Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1870-07-13
From the Household
VI | l. d II EDS CHOICE.

l cs, 70 was % deliberate choice. When
you saw her 90 past the window this morn
ing with that faded shawl about her shoulders,
a close, unbccoming hood half hiding her
plain, worn face, and basket filed with
clouded blue yarn Of her own spinning and
dyeing upon her arm, presume it never oc-
CURED to you that there could have been any
choice about IT, But there was one, never
thclcss"
Now, Aunt Edith" cried Harry Clay
ton, laughing, as he twined one Of L" Aunties "
soft curIs about his finger You always
take up the gauntlet in defence Of the spin
storhood. II they were all like you, who are
loveIier and farer and sweeter than any mar
ried woman | know, except my mother |
could understand it, But as for that Mildred
Barkerh
Aunt Edith smiled.
Twenty years ago Mildred Barker was
not just what she is to-day Did you ever
happen to think that We old folks-you need
rot laugh, Harry, for [ am past forty, my
sell--were Young once2 Your mothers school
mates and friends were just as pretty, just as
lro,icsome, just as bewitching as the girls Of
to-day"
81 don't know about that said Harry,
shaking his head gravey as he pulled gera-
mum leaf 81 don't know about that, Aunt
Edith. Just tell me one thing. Did-they--
wear-paniers ~
" Yes, they did you sauey boy answered
Aunt Edith, while soft flush stole up to her
forehead. We wore paniers-under another
name-curled our hair laughed, danced,
firted and made love- very much as the pres.
eut generation do. | doubt if you have ever
seen an old maid in your life, Harry, who
has not had her romances, her love dreams.
! never knew a woman who could not have
married if she had chosen"
Well, tell me about Mildred Barker, "
said Harry, coaxingly If you can weave a
romance out Of that homely, hard-ieatured
woman's history, l will believe henceiorth
that every life is poem That is the cor
rect thing to say, isn't it ?"
No romance, Harry, but plain, sober
fact. There is not woman on earth whom
honor more than do that same Mildred
Barker"
There she goes, back again with her
empty basket. | am very sceptical, auntie,
but hold myself open to conviction. 1t is
your solemn duty to convert me from the
error Of my ways
" 4 hopeless task, fear" and Aunt Edith
smiled into the pair Of mschieyous dark eyes
that barring the mischief, were so like her
own. But if you will let my Berlin woods
alone and promise never to make fun of
another old maid as long as you live, | viii
tell you her story"
Agreed, said Harry, stretching himself,
young Sybarte that he was, at full length
upon the lounge, with creamy tea-rose at
his lips. Go ahead, auntie, I'm the very
Prince of listeners :"
Aunt Edith paused for a moment, and then
said, while her fingers were busy among her
scarlet woods
Do you remember the ruins of the old
gristmill down by the falls ? The blaekened
timbers were still standing when you were a
child but think the remains Of the mil.
ler's house, which once stood near it, had all
been cleared away. In that house Mildred
Barker, when | first knew her, lived with her
grandfather and grandmother. She was a
merry light-hearted girl, not beautiful, per.
haps, but very lovely in her innocent gaiety
with a voice that seemed made for singing
and a foot that could not walk for dancing
/ Characteress, you might have said She
seemed such a soft, yielding little thing, with
gentle, caressing ways and taking no more
heed for the morrow than the bird that sit
upon that bough yonder, singing in the sun
All, me We msjudge each other strangely
sometimes. Since | have grown older my
self, | look upon every young girl as an EN-
bodied riddle
81 find them riddles already--alway'
have" said Harry, deliberately, and with thu
grayest Of faces.
Aunt Edith went on unheeding the inter
ruption.
When Mildred was about eighteen sh'
had lover-Reuben Clark. He was fine
stawart young fellow, full Of life and energy
working away at his forge-he was black
smith-from morning till night His even
ings were given to her and so were his days
for that matter. For was he not working t.
make a home for her, and did not every strok'
upon the anvil bring it nearer? We though
they were made for each other, aud for once
in spite of Shakespeare, the course OF tru'
love seemed to run smooth.
"a year or two went on in this way ant
then it crept out as such things always will
that they were to be married in Septembe
and take possession of the pretty little cottag
that John Mason, the carpenter was build
ing in the edge of the hemlock grove jus
above the falls. 1t was hardly stone
throw from grandfather Barkers; and Mil
dred could sit in her window working at he
modest bridal outfit, and watch the progres
T of the new home, dreaming her fond dream
the while and weaving bright fancies abou
every door-post and rafter. We have gon
up in the social scale since then-for GU
family has been wonderfully prospered, Har
ry,-and perhaps Mildred has gone down
, Poverty and labor have been her liie-lon
portion and she, in her pride, has held her
/ self aloof from those who were once and ar
still, her friends. But in those days we wer
all on the same plane and many a happ
hour did your mother and | spend with he
that summer, consulting over patterns 10
patchwork and discussing the comparativ
merits of herring g-bone and shells
} Z" But one night in July | was awakene
/ bv unusual noises il the street and cries
fre-fre.' Springing to the window
! looked out. Grandfather Barker's mill WI
! in flames and even from that distance
: could see the men upon the roof OF his hous
y trying to protect il with wet carpets, blal
! kets and the like. But we had no engines
those days. and although men, women al
children came to the rescue, with every pa
and bucket that could be found in the yillag
a il was all in vain. just as the roof OF Il
y mill fell with great crash, the flames bur