Brownie's triumph

“You look heated and weary; will you not sit down and rest?” asked Brownie Douglas, regarding the flushed face of her friend with an amused look in her dark, bright eyes.

There was never a greater contrast than between those two young ladies.

One tall, fair, and languid, and dressed in the height of fashion; covered with jewels, laces, flowers, and furbelows, not to mention a three-quarters of a yard train, which, with the other fixings referred to, demanded so much of her attention that she could enjoy nothing of the wonders and beauties around her.

The other, petite and dainty; her glossy brown hair simply coiled at the back of her small head, which was crowned with a hat of dark straw, trimmed with a wreath of scarlet berries and shining dark green leaves. Her half-fitting linen ulster protected, while it did not wholly conceal her rich though simple dress of black silk, which just cleared the floor, and did not hide the “two mites of feet,” incased in their tiny French boots. A pair of gray silk gloves covered her little hands, and a simple linen collar was fastened at her delicate throat by a richly carved spray of coral, her only visible ornament.

“Are you ready to go on now?” she asked her friend, as she saw the frown upon her brow fade out, at being once more set in moving order.

“Yes, but— There! Oh, dear!”

Miss Douglas, who was about moving on, turned again at this cry of woe, and immediately a ripple of musical, irrepressible laughter broke from her scarlet lips.

There stood her friend in the act of gathering up her voluminous train, while directly behind her stood an unmistakable countryman, with one huge foot planted firmly upon the ruffles and plaitings of the beautiful skirt, securely pinning it to the floor, and making it optional with Miss Aspasia, either to go on and leave behind her that (to her) very important appendage, or wait until that herculean member should be removed.

The luckless, though innocent cause of this uncomfortable state of affairs, was gazing with wide eyes, and open mouth, at the figure of an Indian upon the trail opposite him, and wholly unconscious of the strong attachment which bound him to the fashionable belle.

“I beg your pardon,” said Miss Douglas, hastening to the rescue, “but will you please lift your foot?”

“Eh? What? Oh, ya-as,” ejaculated the clumsy, but good-natured fellow. “I declare, miss, I never saw so many wimmen a losin’ their clo’s off before. I hain’t ben nowhere to-day but somebody’s dress has ben tumblin’ off on ’em, and I’ve stepped on’t. I sh’d hev a fit if ’twar me, and I’m tarnal glad I wur born to a pair o’ breeches.”

Miss Huntington colored angrily, and murmured something about “such insufferable insolence,” whereupon the irrepressible countryman offered a piece of friendly advice.

“Grandm’th’r ’d tell ye to sew it on stronger to the bindin’—put on a button and make a buttonhole. That’s her way, and I don’t believe she ever lost her petticoat in her life.”

Having delivered himself of these pithy remarks, he moved away, and at this instant a suppressed laugh greeted Miss Brownie’s ear. Looking up, she caught two pairs of mirth-gleaming eyes fixed upon herself and her unfortunate companion.

Two young men were standing near, and had been amused witnesses of the comical scene just described.