The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1874-12-31

can't see-so dark that You would know it if
you were blind. Now that kind is not dan
Serous in any way. Thieves and mosquitoes
even have to give up bus mess under such cir
| cumstances. Plants and animals and ghosts
all stand still and do nothing until they can
| get CLEAN of second hand light ut least
from somewhere. The perfect dark is the
scelresof life for such things only as get no
other chancc-stoves and carpets and furni-
turc and pictures. They take advantage Of
complete darkness to enjoy themselves. You
never would think to look at the heavy piano
which it takes two or three people to move,
and which never speaks unless it is spoken to,
or pounded till silence ceases to be Il virtue,
that on suitable occasion it can stand on
one leg and wave the other three in the air.
| That only shows how many Things go on of
which folks have no idea. But it does not
often happen to be perfectly dark; and So after
all, this kind of piano playing is not frequent.
Now, on the Christmas Eve of 1874 it got so
dark in the parlor that a piece of black char
c al wrapped in black velvet and buried in
the Black sea couldn't have been darker. The
shutters were closed and the curtains were
down and the fire had gone out, and it was
So dark that ali the inanimate things We're
walked by it just as YOU or would be walked
by broad daylight.
My next head, Dit IN the DARK, comprises
what happened in the parlor before Johnny
! began to operate. First there was a low hum
ming up and down the scale, like the prepa-
ration Of deacon just about to start IL hymn
| tune. 1t was the piano, trying its voice
before beginning to speak. Presently it said,
in its most piani>simo manner, to the melody
of " Days OF Absence:
| Now the shades of night are falling;
Don't You think we'd better begin:
There was Il subdued rustling and moving all
over the room. and the chairs all came out Of
their corners and stood in semi-circle around
the piano. us they had seen other folks do
\ small foot-stool, unable to hold up its head
AS high as the rest, slipped in among their
legs and got Very good place to see what
was going on. Then came the tables and
the writing desk and the chandeliers-no.
am mistaken; the chandeliers couldn't come,
| because they We're fixtures. The sofa whis-
pcred somewhat hoarScly: How can stir,
without spillin. all these stockings that are
| tackled to me:-and besides, one Of my casters
| is gone
Never mind u.s." whispered the stockings
| eagerly. I've arc bound to tie cmpticd any
| how. If We weren't packed SO tight, how-.'
| There were five of them in row pinned to
| the back of the sofa instead Of being hung by
| the chimney. That was more convenient,
particularly because the articles that were
| too big to go into anyone's stocking could
be laid in a pile on the sofa just in front of it.
| On this occasion the stockings tried hard to
unpach themselves but could not do it with
out Il s.omach- pump, and they begged the
old sofa to hitch along to the piano; but he
answered grooming, ~ guess you don't
know what it is to have lost a caster" So
the stockings hung there in despair and the
floor and ran about as well as they could
considering that they were all rolled up in
brown paper and securely tied, which made
their movements resemble what Scotchmen
call sack-race.
The clock on the mantelpiece had struck
twelve and was so exhausted that it could
make no more noise, except to hiccup reSu-
larry twice second-but that it did always;
SO nobody paid any attention to it though it
waved its hands around in Il slow and feeble
way before its face like person about to
faint. Two hower-vases on the same mantel-
piece hitched to the edge and looked over
| and seemed to weep because it was SO hign
that they dared not jump down. But ap-
pearances are hollow; in reality they Gid not
| weep, they only spilled the water that was in
them by tipping too far from the perpendic-
| ular. There Was sound of splashinS water
on the wall. 1t came from the picture that
! Miss Susan with the help of the drawing
MASTERY had produced last quarter, and
exhibited at the Art Reception. 1t was Il
| moonlight scene, with a broad white path of
moolight (madc by scratching the papcr),
which led straight from the observer to the
horizon, and SO on up the sky to the moon, so
| that there should be no doubt where it came
from. And along this shining street, SO to
speak, an elegant pirate, with a lovely feather
| in his cap, was rowing Il boat, in the stern of
which sat young lady in full evening dress.
There was also Il castle on the rocky shore,
and pine tree indicating high wind, as did
| likewise the great waves in the distance,
though, owing to the well known influence of
| the moon on the weather.
| The path DER which the boat must pass
| Was smooth as Il sheet Of polished glass,
as the poet says. Nobody would have ex.
pected that the pirate could really move his
| oars; but in the dark the picture appeared
water to flow, and the wind to blow, and the
pine tree to go to and fro after surprising
| fashion. Still more extraordinary was the
fact that the portrait of Mr.. Coopers grand
father on the opposite wall actually moved
his head-a thing well-nigh incredible, his
neck was so stiff and his starched collar and
white cravat and stock were SO high. Indeed,
he almost rolled his eyes, but not quite; that
was really too much, they had been fixed on
one spot so long. The mirror, on the other
hand, did nothing whatever-not even reflect
or murmur, as she usually did, "look at mc!'
She never woke up in the dark, being a mere
fine lady, who amounted to nothing unless
she had company to admire her and be fiat
tered by her.
But l have told you enough to show how
| things began; and we will now return to What
Johnay Did in the Dart. The first thing he
did, as have said, was to wake up and hear
| the noise down stairs. Brother Will had come
to bed and was sleeping quietly. So the next
thing was to climb carefully over Will with
out disturbing him and get down on the floor,
when he proceeded, in his night-yown and
| stocking feet, downstairs. He was altogeth-
err too wise to be afraid. He had often enter.
tanned suspicious concerning the proceedings,
when no one was present, Of various things
usually considered to have no life; but he was
only curious about 1t, not afraid. He used to
| say: "What if a table could get up and walk
around and talk? 1t couldn't scare me. I'd
like to be there; that's ALL" So downstairs
he went, holding his breath, and not making
so much as crcak on the third stair from
the top, which always would creak if PEG.
pie didn't Take pains.
AS he approached the parlOr door it oc.
Cured to him that this would be an excellent
opportunity to carry out the plan he had hall
formed in going to bed. He could 90 in the
dark to the Christmas presents and take out
those which he had brought. OF course he
had right to do it. A person needn't give
presents, particularly to people that don't love
him and are down on him, and act real mean
l-unless he has mind to, need he? Yet the
plan did not seem quite so attractive now,
first place, he had had time for reflection
or for sleep, which is just as good;
ering little With the cold; and
this fact is more important than anybody sus
poets. Temper and temperature have great
deal to do with each other. Angry passions
rise with the mercury in the thermometer
and at u couple of degrees below zero man
hasn't an enemy in the world Moral, keep
COOL
However, Johnny went into the parlor, re-
solved to carry out his plan, If he should choose
That's way we have with our sins, all of us
We know thing is wrong, and we haven't
quite made up our minds to do it, but, never
theless, we arrange everything SO that by and
by if we decide to sin all the conyeniences
may be at hand. johnny entered the parlor,
in which, Notwithstanding the pitch-black
darkness, he felt quite at home, knowing the
locality of every piece of furniture, and took
straight course for the sofa where the
Christmas stockings were hung. But at the
second step crack against his shin came the
rocker of the big rocking chair, and when he