Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1860-08-30

pounds for poor old mother, and then the
Knot IN my own halter they might call Mike
Rood halt-witted as long as they have mind
to-
Revolving the matter in his own mind,
Mike went home. That night, as the winds
blew and howled round the Old house, and his
mother sat pairing apples and striDging them
up on strings to dry, he cut leaf out OF his
fathers account book, got down the lead ink
stand, and sat down himself to write-and the
most cur us writtn it was you ever did see |
guess. 1t looked the letters were every
one copied off tea chest and yet as the
Wilder Rood looked up from her work, now
and then to watch her only child, she had
feelin' as though he was kinder smart Not a
a bit of the managin' and schemin' part of
Mikes natur did he inherit from his mother
who was as mild as a May morning, and could
be made to believe almost anything her friends
wanted her to. Mike could lead her with a
tow string-though never to do wrong, il she
knew it, for there warn't better meann'
woman, or one with more friends, in the whole
town.
Look here, mother, now You jest write
your name down here Mike said, holding out
the goose quill with which he had been fgur
ing for a long time. I've almost forgot how
it looks written, it's so long sence I've seen it,
And the woman Ot'down her dish of apples,
Il Declare SAID Mike, eXami.in the really
fair handwritin', eff you amt the best writer OF
your age in town, mother =
The wilder smiled upon him, pleased by
his praise, and said, as she wet again to her
apples, That's what your father used to say,
Micah
"When he'd amused himself long enough
with his writing he folded up the paper and
put it in his pocket.
Got any arrant up street 2 he then asked
Not to night his mother answered.
What makes you go out, Micah, when It's so
cold and windy ! The air feels as though we
was a goin' to git snow
Left one Of my COW hides at the shoe
makers this mornin', mother, and he promis-
ed to have it done by eight O'Clock.
"Then Micah went out, and set his face to-
ward the town, talking to himself all the way
as he went. Now says he, ''tis all fixed
right, and mother'll git that forty pounds as
sure as my name is Mike Rood, ior didn't
they promise it for any informal on on him,
dead or GliUe? And 'aint she told them eff they
will come and dig under her arly apple tree
the fust on the right side o the house-and
ask her no questions, they find what they're
looking tor-dead enough, | guess, too! Pm
awful sorry | hurt the wrong Teller but it
can't be helped now, and there's no use erwin
about it. Let me see. The post rider will get
my letter to Phadelphy in about week, and
by that time I'll get all mothers wood cut for
the winter, and be ready to step out atore
they're here to sarch.'
'Poor Mike, like all boys, bad or good fool
ish or witty, loved his mother and eff she'd
only mistrusted what was in his mind all that
week, as he went round doing everything he
could find to do for her, her tears would have
dropped for sorrow instead of joy. But the
sorrow came soon enough to her poor, loving,
broken heart and the joy never came back
at all after her boy was found dead on the ary
apple tree-hung by his own hands-tor that
was the way Micah Rood died"
The stranger thanked the widow for her
story, and went away satisfied.
NorE.-The "Rood apple" is still great
fayorite in many parts of New England and
the curious may yet find in every one the
mysterious red drop which has given rise to
many homely stories. In one Of the small
towns in New London county Micah lived and
died in the manner above described.