The Republican journal., 1874-03-05
Taking it for Granted.


Here is somebody waiting for you,
Elwell, said Mr. Bigelow
| looked around, and the man rose and
held out his hand
"Averill-my name is Averil," said he,
looking sharply at me out of a pair OF
shrewd gray eyes. II am an old friend OF
your mother; but | have not met her for
Il matter Of tive-and-twenty years. SO
thought I'd call and ask after her and her
family"
Il am glad to see you," said L. Are
you a relative of my mother?"
NO" replied Mr.. Avcrill. 1--WE were
of the same name, but not connccted-un-
less it may be very distantly. | used to
know her and her folks though, as well
as | did my own sister, and better, too
Let's see-where is your Aunt Augusta
now ?"
''she is living with her children in Port
land" said l.
pretty well, is She, do you know p
asked MI Averill.
Very well when we heard last. Aunt
Augusta has good children and pleasant
home, and seems quite happy"
"Um-m-m-m That is nice" said Mr..
Averll. fumbling at q rough nugget of
gold that hung as a charm from his watch
chain
hadn't much to do that day, so talked
off and on with my visitor till it was time
to 90 home, and then took him along with
went to find mother. She was mixing
biscuits for supper, looking through her
glasses, and singing a snatch of some old,
half-forgotten love ditty of her youth
Mother" said l, breaking in upon her
song Come in the other room; an old
friend of yours wants to see YOU
Mother looked up over her glasses
And old friend? 'Tisn't any of the
Maine folks, is it :" she asked.
Because, if it was so much as dog that
had trotted across a corner of the State of
Maine, on his tour legs, mother would
have rum with her arms out and a smile
of welcome, without stopping to even wash
the dough off her hands. As 1t was, with
only an indefinite thought Of seeing san
old friend" she went, with n dust of flour
on her nose and without her company
cap.
AS soon as she had stepped inside the
sitting-room door, she stood and looked at
her guest, and he stood and looked at her
1T is Sam, as true as you are born +
She said at last
Then they both laughed, and then they
seem like that sort of people, especially
Mr. Averill.
never knew mother to forgot hon
housekeeping before, but this time she let
the biscuit burn till they We're as black as
my shoe; and when she mixed some more
she put in sugar instead of salt, and left
out the saleratus altogether. But hel
cheeks grew pink, and her cap strings
flew, and she nor her guest seemed to
know the difference
''Oh, honeyw cried my mother, hopping
up from the tea-table as soon as she was
seated. s. You haven't lost Your sweet
tooth, have you Sam?"
'.IIow do you remember.'' returned
Sam, admiringly.
Il should think | ought to- answered
my mother, with a girlish way. The way
you used to pick up walnuts to carry to the
crossroads store and trade for molasses tc
make candy of! Speaking of the cross
road store, | wonder if you know our old
storekeeper's daughter, she that was Sarah
Curly, has lost her husband ?"
mo, has she? Strange | never heard
of it, replied Mr.. Averill, appearing as
astonished as though he had been hearing
from his old neighbors every week.
YES" said my mother. 'She married
one of old st. Seaver's boys, the oldest
one. Jonathan, and he died sudden, all
at once; well, it must be something like
half-a-dozen years ago,-and left his wife
and so many children-tive children OF
else six, l don't know which"
You don't say !" calculated Mr. Averill,
passing his honey plate for the third time
No, evidently he had not lost his sweet
tooth.
After supper mother washed up the
dishes and talked, and Mr. Averill smoked
his pipe and listened. 1t was the first time
1 ever allowed anybody to smoke in my
house, but | had nothing to say now.
even filled his pipe and lighted it for him
And then he told the story of his life
which had been full of strange and inter
estng adventures. He was evidently a
man who did not read much and who
could not have written well, but he could
talk; not always grammatically, perhaps,
but always with force and fascination.
1t seemed that years and years ago, his
father and my mothers rather lived in a
town in the valley Of the Kennobec. My
mothers father was large farmer ana
Mr.. Averill's father was very small farm
er with Il very large family. SO his young
est son, Sam, came to work for my grand
father. My mother and my aunt Augusta
were young girls-they We're twins, and
suppose by the way they look now that
they must have been pretty then. My
mother was early engaged and married to
my father; but there was Augusta, and
there was Sam, and where one was YOU
might usually find the other near at hand.
Sam never said anything, he was not of a
demonstrative kind, but he knew how he
felt, and he supposed Augusta knew too,
So the years budded and blossomed and
brought forth fruit until at last Sam went
down to Connecticut to take charge of a
saw-mill for IN uncle of his He wrote to
Aunt Augusta and Aunt Augusta wrote to
HIM and now and then he came to Maine
on business, always going to my grand
fathers before he went home, and carry
ing himself toward Augusta like an ac-
cepted lover
After few years he found himself pos
sessed of twelve thousand dollars, and i'm
mediately went to work to spend it. He
went abroad, to England and Rome and
Egypt and Paris and Germany and Swed-
en- and Russia and everywhere. When he
came home at last it was with only fifty
dollars in his pocket. So next he went
out among the copper mines of Lake
Superior, and in time was again possessed
of twelve thousand dollars.
"Now l will come home and marry An
gusta, and settle down." said he to him.
self. But he didn't say it to anybody else.
1t never occurred to him that it was neces-
sary.
Meantime my Aunt Augusta had not
stood like rose in pot, waiting for the
gardener to come and pick it. She cast
out her roots and threw up her branches
and bloomed as though it was enough to
fulfill the laws OF being and beauty for
their own sakes.