had closed two hours ago, and Friendship seemed to have retired for its afternoon nap. Allan Whittredge unfolded the County News and glanced over it, then laid it on his knee and gazed across the lawn with a thoughtful frown. The County News presented no problems, but life in this quiet village of Friendship did.
A person of that sort, and Patterson the very light of her eyes! How would you feel if Maurice some day should do a thing like that?" Maurice laughed softly. His thoughts were not much occupied with marriage. His mother ignored the question, and in her turn asked, "Did Mrs. Whittredge ever see her daughter-in-law?" "No, indeed. This child was not more than three when she died."
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