The Strange Little Stranger

No date, ca. 1850s based on the paper. Tall bifolium, 12.5 x 8 inches. Small puncture toward the lower right; rubbing and soil at the creases, shallow tattering and occasional closed snags around the edges.

The writing is proficient but not polished in terms of literary structure, penmanship,  or spelling (a clue it wasn't copied). The attention to women's opinions and centering of the girl's perspective makes it almost certain to have been written by a woman. Possibly a teenage student (a "gloomy" one, perhaps), Sunday School teacher, or young Aunt.

Notable for the depiction of a happy household characterized by a husband soliciting his wife's opinion (and her clearly articulating one) and engaging his daughters as the family reads aloud together. A substantial amount of writing is devoted to portraying that dynamic, despite it being unnecessary to the main plot: a girl from a happy home finds an abused orphan in a ditch during a lovely summer morning walk, takes her home, introduces her to her “gloomy” sister Lida, who teaches the orphan to find solace in God. It's the kind of story you'd expect from one of the Tract Societies or Sunday School Union, greatly improved by a writer whose standards for a "happy home" entail family dynamics centered on engagement and respect.

Transcription:

Let us imagine ourselves surrounded by a beautiful and romantic country bounded by high towering mountains and pleasantly diversified with the beauties of Hill and Dale. As we seat ourselves on a gentle rise in order to view the surrounding country, we listen to the spring song of the happy birds as they spring from branch to branch on the tree above our heads to the mournful [whistl] of the wind as it plays among the old forest trees and into the sweet rippling of the little brook below. Somewhat in the distance we see a large white farmhouse. It looks inviting that we resolve to visit it: we open the great gate and enter the avenue which leads to the house: and as it is situated on an elevation we ascend four or five stone steps: the door is opened by a bright little girl of eight. We soon feel quite at home seated in the large sitting room surrounded by happy interesting family; consisting of the father, a sensible looking man of perhaps 50 who is reading aloud: the mother, judging from her appearance might be at least 10 years younger; by her side sit two blooming daughters busily plying the needle, and we will not forget little Hattie who so politely invited us to enter there she sits knitting in her arm chair occasionally stopping to stroke her favorite puss who sits quietly purring on the rug.

When done reading the father says well, wife what is your opinion on the subject; She canvassed the subject ably exhibiting that good sense intelligence and clearness of [perception] which is rarely to be found: the husband expressed his own opinion and then says Sarah what have you to say about this interesting subject. She answered him frankly, but modestly: turning to Lida, he said and my little [moralist?] what do you say. Hattie was content with listening to the rest, and her father was so kind as to read her a pretty little story better suited to her comprehension; and it would be hard to tell who was the most pleased, Hattie with the story or the others to hear her funny remarks and strange questions. After a nice but plain tea day they repaired to the pleasant sitting room

(2) 
and spent the remainder of the evening in working reading and conversing on various topics.  8 o’clock and Hattie‘s bedtime so gathering up her story books and setting back her chair in its own snug little corner she lovingly kisses all not even forgetting to give puss a good night pat and gently skipping to her room and kneeling with childish simplicity says that sweet child’s prayer “now I lay me down to sleep” etc. then jumps into her little easy trundle bed to rest her tired limbs and dream pleasant dreams. Morning comes, and Hattie’s up with the bright sun and putting on her bonnet skips off for a morning ramble, singing as gaily as the lark she gathers a few choice wild flowers for Lida’s [H?] and as she peeked into their dewy cups and looked at their delicately colored petals how she wished she could analyze like Lida and her little heart swelled with gratitude as she thought how strangely kind God was to scatter so many bright, beautiful flowers over her pathway.

She had extended her walk farther than usual and was returning home when she was startled by a low pitious moan looking down into the dark shady glen below her she could distinguish a dark figure which she supposed to be a child of about her own age [running?] quickly down to the glen there she saw the poor child sitting on a rocky bank, her head resting on her hands so filled with sorrow and absorbed with her own sad thoughts that she had not heard the quick spritely step of little Hattie, who was now at her side. Hattie in her childlike way said what is the matter little girl and where do you live the child then raised her head and fastened her large dark eyes on her there was so much of wild sorrow [depicted?] on that thin, pale countenance that no wonder Hattie who was used to calm happy faces should rather timidly repeat her question as she kneeled before her, and the child looking at that sweet sympathizing face, said I used to live with a old ugly aunt of my father‘s, who was always scolding and beating me, so I left her I shall

(3) 
live in the woods now. But why do you not live with your Father and Mother said Hattie. I have none now. I don’t remember my father, but my mama, dear mama then did she again cover her face with her hands her eyes filling with tears she [called?] out bitterly Oh who will ever love Gennie like her own dear mama. Come Gennie come and go home with me and you shall have part of my mama said Hattie. Oh no said she I would rather stay here. But Hattie at length prevailed on her to return home with her. They met Lida at the gate who said Hattie why are you so late this morning it is almost school time but who is that little stranger with you? It’s a little girl I found crying in the glen, she said she had no father or mother and no home but the wild woods so I told her to come home with me as Hattie said this Gennie was turning to leave when Lida holding out her hand said come, dear the child bashfully took her hand while the merry Hattie ran on before. Gennie was a strange child, naturally very passionate and selfish, and the harsh treatment which she had received was little [calculated?] to make her otherwise. She loved to haunt dark solemn looking places for them she said most suited her feelings. Lida soon won her confidence and affection perhaps one reason why she was such a favorite with Gennie was because she was naturally possessed of the same passionate [thirst?] for she herself had loved to indulge in the same gloomy feelings so she knew how to sympathize with the restless passionate Gennie. Lida often followed her in her solitary wanderings and sitting by her side tell her how she used to do and how wrong it was to cherish such selfish feelings and as she spoke of the never dying love of the saviour and told her how she might feed her hungry thirsty spirit with that love Oh how Gennie so longed to possess this love yes and she earnestly sought it and found it to her souls great joy. So Gennie instead of being

(4) passionate, selfish and gloomy soon [leaned] to gentle, happy and kind. Little did Hattie think when she sat out on that bright summer morning that her walk was to result in so much good.