Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1870-02-11

delicate green. Her side-saddle, with the
crimson plush seat and bright, brassy fix
ings, always hung in the best bedroom
and in the nights its dim outline would
look like the horned head of buffalo. 1t
was not for me, Johns young wife, Chatty,
to say that its time-honored place should
be vacated, and that IL could hang in
closet or in the attic, out of sight.
Great punches of dried herbs hung from
the ceiling in the kitchen, while the very
choicest and most aromatic depended from
the walls of the sitting room. Piles of bed
clothes reared themselves up like things of
life, from different and conspicuous corners
of the rooms.
All this that shocked my ideas of good
taste, pleased and gratifed my mother,
who had been accustomed to these regula-
tons all her life. John wanted to break in
upon her rules, but l could not endure the.
thought of the innovaton-of setting asdeS
her good old way, and taking as il were her
work from her hands, just as if she had
outlived her usefulness. 1t would have
been cruel and thoughtless, and would
have given her fatal wound. She had
=
up large family, who were married and
living in homes of their own.
Death had taken from her two lovely
babes, who were just beginning to prattle
and one son, young man, had met an aw-
ful death by being dragged more than
mile over n new road with his foot in the
strrup. Her husband had become securi-
ty for neighbor in the first years of her
welded life, and had the debt to pay. Half
of the sum she had paid, little by little,
with butter and cheese and dried fruit and
berries that she gathered with her nursing
baby lying in the shade near her.
Often, while toiling thus, the dishonest
rascal whose debts she was sacrificing her
self to pay, would dash past her, clean and
soit-handed, and stately and proud, in his
glittering carriage.
Oh, could 1, an interloper, come into her
home, and mark out new lines and new
duties, and crowd against the wall this
crowned old heroine? God helping me, l
said in my heart, / will be daughter unto
you.
could see that my music was something
new that she did not like-that her lip
would curl little when she would touch
my magazines and books of poetry; so
most heartily did / sing sweet old church
music, and when placed the books on the
table, would lay Pilgrims Progress or a
volume of sermons, good, old, well-read
| books, on mine, as though intimating q
preference. 1t was little thing, but moth
er understood it, and her eyes would follow
me in questioning look, as much as to
say, 81 wonder if you love me, Charity?"
She always called me Charity, sounding
the r very distinctly.
She wore an old fashioned lace cap, with
| n fuIl border or frill all round the face. All
the pride she had seemed to centre in her
faultessly neat but old time caps. Her
hair was abundant and quite brown and
| pretty, but ii was always covered and DOT
of sight
My friends, when they visited me, would
say, "If l were you, I'd soon have those
great scarry looking, boozy caps in the
stove, they are so abominably old-fashon-
ed"
My thoughts would fly with electric
speed away back to the time when that
poor old mother was young and vigorous,
and bravely bearing the trials and sorrows
that had fallen to her lot, when her heart
was wrung with anguish over the death
beds of her beloved children, and the dark
graves closed over the dead faces, tax er
suddenly away from her bosom, and oh
and oh she would be so dear to me, and
would be so ready and willing to deienC
her, that her very faults almost seemed vir
tues.
liked to show mother off to the best ad
vantage, and sometimes, when my visitor
would be dressing and redressing the
scant adornment of hair, and resorting t
deceptive means to make much hair out o
little / would say, "Now sit down an,
rest, mother, and let me comb and brusl
} YOU" Then l would unroll and loosen he
wealth of brown hair, all down her bacl
and shoulders, and its waves and ripple
} and glossiness would bring forth the mos
envious and enthusiastic exclamations Q
delight and wonder from the admiring Wis
, itors.
l One morning early a neighbor came il
= very angry, saying that our horses had
D been in his cornfeld all night, and if tn
l like ever happened again he'd shoot ever
e one of them. His anger was contagious
5 and mother retorted Fix your old fence
/ then"
G The old man said something in the sam
!, spirit, and she replied in like manner
! and the little fire Of anger was blazing u
into flame. had not caught the infe'
: ton at all, and coming into the kitchen
n that moment, said, "Heigho, good neigl
bors this will never do! Poor mother
not well this morning, and she flashes u
like powder. You have reason to be pr'
yoked at our horses, but l know you wi
never have cause again and now don't Il
y a little thing like this make you angry wit
;, us you're too good neighbor to lose $
!, easily-worth more than all the horses
= town. Don't mind poor mothers hast
words; you know if you were sick, {
> your wife and babies, she'd be as muc
troubled as though it was in her own ian
/, lily, and come putting over with her herl
y and roots, and poultices and
# "Oh, know it, Chatty, and l know
have been a little too fast; that's so.
n should have waited till i was calm, but
n came right here from the field, as iast al
/ mad as / could come. You mustn't mir
20 me, Mrs. Wheeler, said the man, with ey
d that wanted to cry, as ho stood, there
p ashamed and embarrassed that he'd tu
'r his hat inside ont half dozen times, al
l twisted the rim into all sorts of shapes.
IS "Why, bless you, Nathan, I'm not
"a mad" said mother reaching out her han
10 "but you took me so by surprise, ju
y, said the first thing that thought. l tai
fire just like dry tow; but couldn't no
G. spite at ye, If ye shot every critter ON t
Id farm"
just then the man came in from hunti
h. the horses, and made apologies, and 81
er he should he well paid for damages, ct
of but Nathan went off blushing and sayi
k he wouldn't take cent of pay; he was
d. shamed Of himself, and that his wife h
ir his breakfast waiting for him, and away
ee ran with his hat crammed down on