The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1874-11-26
WRITTEN FOR THE.sT. CLOUD JOURNAL.]
THE VACANT PARISH.
A Story Founded on Facts.
CHAPTER III.

DISCUSSES THE DUTCH BRIG AND SOME
SMALLER CRAFT.
"Have you seen the pigeon-box %
inquired the Senior Warden of Mrs.
Viking, the lady who, upon my ad-
vent at Chatterwild, had inspected my
shawl with such carefulness.
"Rat-trap, I call it" was the not
over amiable reply. "About big
enough for one good-sized family. If
Twas building of church, I'd
build a church if I was a building
of a rat-trap I'd build a ratatrap !;
but I wouldn't call a rat-trap e
church, that's what I wouldn't. I'm
tor calling things by their right
names, Iam."
And with this, portly Mrs. Wilkins
waddled as gracefully out Of the post
office, in which the conversation, of
which the above is the gist, had taken
place. as Dutch brig in water much
boo shallow for its draught.
It took several fathoms of meta
phorical ocean to float the ancient dame
whom, without fear of womanhood be-
fore my eyes, I have ikened, in her
size and movements, to a Dutch brig.
In her voyages from store to store, and
the post office, of which she was the
tutelar deity at salary Of several
hundred dollars per year, to her COT
tage behind the mill, she was given to
careening from side to side, as if in a
heavy swell, or as if, in hasty de-
parture from the domestic port to the
official haven, her sails had not been
spread trig to the winds.
At the masthead she invariably
carried blue cotton umbrella when
the day was hot, and when it was not,
this ensign was carefully furled, tied
always Il never saw it otherwise)
with a string of another hue and
slowed tenderly away, near her heart,
under her left arm. I often wonder
Il, from the tender devotion the
widow evinced towards this blue
cotton article whether it were not q
mements Of the departed Peleg Will
kins, the former boatmaker and sharer
of her connubial joys and SORROWS, but
this point could never satisfactorily
clear up, as it was delicate subject
to broach to the devoted widow, and
though as gossiping place as any
other of its size I ever knew, Chatter
wild never. having indulged in the
same speculation knew no more than
I.
On a Sunday the combination Of
hues in her variegated rigging was
fearful, but all unconscious Of the
figure she was cutting, she would roll
up the aisle, always as if in shallow
water, and anchor herself in her
invariable pew.
Mr.. Anglesea, when I once lrrever-
emily spoke of her as the Dutch Brig
said drily that she was a brig that
might be known at any distance By
her colors.
The Dutch Brig had become, in
the six months that had now elapsed
| since I came to Chatterwild, a most
Objectionable craft to me. She had
become, aa it we're, privateersman
upon the parochial ocean against me
She had chased my pet plans and
tried to run down my humble. at
tempts, and here lately had taken thu
Senior Warden in tow. Not that. thu
Senior Warden had been, was now, Of
was ever likely to be, q very ,formid
able craft, but still, for the sake Of it
own reputation and the credit of tn
parochial sea, L would rather it hae
not joined the Brig. Doubtless the,
considered the conversation, a part o
which I above narrate as it was mar
rated to me, as a most severe broad
side. I heard of their amiable re
marks through Jemima. Ina villag
one is very Likely to hear things sale
of one any how, but when they ar
said in 9 public post Office and befor