The cover image was restored by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
HUSKS.
BY MARION HARLAND.
CHAPTER I.
It was a decided uncompromising rainyday. There were no showers, coquettedwith by veering winds or dubious mists,that at times grew brighter, as if the sunwere burning away their lining; but a uniformexpanse of iron-gray clouds—kept inclose, grim column by a steady, althoughnot violent east wind—sent straight lines ofheavy rain upon the earth. The nakedtrees, that, during the earlier hours of thedeluge had seemed to shiver for the immatureleaf-buds, so unfit to endure the roughhandling of the storm, now held out still,patient arms, the rising sap curdled withintheir hearts. The gutters were brimmingstreams, and the sidewalks were glazedwith thin sheets of water.
The block of buildings before which ourstory pauses, was, as a glance would haveshowed the initiated in the grades of Gothamlife, highly respectable, even in therain. On a clear day when the half-foldedblinds revealed the lace, silken and damaskdraperies within, when young misses andmasters—galvanized show-blocks of purpleand fine linen, that would have passedmuster behind the plate-glass of Genin orMadame Demorest—tripped after hoops orpromenaded the smooth pavement; whenpretty, jaunty one-horse carriages, andmore pretentious equipages, each with apair of prancing steeds, and two "outsidepassengers" in broadcloth and tinsel hatbands,received and discharged their loadsbefore the brown-stone fronts—had theafore-mentioned spectator chanced to perambulatethis not spacious street, he wouldhave conceded to it some degree of thefashion claimed for it by its inhabitants.There were larger houses and wider pavementsto be had for the same price a fewblocks further on, in more than one direction,but these were unanimously voted"less eligible" and "deficient in style," inspite of the fact that as good and bettermaterials were employed in their construction,and they were in all respects equal inexternal show and inside finish to those inthis model quarter. "But our block has acertain air—well—I don't know what; butit is just the thing, you know, and so convenient!So near the avenue!" would bethe concluding argument.
The nameless, indescribable charm of thelocality lay in the last clause. "Just steparound the corner and you are in the avenue,"said the favored dwellers in this vicinity,as the climax in the description oftheir abode, and "that way fashion lies" toevery right-minded New Yorker of thefeminine gender.
But the aristocratic quiet of the neighborhood,rendered oppressive and depressingby the gloom of the day, was disturbedby a discordant sound—a child's cry,and what was especially martyrizing to refinedauriculars, the lament had the unmistakableplebeian accent. The passionatescream with which the pampered darlingof the nursery resents interference with hisrights and liberty of tyranny or the angryremonstrance of his injured playmates,would have been quite another species ofnatural eloquence, as regards both qualityand force, from the weak, broken wail thatsobbed along the wet streets. Moreover,what respectable child could be abroad onfoot in this weather? So, the disrespectablejuvenile pursued her melancholy wayunnoticed and unquestioned until shereached the middle of the square. Therea face appeared