Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1873-03-21
The Leisure Hour.

by KATE TRUE.

| by KATE TRUE.
Coming, comingp sang or called 8
sweet voice; and Coming, coming" ech
oed our friend, the old mountain, just be.
|. hind the house.
Grandpa sprang from his chair and went
out hastily for his lantern, for night had
settled down upon us. The "women folks"
| peered from the windows, while old Jess,
| the lazy watch dog, growled disapproval
from the doorstep.
Ten seconds before, each of the party held
either paper or a letter, for the farm boy
had returned from the village post-office,
well laden, and we, who had loudly pro-
claimed our delight at our freedom from
restraint and conventionalities, found our
selves still of the earth, earthly, as we pored
over the latest intelligence.
"Who is it? what is ii p we ask, eager
ly; but no one answers, and over the rush
and roar OF the river there come floating
to ns the musical Understanding, COM
ing" This time grandpa answers with a
sailors "aye, aye" and walks down the
roadway swinging his lantern. The light
plays and dances among the maple leaves
over his head, fits here and there on tall
weeds by the way-side and flashes ever and
anon on the river. To us, still in the door
way, il is all mystery-the song-like cal,
the evident understanding of the house,
hold, the black darkness of the night, and
woman's arrival, amid the darkness,
across the treacherOus, rocky stream. What
could it mean? We repeat the question,
and step boldly out near the open windows,
from which some of our party are still gaz-
ing. and the only reply was: "Thirza
wants TO cross
"Thirza, Thirza," we say; what a music
al name! We saw it in the country church
yard yesterday, and pondered on it, while
we plucked the rank weeds from an un-
known grave. "Thirza, beloved wife, aged
thirty" "Thirza the daughter, aged nine
teen," and the little infant OF a few months.
We read family history then and there
from the tomb-stones, and straightway
look ed over our brain-stores to find its ori-
gin, but nothing came to us, aud we walk
ed home with the name still in our ears,
never dreaming we should yet see one
bearing it. All the long summer afternoon
we thought of the women who had been,
but were not, and none had ever known
| outside of the little town living Thirza.
Could we but enter much-loved libra
ry, how soon our queries would be set at
rest. We would then search out its hid
| den meaning, find its origin and story, but
perhaps, in so doing, spoil its poetry. Such
things had happened; and we could not
decide whether it meant high or low,
queenly or servile, whether Greek maidens
had answered To it, or dusky damsels smil-
ed, VIXEN the voice OF love pronounced 1t.
We could only fancy it bestowed on some
lovely girl or brave woman, and to us 1t
should mean "noble." Suddenly out OF
the darkness, it came TO us again.
"Thirza wants to cross" said the old la
dy; and, regardless of dampness or dark
ness, we went down the roadway, follow
ing the lantern. We could not follow 1t
long, for soon the old man began to descend
the steep and circuitous path leading down
to the rivers brink.
We leaned against friendly maple, and
listened. A rattle of the boat chain on the
rock where ii was fastened, grating sound
as it was pushed off from the shore, and the
shouts from the other bank to ''look out"
"keep her steady" "go to the left" and 9TH
er cautions which the danger made neces-
sary. No smooth surface allowed the use
of oars, but in their place the solitary boat
man uses his long pole with skill and care,
avoiding the hidden rock, giving large ones
a close embrace, and shooting in and out
against the force Of the current.
With darkness came danger, and why
should this woman brave It, when the long
summer days made II pleasure?
"rhirza comes TO watch with poor wo-
man to night. She wanted to do her chores
first"
"It shall mean 'self-depying,' 'noble,'"
we said softly; and, as we spoke, the Hat
bottomed boat landed on our little shore,
and up the rugged stairway came the wo-
man we were thinkingof.
"Poor ThirzaW said grandma, as she
went back to her knitting. "Poor girl |
Life Is tough thing to her."
"Wby?" we asked, eagerly, as we once
more put down the evening paper.
st is long story, miss; a sad story, too.
i"u ste sue Is KIN 10 u.s. nut you city
folk don't know much about such troub-
les"
"Grandma," you perceive, is not "kin"
to us. We call her so, partly as an honor
airy title, partly from our need of such kin
ship; for of all our merry party, ques-
ton much If any are rich in this way.
"Grandma," said we, city folks have
hearts, and in all my life I never found
true hearted man or woman who did not at
once respond to sorrows call. want that
story; can have it?"
"Never heard of her before, did you ?"
"Never."
"Know anyone of her manner"
"No; IL IL as beautiful as new."