A Modern Cinderella

Among green New England hills stood an ancient house many-gabled mossy-roofed and quaintly built but picturesque and pleasant to the eye; for a brook ran babbling through the orchard that encompassed it about a garden-plat stretched upward to the whispering birches on the slope and patriarchal elms stood sentinel upon the lawn as they had stood almost a century ago when the Revoiution rolled that way and found them young. One summer morning when the air was full of country sounds of mowers in the meadow black-birds by the brook and the low of kine upon the hill-side the old house wore its cheeriest aspect and a certain humble history began.