Rutland weekly herald. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1859-1877, 1861-01-10
MR.. WOODBRIDGE'S INVEST
MENT.
EY HELM FOREST GRAVES.
From the New York Weekly.

The fiery crimson of the stormy No
vember sunset was staining all the hills
with its lur;d glare-the wind, murmuring
restlessly among the dead leaves that lay
heaped over the woodpaths, seemed to
mourn. with an almost human voice. But
the autumnal melancholy without only
served to heighten the cheerfulneSs of the
roaring wood fire, whose ruddy glow
danced and quivered over the rough raft
ers of Farmer Woodbridge's spacious old
kitchen, sparkling on the polished surfaces
of platters and gimmering brasses, and
sending a long stream Of radiance through
darkening road.
"Yes,-as was sayin' afore," observed
the old farmer, rubbing his toil-hardened
hands together, and gazing thoughtfully
into the fire, it's been a capital harvest
this year. | wouldn't ask for no better.
So, wife, you jist pick out some O them
yaller pippin apples, and put EN- into Je--
sizes basket a9in when she calls arter it.
Wont the little red 'uns do as we'll
calculated to keep them pippins for mar
kct; Squire Benson says they're worth
rupted the farmer, as his helpmate spare,
angular woman with face ploughed with
innumerable little lines OF care, fingered
the yellow-cheeked apples obviously. Il
tell you what it is, ,Ketury-folks never lost
anything by doin' kind thing. | never
could make YOU believe that, unless the
pay came right in, in hard cash Now
here's Jessie Moreton, as likely gal as
ever breathed, teachin' school day in and
day out, and her marin sewin' to hum,
earnin' livin' by the hardest-born ladies,
both on 'em. Don't you spose these APP
Piles Il be worth more to them, if you give
'em with a kind word, than they would be
to that pesky tight-fsted agent upto Hard
wiche Hall, if he gave dollar bushel I"
"Charity begins to hum'," said keturah,
jerking out the supper table with an odd
twist of the face. Not but what Jessies
well enough-but you'd a plaguy sight
better scratch your pennies together to pay
up that mortgage, if you don't want the
Hardwiche agent foreclosing on you. And
them pippins is just as good as so much
money. There they be, anyhow, in the
basket-one of your investments | guess"
"One of my investments, then, if you
like to call it so, Ketury," said the farmer,
banishing the annoyed expression which
had overspread his face when she alluded
to the mortgage "Come long in Jessie,
my gal p he added, cheerily, as light
tough sounded on the door latch. "Here's
the basket all right, and some o them
golden pippins tucked into't. Maybe
they'll tempt your mothers appetite"
Jessie Moreton was slender, graceful
girl Of about seventeen, with satin-smooth
bands of chestnut hair, parted above low,
sunny forehead, large liquid eyes, and
cheeks which Farmer Woodbridge always
declared, "sot him to thinkin' of them vel
vet looking Jarsy peaches, that grew on
the tree down in the south medder !" She
took up the little basket with a grateful
smile, that went even to the finty heart of
Mrs. Keturah.
80, Mr. Woodbridge, how kind you al
ways are to us If [ were only rich-if
| could only make some RETURN
Don't you say word about that are y
said the farmer, rubbing his nose very
| hard. "Jest you run home as fast as ever
| you can put, for its getting most dark, and
the November wind al. t no ways healthy
as | ever heerd on. And ] say, Jessie, ii
it rains tomorrow so you can't get to school
handy, just you stop here, and I'll give
you lift IN my Vaughn"
Dear old Mr.. Woodbridge" sollilo-
quized Jessie Moreton to herself as her
| light footstep pattered along on the fallen
leaves, chow many, many times L have
| had cause to thank his generous heart
And to think that he should be so dis
tressed about the mortgage by the agent
at T,ardwiche Hall"
She paused for moment to loo up tc
where the stately roofs and gables of the
Hall rose darkly outlined against the erin
son that still burned stormily in the sky
On a commanding height, and nearly hid
den in trees, many of whom still retained
their brilliant autumn foliage, it seemed
almost like an old baronial castle.
ssThere it stands" she mused, "shut uE
and silent, year after year; its magnificen
rooms untenanted; the flowers blossomins
uneathered in its Conservatives. Since
Mrs. Hardwiche died-twenty years since
mamma says--the family have been away
and now the only surviving heir Is travel
ing, no one knows where. Iwonder it ht
knows how grasping and cruel his agen
is? Oh DEAR" she added softly, ''money
does not always come where it is mos
needed. If were the mistress OF Hard
wiche Hall J"
She Started with q slight scream th'
| next instant, as tall figure rose up from