Buchanan County bulletin. [volume] (Independence, Iowa) 1869-1891, 1870-11-18
AGATHA'S FORTUNE.
A Story OF Old Newspapers

The yellow November sunshine
was doing its best to brighten the
old farmhouse kitchen; the yellow
leaves, blotched and stained with
scarlet, which had edlied down at
the touch of many 4 tittul wind and
midnight frost from the big maple
tree, by the door stone, lay in pools
of shaded gold, stirred by every
gust, and the gnarled winter apple
tree by the well had long since been
ritled Of its weight of crimson
streakcd fruit.
4 do b'lieve the apple crop is the
best We've had this ten year said
Moses Jefferson, as he strobe into
the kitchen with bag of sccd-corn
over his shoulder.
Mrs. Jefferson, spare, wiry-look-
ing woman, as different as possible
from her burly, beaming husband,
sat at the Whitley secured pine ia
bic, shelling beans vigorously into
a pan. Agatha, the only child, was
close to the window, her pretty pro-
file outlined against the blue cameo
of the sky, intcntly busted in the un-
romantic but useful occupation of
setting a thrifty patch on the elbow
Of her fathers brown cloth coat,
with quick, agile fingers, and needle
that glanced in and out like a flying
shaft of silver.
She was pretty girl, with soft
hazel eyes, abundant brown hair,
coilcd picturesquely round her head,
and complexion which, albeit
somewhat touched with the too ar
dent finger of the sun, was full Of
delicate reds and whites. Moses
Jefferson and Clarissa his wife were,
to use the formers expression, 'as
humly as hedge fences without a
graceful line or beautiful feature
in their whole composition; and how
pretty Agatha ever came to be tier
daughter was as incomprehensible
riddle as it is how the magnificent
cactus blossom, with its leaves of
flame and heart Of scarlet fire, should
ever spring from the wrinklcd old
stick by courtesy called plant.
But so Nature manages her affairs,
and as yet we humans have not been
able to improve upon her.
Mother and daughter were earn
estly talking together as the farmer
entered, and he could just catch
Agatha's last words:
4 wouldn't, mother; I wouldn't.
Wouldn't mhm!9 What is it
you're talkin' about?' And Moses
Jefferson looked questioningly from
one face to the other.
why said Agatha, looking up
with flushed check, mother wants
to sell the old piles Of newspapers
that belong to Uncle Philemon, W
in the store closet, and it don't seem
hardly right to me-
The farmers countcnance grew
grave; he shifted the bag of seed
corn on to II chair, and shook his
head.
'Agatha's right about it, he said
Il wouldn't sell 'cm if | was you
Clarissy.'
You don't know nothin' about it
Moses Jefferson said his wife, in 3;
sharp, high-pitched tone. 'iIavin
the best closet in the house all ham
pered up with mess Of old news
papers! Why, there's a thousand
on 'em if there's one, do b'lieve.'
NO there amt, Clarissy-now
you're exaggeratin' Uncle Philc
mon has been savin' 'em up for tcl
year, and there amt over fifty-two
weeks in u year, as ever | hccrC
on
well, there's more'n I want lum
berin' around, anyhow. 1t is i'll
folly and nonsense. As long as thu
old man was able to go pokin' abou
with his knotted stick, countin' OF
'em, and straightcnin' the edges
and foldin' down the crumpled cor
ners, | didn't dare to touch 'cm
| But, now he's bedridden and flighty
and won't know nothin' about it, Pn
bound to sell 'em!
But, mother,' pleaded Agatha
breathless and eager, suppose h
were to want them brought up t.
J his bedside"