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The Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Church Steps, by Sarah C. Hallowell This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: On the Church Steps Author: Sarah C. Hallowell Release Date: January 20, 2006 [EBook #17559] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE CHURCH STEPS *** Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Christine D. and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net ON THE CHURCH STEPS. By SARAH C. HALLOWELL. This e-text was compiled from sections of this novel published in the August to October editions of: LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE OF POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. 1873 CHAPTER I. What a picture she was as she sat there, my own Bessie! and what a strange place it was to rest on, those church steps! Behind us lay the Woolsey woods, with their wooing fragrance of pine and soft rushes of scented air; and the lakes were in the distance, lying very calm in the cloud-shadows and seeming to wait for us to come. But to-day Bessie would nothing of lakes or ledges: she would sit on the church steps. In front of us, straight to the gate, ran a stiff little walk of white pebbles, hard and harsh as some bygone creed. "Think of little bare feet coming up here, Bessie!" I said with a shiver. "It is too hard. And every carriage that comes up the hill sees us." "And why shouldn't they see us?" said my lady, turning full upon me. "I am not ashamed to be here." "Churches should always have soft walks of turf; and lovers," I would fain have added, "should have naught but whispering leaves about them." But Bessie cut me short in her imperious way: "But we are not lovers this morning: at least," with a half-relenting look at my rueful face, "we are very good friends, and I choose to sit here to show people that we are." "What do you care for _people_--the Bartons or the Meyricks?" as I noticed a familiar family carriage toiling up the hill, followed by a lighter phaeton. I recognized already in the latter vehicle the crimson feather of Fanny Meyrick, and "the whip that was a parasol." "Shall I step out into the road this minute, and stop those ladies like a peaceable highwayman, and tell t
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