The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1874-11-21
2Uiscellaneous.
HosU Jerry Came Home.

H0sU Jerry Came Home.
That fire at the Naples did something max
ing talk for the whole village and scorching up
few rods of old Mrs. Chitts' scattering tim Der.
1t gave the old gentlewoman, who had long
been lowering doubtiully on the borders of two
worlds, very good reason for departing at
last, and leaving long waited for estate to in
Vulnerable hungry heirs and lawyers.
"Too much for the cid lady, that scare,
neighborly people said, "though the fire didn't
amount to anything; but bless your life, she'd
hung on so long," implying that the breeze
which had shaken her off at last was all in the
way of Providence. The truth is, people had
begun to feel that Death, with his hands full
among meaner and poorer people, had quite
overlooked rich old Mrs. Chitts in her snug old
place at the Naples. There is certain sense
of justice in these things, and three score years
and ten is generous allowance for lifetime,
cially if you have heirs. There were no red
eyes at the old gentewoman's funeral, if you
except those of Deborah, the old lady's humble
companion and housekeeper.
"She's made fool of Deb, though; tut, for
the matter of that, Deb's always being made
fool Of" said Mrs. Thornpin, cb atting to a neigh
Dor over her gate, with brood of barefoot chill
dren behind her. Mrs. Thornpin was Debo-
rah's half-sister-a shrewd and notable woman,
with faded wisp Of hair done up in a scant
ling twist behind, and skewered vixenishly
back from forehead and ears. eyes, she's
MADE a fooI or Dep-IerJ wIVnUuJ paying ner
last quarters wages, and give her the sweep
ings of her property just to set the whole place
talking about us and our poverty. And after
the struggle I've had to keep my head above
water, to have Deb come back to me like that,
with that ragged bit of sea shore and that
wheezy old barn of house behind her, and all
of hazing after that boy of hers, who'll never
never come back, it's my belief. If he's de-
Gently dead and buried, it's all the harm l wish
him."
For it seems that Deborah had had her ro-
nance too, years ago. 1t came to her in the
shape of a stray sailor drifting up the shore
one day-a souching fellow, with q pair of
gypsy black eyes and foreign look, which the
good people of the village, not being able to
translate accurately, took to mean evil alto
gether, shaking their heads omnously when he
"made up" to Deb, and finally married her,
So when he led Deb hard life, drank up all
his earnings at the village inn, and finally cut
himself adrift again, going off without warning
into that unknown somewhere whence he came,
ndleaving her with the care of three year old
boy, and not cent to support herself every
body looked at every body else, and said,
"What could you expect?" And there would
have been nothing for Deb but to go back to
her half sisters, making one of scantily fed
and overpopuated household, if this old gen
tlewomaL at the Naples hadn't turned up and
wanted her for housekeeper.
But Deborah's boy hadn't turned out we'll !;
| he grew up pranksome, wild young fellow,
whom no one saw any good in; the pest of the
neighborhood, the destroyer of melon patches,
| an impish youngster with end of devilment
| in him. Even the most orthodox folk of the
village sometimes felt themselves constrained
to wonder to what end Jerry was born, Provi-
| dence seemed to have so little to do with him.
| So when one fine morning the lad was up and
off like his father before him, nobody was sorry
or surprised but his mother. A fine summer
| morning long ago that was. Many mists hac
settled on the sea-shore and many SHOWS had
whitened the hill tops since Jerry went away,
\ but his mother had been ''looking for him
back" ever since. Every summer among the
far fitting sails she fancied Jerry's ship was
sailing in, for Jerry had gone for a sailor, OF
course-what else? He would come back some
day in blue braided jacket and floating rib
| bon as proud and bright as the best of Them
| That was Deb's religion, her one unshaken
| faith and even her half-sister, accustomed to
whet the sharp edge of her temper on Deb's
| shortcomings, was fain to keep shy of this
vagary.
1t is astonishing, after all, how small por-
ton OF ones self is really owned by ones self
Especially in village. There's the neghbor-
hood, and there's the family, and there's that
vague, impalpable thing called the world
which sometimes means the meeting house
one, two, three -fourths-the shriveled portion
of self hood remaining is hardly worth count
ing upon as STOCK IN trade. ana Deo ndu
lived in the village till she was almost one o.
its traditions. Hadn't they known her from g
child, and weren't her whims and oddities g
sort of town property, like the salt air and the
shell fish?
When, therefore, the village learned that De-
borah was not coming back to burden her half
sister, but was fairly set to move into that rick
ETY., rheumatic old house bequeathed her by
her eccentric mistress, with its bare acre or two
frayng out in meadow land and sedge to the
tide-rising, the village lifted its hands in dep
recation, and declared it was tempting o
Providence. So said Mrs. Thornpin, who, hav
ing wrought her courage up to the pitch o
drilling and scolding Deb for years to come
felt in some way defrauded. Mrs. Thornpir
declared the house was damp, dismal, mouldJ
old place, shaking with the sea-ague, and sure
to be down some night on the head of whoever
was in it. Whatever possessed old Mrs. Chitt
she didn't know. Deb had quips and crank
enough of her own all along, and would b'
harder TO manage now than ever.
And indeed it seemed she was not far from
nabnroh ruac nuita atie