The weekly Shasta courier., 1873-10-04
Rosy's Wedding Portion.

She stood at the gate, with her hat on
the back of her neck and the morning sun
streaming over her bare bright head while
she spoke with the young man who leaned
across the rail and gazed at her out of a
pair of earnest brown eyes. In one hand
she held the broken rose and spout of an
old watering-pot that she had just careless
ly picked up, and neither she nor the father
and mother who gazed at her from the lit
tie sweet brier-draped veranda knew that
she held in her hand the greater part Of her
wedding portion.
Let him have my little clover blossom? ?"
cried the father angrIly. Not by long
shot! Have been rearing her this twenty
years to throw her over the fence at last -
But, father"
"No, mother, that will do. Mr. Monteith
may be part of the solid earth, for all
kn0w-you women seem to think so. But
I'll send him flying higher than Gilderoy's
kite if he asks me for Rosy Maynel"
But, father" the timid voice began
again.
There, that will do, mother, say. See
her down at the gate now" And the duti-
full wife turned her head to look at the pref
ty maiden, tall and slender and well shaped,
and with face than whose wonderful coors,
SO pellucid so rich, so changing, Aurora
herself could have none fairer or brighter
face whose brilliant hazel eyes accented all
the colors with their clear lustre, and the
fine and flying hair about which was of that
marvellous tint which is neither chestnut
nor red, but has something of the shadow of
the first, something of the splendor of the
last. Look at her" said her father. az
cant believe thing so fine as that is any
of mine. She's you all over again when
courted you And I'm sure she shall be
none of his Am going to give that girl
to a ragamuffin of an inventor to go and
starve in city lodging, do you think Why,
she has taken the prize for bread at every
fair the country round ; her cheese is the
best; her butter is the best; her darning is
the
Then I'm sure, father, she's all the bet-
ter prepared to marry poor man."
We'll, she's not going to do it," said
the farmer, sharply. "The man that mar
ries my Rosy is man that shall be salts
fled knows how to take care of her. He
shall be able to plow a straight furrow, to
drain field, to lay out farm"
But, father" persisted the audacious
wife, you know yourself that it's hard life,
and there are other things just as good as
farming and if so he can"
There, there, there" answered Mr.
Mayne. Mot another word. There's an
end of it. Don't talk to me, either, of what
was done over to the Beach. George Rives
would done it if he hadn't. I'm sorry l
ever let him come here, idling away the
summer in our best room, building Golfer
dams down in my brook, and making love
to my girl; and tomorrow Ill send him
packing! Pm going over to get George
Rives to help me a spell, guess anyhow
and maybe that'll put this folly out of her
head. 1 don't know why you don't like
George. | do. And he has more land
than any two in the township"
I'D rather she'd die an old maid!"
"Well. 1 hadn't. And now about that
hanged old churn of yours-what is it you
want? The hoop fixed on the bottom :?
Roll it out, then, and we'll see what can be
done. It's strange thing that in all these
years none Of you women that have been
churning your heads and shoulders off can
find any better way to bring the butter
than this !"
Mr.. Monteith's breakfast many time, fresh,
with bowl and spoon. He told me how
to do it himself-just whip the wind into it."
"Whip the nonsense into it," said Mr..
Mayne. "Great he knows about butter
making! Get us the hammer, Mrs. Mayne,
and a shingle-nail or two. Strange a wom-
an can't drive a nail without MASKING her
thumb" And perhaps good Mrs. Mayne
was not altogether displeased when, min
ute or two atterward, she saw her liege lord
sucking his index finger as if it were piece
oil sugar cane.
They were standing, as it was said, on the
veranda that ran along the shady side of
the house, where Mrs. Mayne and Rosy
were wont to do their churning. 1t was
here that. one fine morning, when the spring
was opening and the llacs were in bud, four
or five months ago, a strong and pleas
ant face appeared through the lattice, and q
stranger asked if Mrs. Mayne would take a
summer boarder. The farmer was away on
jury; and Mrs. Mayne. looking at the
stranger, and thinking of her empty room
and of the added money, rolling her hands
into her apron and rolling them out again,
thinking she liked his face, thinking there
was that half melancholy something in it
that she had noticed in the dumb creatures,
as of a soul struggling with its expression,
finally decided in the affirmative; and the
stranger had said his name was Rodney
Monteith. and the minister knew him; and
he had taken himself up stairs and into her
front-roon.
The minister did know him he had paid
his board regularly she had grown fond of
his still, grave ways; and when farmer
Mavne came home he found his wife and
daughter watching the ew-comer build some
contrivance for the model of an improved
lifting lock down at the fails of the brook ;
and he grumbled the rest of the summer.
Bat Mrs. Mayne and Rosy bad no thought
of grumbling. To Mrs. Mayne her Iodger
was superior being, who knew more than
the minister and to Rosy-he was : lover.
The handsome, stately girl, who knew how
toIbehave like witch with all her stateliness,
could have told the exact moment in which
she took her place, with cogs and wheels
and screws, in the phantasmagoria of his