In the luxurious library, at the
well-spread breakfast-table, sat the two Mr. Carsons, father and
son. Both were reading--the father a newspaper, the son a review--
while they lazily enjoyed their nicely prepared food. The father
was a prepossessing-looking old man; perhaps self-indulgent you
might guess. The son was strikingly handsome, and knew it. His
dress was neat and well appointed, and his manners far more
gentlemanly than his father's. He was the only son, and his sisters
were proud of him; his father and mother were proud of him: he
could not set up his judgment against theirs; he was proud of
himself.
The door opened and in bounded Amy, the sweet youngest daughter of
the house, a lovely girl of sixteen, fresh and glowing, and bright
as a rosebud. She was too young to go to assemblies, at which her
father rejoiced, for he had little Amy with her pretty jokes, and
her bird-like songs, and her playful caresses all the evening to
amuse him in his loneliness; and she was not too much tired like
Sophy and Helen, to give him her sweet company at breakfast the next
morning.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151