The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1872-09-12
BASIIFUL BOOTS.

"Tell me, Bashful Boots,' | said,
chow far it is to Whitby?"
"Please, thir, my name ithnt
Bathful Booth" answered the child;
" Tth Mary Cumru.'
| was just eighteen, and, after bay,
ing taken my degree in the time-hon
ored University of Pennsylvania,
was making pedestrian tour
through the eastern countries of my
native State. For several hours /
had been traversing II wild, wooded
region, that the inhabitants called
"the forest" and which stretches for
nearly thirty miles, from the north
east to the southwest, back to the
Blue Ridge between Whitby and
Heidelberg. 1t was primitive, pic
turesque district, with small farms
scattered through the valleys, while
the hills on either side were dense y
clothed with the originatforest trees.
There were SO many little lateral
valleys, and so many cross roads,
that at last | began to fear | had
lost my way.
Suddenly there arose before me,
over the crest of Il low hill, the chin
ney and roof of u tlmeworn, stone
farm house. The fences were mO5Sy
grown, tho woodsaround were bush
and wild; lush grasses grew in the
meadows, and the whole air was fra
grant with the scent OF water.Howcrs
that blossomed in the Gttlo brook
near by. A scientific agriculturist
would have turned from the scene
in disgust. But poet or a painter
would have been charmed by it. The
tangled, luxuriant growth carried
the Imagination back for II century
to the landscapes that Fielding
described land Gancshorough painted.
Crossing the field between me and
The house, advancing i'll my direc-
ton, was d little girl. She wore an
old bonnet and loose sack, and
carried an earthenware pitcher in her
hand; yet in spite of these compar-
atlvely coarse accessories there was
bright, intelligent look i'll her eye.
and an mir almost of refinement in
her face. Observing stranger, she
stopped shyly, with her finger i'll her
mouth. 1t was then | addressed
her.
We soon managed to get quite
well acquainted. Whitby, she told
me, was "just over the mountain,
not more than an hours walk . She
lived with her maternal uncle, who
owned the farm house, which had
been her grandfather's before. "Pa,
pa was minister she said. We
lived in the city till he and mara
died.
| was about to walk on, when she
asked me sbyly if | wouldn't like Il
drink of milk. She was going to the
spring house. she added. ! assented
most gladly, and she trpped gaily
before me, fitting along like q free
happy bid.
Have you ever, my dear reader
seen real, old fashioned Ponnsyl'
vania spring house-a one storlcd
one roomed stone editice, built ovel
q natural spring, generally shaded
by weeping willow or some ancient
forest tree, apd floored with brick ol
stone? My little hostess, kneelin2
down, dipped some milk up from
pan that iloated in the ever run
ping stream which made the cir
cuit of the spring house inside
Never, before or since, have | had 4
draught so delicious.
Afterward l sat down OF tho low
turfy bank outside, and chattei witt
my little friend.
ado you know" she said, artless
Iy, Il like country better than town
You hear the birds at daylight; yo'
can hunt for the wild flowers. Oh
such violets, and blue bells, ant
quaker ladies we have here"
"And butter cups, too, l hope.
"Yes, yes, buttercups. Do yo'
know how to tell if you like butter?
she asked glcefully.
"Don't II You hold the buttercu