There are several younger members of this family, but as they are
not necessary throughout the work we will not make mention of them
here.
On the morning when Marguerite Verne sat in the luxurious crimson
velvet arm-chair reading Cousin Jennie's letter, the latter was
engaged in fashioning some dainty scraps of wool and silk into
various little knick-knacks for a bazaar.
The pupils in attendance at the common school were anxious to
procure some extra apparatus for the hall, and having received much
assistance from the young ladies of the district, entered into the
work with a will.
Jennie Montgomery was a host in herself. A bright, amiable girl of
eighteen, with robust constitution, sunny disposition, and step
elastic as a fairy. She was, indeed, an ornament to her home and
also to the community.
Jennie was not a beauty--had not the least pretentions to one. Her
dark complexion was pure and health-like; but it was not heightened
by that peachy bloom peculiar to brunette's, instead only a warm,
bright and ruddy hue, which some might consider as approaching the
rustic. Her eyes, as they sparkle with delight at the pretty array
of bright colors, might not be admired as of the poetic or ideal
type, but in their depths lurks a keen and significant expression of
the peculiarly intelligent and earnest appeal that seldom speaks in
vain.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67