The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1872-05-16
Bashfui Boots.

Tell me, Bashml Boots" said, chow
far is it to Whitby ?"
please, this. my name ithr't Battul
Booth" answered the child 18th Mary
Cumrun
! was Just eighteen, and, after having
taken my degree in the time-h honored
university OF Pennsylvania. was making
a pedestrian tour through the eastern
counties of my native State. For several
hours | had been traversng a wild wood
en- region that the inhabitants call ''the
forest,H and which stretches for nearly
thirty miles, from the northeast to the
southwest. back to the blue ridge between
Whitby and Heidelberg 1t was primi-
tive, picturesque district with small farms
scattered through the valleys, while the
bills on either side We're densely clothed
with the original forest trees. There
We're SO many cross roads. that, 81 last,
began to fear | had lost nv way
Suddenly there rose before me, over the
crest, OF a low hill, the chimney and roof
Of a tnne-worn. stone farm house. The
fences were moss grown; the woods
around were bushy and wild; lush grasses
grew in the meadows and the whole air
was fragrant with the scent of water
flowers that bloomed in the little brook
near by. scientific agricultusalist would
have turned from the scene in disoust
But poet or painter would have been
charmed by il. The tangled luXuriant
growth carried the imagination back for a
century, to the landscapes thai Fielding
described and Ganesborough painted.
Crossing the field between me and the
house, and advancing in my direction,
was a little girl. She wore an old sun
bonnet, and carried an earthenware
pitcher in her hand; yet 1t spite of these
comparatively coarse accessories. there
was a bright, intelligent look in her ewes
and an air almost of refinement in the face
Observing n stranger, she stopped shylv,
with her finger in her mouth 1t was
then | addressed her.
We soon managed to get well acQuaint-
ed. Whitbv, she told me, was ''iust 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 and her great
grandfather's before. Papa was a min
ister." she said eve lived III the city
till he and mamma died"
was about to walk on, when she asked
me slvly, if would like a drink Of milk
She was going to the spring house, she
added. | assented most gladly, and she
tripped gaily before me. fitting along
like free, happy bird.
Have you ever my dear reader, seen
real, old-tashioned Pennsylvania spring
house? A One-storied, one-roomed stone
edltice, built over a natural spring, gener-
ally shaded bya weeping willow, or some
ancient forest tree, and fioored w tn brick
and stone? My little hostess, kneeling
down. dipped some milk up from a pan
that t1oated in the ever-running stream.
which made the circuit of the spring house
inside. Never, before or since have |
had a draught so delicious.
Atterward | sat down on the low. tnrfv
bank outside, and chatted with nv little
friend
''Do you know" she said. artlesslv, II
like country better than town? You hear
the birds at daybreak, you can hunt for
wild flowers. Oh such violets, and blue
bells, and quaker ladies as we have here"
And buttercups, too, hope"
Yes, yes, buttercups. Do you know
how 20 tell if you like butter ?" she asked
gleetully.
Don't | You hold the buttercup to
your chin"
She clapped her hands, and lau Ching
said
chow do you know that 81
"Oh! know more than you think" |
answered coolly; but feeling young
mans pride, nevertheless, in her admira-
ton. ''Can YOU tell me, for instance,
what is this 30
! had been, as my habit was, polling
with stick tho I'm nrf apJ
had loosened a heavy, rusty-looking bit
of stone that rolled at my feet.
NO" she said, with some contempt
Il don't care for dirty rocks cale for
flowers and trees"
"But this dirty bit of rock" answered,
sis h;ematitic ore," quite willing to show
off my geological knowledge, and forget
ting that she would be wholly ignorant of
your uncle's farm, it will make his fortune.
shouldn't wonder if there was," added.
"1'his ore is always found in Just such
localities, where the trapdykes," and |
waved my stick in the direction of the
rugged, knife-edged hills that rose in
front, ''brake through the sandstone.
Why it's as good us gold mine my dear"
"a gold mine I" her eyes were bigger
than ever now
Yes as good as gold mine If the
farm was mine, I'd sink shafts at once
Is your uncle at home?"
'No. He has gone to Whitby.'
"Well, then, mind you tell him when
harm at any rate" As spoke rose to
60.
She looked down and put her finger to
hny. al.
blush, she said.
"Would you mind writing it down ? the
big word, l mean"
''Oh the name of the ore. Certainly
not" | said laughing. | tore leaf from
my memorandum book as l spoke, and
wrote the words as she requested.
''Do you often come this way" she
asked, bashfully, as l offered my hand
and said goodbye.
81 was never here before, little one,
and don't know that shall ever come
again.
Her face fell
But should like to come" l added,
81 will try next summer"
She frightened up again
"Oh! do come," she cried. "Do YOU
know IKE you-ever so much ?"
When reached the turn of the wood,
at the top OF the hill above, stopped to
look back. My little acquaintance stood
just where ! had left her, gazing wistfully
after me. took off my hat, she curtesied
and plunged into the forest.
That night, at Whitby, had occasion
for my pencil case, a thin golden one,
with my name engraved upon it. could
not find it anywhere. "Where have l
left it?' I had quite forgotten that
had used it in the spring house, and might
! have dropped it there