Go into his
large kitchen or storehouse, and you saw three or four immense
deal chests filled with meal, which was reserved for a season of
scarcity--for, proud as Farmer Murray was, he did not disdain to fatten
upon human misery. Between these two families there was, as we have
said, an intimacy. It was wealth and worldly goods on the one side;
integrity and old blood on the other. Be this as it may, Farmer Murray
had a daughter, Margaret, the youngest of four, who was much about the
age of Arthur Maguire. Margaret was a girl whom it was almost impossible
to know and not to love. Though then but seventeen, her figure was full,
rich, and beautifully formed. Her abundant hair was black and glossy as
ebony, and her skin, which threw a lustre like ivory itself, had--not
the whiteness of snow--but a whiteness a thousand times more natural--a
whiteness that was fresh, radiant, and spotless. She was arch and full
of spirits, but her humor--for she possessed it in abundance--was so
artless, joyous, and innocent, that the heart was taken with it before
one had time for reflection. Added, however, to this charming vivacity
of temperament were many admirable virtues, and a fund of deep and
fervent feeling, which, even at that early period of her life, had made
her name beloved by every one in the parish, especially the poor and
destitute.
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