Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1870-10-21

lnulluct. Que SocIHUu 10 tlkc sptcIdi
delight. when passing Deacon Saunders
house, in pretending TO see all sorts OF
bugbcars about the yard, and her dilating
nostrils, flashing eye and timid bound
were very pretty to see, or would have
been in any but minister's horse. The
poor deacon was sadly tried about it. He
had been one of Mr.. Halc's warmest
friends. but how could hc countenance
such doings rs these? 1t was new phase
in his ministerial experience. Old Mr..
Dow, under whose preaching he was con-
verted drove horse that never forgot
the dignity Of her station so far as to eX.
ceed last walk on any occasion, and he
could not help feeling scandalizcd at such
an invocation on the old custom.
So much was his mind exercised upon
the subject, he felt il his duty TO cxpostu-
late with his pastor. Mr.. Hale heard him
with q smile, and cndeavorcd To soften
his animosity to poor Psyche, by telling
him Of her docility and gentleness, but
TO no purpose He Ie(l him not in anger
but with n heightened visage and sur'
rowiul shake of the head.
The good deacon lived just below the
parsonage, in an old farmhouse whose
projecting roof, where the Swallows col
onized, wide stone-hoored porch, and a
large yard shaded by Lombardy poplars,
give it venerable appearance.
The yard, with its carpet of emerald
turf, was the play ground of the deacon
grandson, little, black.cycd fellow.
whose father, who bad gone to the land
OF gold, had placed his wife and 4 year
old boy in his fathers house for protcc-
ton The child was the idol of his grand
parents, and the pet of the whole village.
Mr.. Hale often walked down 90 the gate
TO caress him, and sometimes lifted him
over aud set him on PSychc's back. who
seemed to know that, with such delicate
precious burden, she must be very gentle,
and paced slow about, now and then
looking back, as il 10 sec that he was Sc
curely seated.
a few yards above the parsonage n
noisy. brawling brook makes its way over
n huge race that covers nearly an acre OF
ground in the summer it dwiudlcs TO an
insignificant stream and Il small pool OF
muddy water; bat in the spring. when
swollen by the melting SHOWS, it runs
with a swift current, and IN some places
the lake is quite deep. \ path is laid
out around it, and flight of rude steps
up the side Of the rocl; lead to 4 shady
walk above, mach lrcqucnIcd by villagers
on summer evenings.
One bright May morning, not long af
ter the deacon urged Mr. Hale to sell
Psyche, Mary Saunders sat inditing let.
ter to her absent husband and she told
him Of the home he had provided for her
in his absence, and decanting upon viii
lies goodness and beauty; she Ioreborc
to tell him the rogue had already upset
the inkstand upon her snowy wrapper,
and now hung about distracting her mind
by his childish questions
Unable to proceed while thus annoyed,
she tied on his little straw hat and sea 7 {
and sent him ont into the yard, where the
grass was Just springing, and the lilac
trees bursting into bloom,
Congratulnting herself that no would
be safely amused for IN hour, she rcsum-
cd her writing and forgot all else.
Willie was very happy for a while in
watching the robins that few from limb
to limb of the old popIars, and the swal
lows, who were bringing mud for their
nest beneath the ewes; but he soon got
tired of these, and leaning against the
gate, looked wistfuly into the street.
Soon he espied the latch. 1t was a
perfect mystery to him how it was to be
uniaslencd; but standing on tiPtoo. his
little finger soon pressed with sufficient
force the thumb-piccc to lift it, and the
gate swung gently open. Peeping out,
fist on one side and then the other to be
sure no COWS were near, and casting n
furtive glance toward the house, as if he
suspected he was doing wrong, he ven
tured out upon the grassy sidewalk
The yellow dandelions and the bright
king-cups beckoncd him on rs they peep.
ed out from under the fence, and he filled
his hat with their gay blossoms, rs he
wandered on toward the pond and brook,
which, still swollen by the spring rains,
attracted him by the noise as il fell over
the rock.
At the end of an hour Mary Saunders
had finished her letter, and placing her
writing materials in a rosewood desk, her
husbands last gift, she returned to the
window to see what pretty mischief or
cunning roguery Willie might be doing.
But no Willie was in sight. The gate
stood omnously open, aud catching her
sun. bonnet, she darted into the street.
"Willic, Willie" she called, but no an
swcr.
Looking down she espied his tiny track
in the soft earth, outside the grass. and
with a beating heart, she saw they led
toward the pond.
With new fears she flew on, little foot
prints still tending toward the water. The
flowers he had picked she found scattered