The Hancock Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Ohio) 1857-1870, 1869-01-01
SELECT STORY.
MY GRANDMOTHER'S RING.

/ shut the garden-doo and went
slowly down the winding path toward
the lane. 1t was the day after the
funesal, and the blinds in the house
had left were drawn up, and the win
dows that had looked so blank for the
past week were open again and pefr-
pie moved about briskly, and spoke
no more in hushed whispers. Nay,
once-not half an hour since-my
ear had caught, from the distant
kitchen regions, the ring of light
laugh. Out of doors, the sun shone
on the green leaves, the birds sang
in the elms overhead, and the brook
let in the little wood gurgled merrily
over the stones Yet, as l turned
and sat down on the old sun dial. and
pressed my aching brow against the
cold stone pillar, l thought had
never looked upon so sad a scene
Even now, when a pang of sorrow
strikes me, there rises to my mind
the image of the long, low white
house, the turf all wet and glittering
after the shower, and l hear the
drippings of the rain drops from the
leaves, and the carol OF the lark as l
heard it on that day, for it was my
mother who was dead, and was very
lonely in the world--an orphan,
brotherless and sisterless. Present
ly, stood up, tied On my hat, and
going wearily on to the white gate,
leaned over it doubtingly. A week
ago-only a week-she would have
told me where to go; would have
planned some errand for me; now,
| must follow my own fancy, Tor my
grave uncle within doors was deep
IN parchment deeds, and had nc
thought to spare for me. Instinc-
lively my feet turned toward the vii
lage. 1 had trod that path often
with with a bag or basket on my arm,
as her almoner, and the impulse came
to see some of the faces that used to
greet me so gladly, and to hear the
blessings breathed upon her name
On l went, lingering for moment
at the turnpike, where the old gate
keeper shook her head sadly at my
black garments, and spoke her simple
words of sy mpathy amid her tears
and passed the school, where the
children in the porch hushed theil
laughter as l went by, Just beyond
the school play ground, there stood
low thatched cottage in its little
garden, and / turned in there, for ar
old man, sick and suffering, lived il
that house, and suffering touched mt
closely just then. He was sitting by
the freside quite alone, and as | lift
ed the latch, he turned his head, ant
a feeble light came into his dim eyes
"Ah, Miss Uestsr, / was thinking O
you only a while ago will you b'
pleased TO step in and take seat 2
He made some attempt to rise from
his own wooden chair but stopped
him hastily, and drawing a low stoo
towards the fire, sat down at his side
"How is the rheum atism to day
Philip
"Well, it's baddish, Miss
thank you kindly all the same
had hard night with it; but | musn'
; grumble, for I've suffered little il
my life, and shall be eighty-tw
coming Whitsunsiide.
"Your daughters out? l hear
aha had haap i'll y
4 "She's middling again now Miss
! and she's gone to do days washin
5 up at, Squire Lawson's."
: "And lett you all TO YOURSELF" sal
+ / pityingly Poor Philip, how Ion
\ the day must seem ~
a "Ne,' answered the old maj
e slowly, ''the hours go quick enough
. At first, when l was laid by, it di
seem long. and | was all agog to h
up and doing; but now 1 sit here b
:. the fire, and think OF the days tn;
t are bygone; and oftimes I'm take
: aback when the setting sun come
4 lin at the window yonder, But" |