The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1874-04-16
AUNT RUSHA'S BOY.
BY EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.

Aunt Rusha'S kitchen door stood
wide open, and broad red stripe OF
sunshine came across the hills where
the sun was just getting up, right into
the clean. pleasant room, Frightening
the dull little clock, and making quite
a picture of Aunt Rusha herself, as
she stood in the hearth, tanning the
fire with her blue gingham apron
The fire burned slowly; first a blue
smoke and then warming blaze, and
at last a strong cackle, at which Aunt
Rusha gave a sigh of satisfaction,
picked up her kettle and Whisked
away to fill it. AS she came to the
door she found something looking in
besides the sunshine-a little old man
Aunt Rusha thought, until she came
close and saw it was boy, with thin
pinched face, long hair. bleached al
most white, and a mans hat and coat,
The brim of the hat tapped over his
face, and the sleeves of the coat were
rolled away from the slender wrist
and brown hands. His feet were bare
and red that frosty October morning
and altogether he made such pitiful
picture, # was no wonder Aunt Rusha
started back, dropped her kettle, and
exclaimed, "Sakes alive!" as she was
picking it up.
want to hire a boy )" piped out the
little scarecrow, in very CHEEKY voice
as if, after all, he was having a pretty
good time OF it.
=" Sakes no." said Aunt Rusha, pull
ing her sphctacles down from the top
of her head, where the great round
glasses shone in the sun like attic
windows; should think I'd got
enough to do without having boy
under my feet. Who be ye anyhow %
elias Barnet. hain't got no folks,
an s'lec'men up North Waring bound
me out to 'Bijah Potter. I've been
there going on two year. 'Bijah's
dead, ar hearn 'em taIh1in' about
gettin' another place for me; but l
lowed I'd just look about a bit for
myself, so | took an early start
yesterday and tramped along. Got a
lift in peddler's wagon as far as the
tavern"
Aunt Rusha having settled her
glasses, examined the boy closely
while he told his story, and when it
was ended said briefly:
EsWell, pears to me- your middlin
young to undertake for yourself. jest
set down on the step and rest ye, and
I'll give ye a bite to eat when | get
breakfast going-there's my fire all
burning to waste"
Away went Aunt Russia to the pump
and the boy sat down upon one end of
the wooden step. which instantly
landed him on the ground, after a
fashion it had, unless you stepped eX-
actly in the middle. He got up as
graVely as if he had been used to such
upsetting all his life, looked about for
moment, then brought some stq1es
from across the road, and went to
work to lay a solid foundation for the
treacherous old step.
"There," said Aunt Rusha. APPROX
ingly, "You've earne.. your breakfast
I've been goin' to fix that step this
two years, but somehow l never
seemed to get to it. l don't mind it
myself, because Pm used to it, but a
stranger finds it awk'ard."
She changed her mind about the
cold bite, and decided to give him a
warm breakfast and a warm cup of
coffee; and by that time the little
rouDd table was set and the coffee be-
gah to send out its fragrance. She
opened the chamber door and knocked
on the stair with knife handle, and
presently You heard a queer little
humping, and Aunt Nina came
down into the kitchen. Aunt Nina
was lame, and walked with one crutch
and cane ; so it really seemed dan-
gerous for her to go mp stairs; but
she managed it beautifully, and moth
ing would have induced her to give
up her east chamber, where she had
seen the sun rise ever since she was a
round-faced baby-and that was fifty
years ago. She and Rusha were
twin sisters, and were " as like as two
peas" all the neighbors said; but
Aunt Nina had sprained her ankle,
aud for some reason it turned into a
lifelong lameness, so Rusha had to
be foot for both. They were neither
rich nor poor, but lived as comforta-
bly, as could be in little white house,
and took care of each other.
Aunt Rusha told her sister about
the little tramp while she was dishing
up the breakfast, and Aunt Nina