A Girl of Virginia
Lucy M. Thruston
9781465628251
313 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
Good morning! The voice was cheery, insistent. It brought the young girl on the porch above to the white wooden rail about its edge. "Good morning!" she called back lightly. "Beautiful day!" persisted the young man saying inanely the first words he could think of for the sole purpose of keeping her there in sight. "Lovely!" cried the girl enthusiastically, leaning a little further over the rail. A vine, which had climbed the round pillar and twined its tendrils about the porch's edge, set waving by the slight motion, sent a shower of scarlet leaves about the young man below; one fluttered upon his breast, he caught it and held it over his heart as if it were a message from her to him; and then he fastened it in his button-hole. The young woman laughed carelessly as he did so; she was too used to students to exaggerate the meaning of their words or deeds, and there was no answering flash in her gray eyes as she looked down on him. "Don't you think it too fine to stay indoors?" "I'm not in," answered the girl turning her head to look up at the blue arch of the sky overhead. "Oh, well"—the young fellow bit his lip, and flushed hotly,—"you know it's—Come, take a walk across the quadrangle," he added boldly. "There's no one around." Frances leaned further for a survey of campus and corridor. "All right!" she cried, and he could hear her footsteps as she ran down the polished stair in the big old house. When she opened the great hall door she was charmingly demure. "Glad to see you Mr. Lawson!" she exclaimed mischievously to the young man, who stood hat in hand by the wide step. "Delighted, I'm sure!" he flashed back, holding the hand she extended as long as he dared,—so long that the young woman had drawn herself up quite straight and was looking gravely along the corridor when he released it. "You haven't mailed your letter!" she said looking at the missive he still held. "Oh! and I came—" "There's the box, don't forget it!" "Which way are you going?" "Up to the Rotunda, of course." "See how it commands everything else," said Frances, pausing at the sunken, well-worn steps in the terraced corridor to look about her. The morning shadows of the maples on the quadrangle stretched to the brick pavement at their feet, scarlet and yellow leaves, blown across the green grass, rustled about them; the picturesque buildings on the other side the campus loomed in deep shadowings, for the sun was yet behind them. A late student slammed his door and went hurrying down the corridor, his footsteps echoing along the way.
