Bradford opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1874-1881, 1874-10-31
The Old Love and the New.

close of OctOber-a night that re-
minded you, by no means agreeably
that the purple glow and delicious
evenings of summer were at an end
and winter was drawing near. Alas,
that summers do not last always
Bleak and brown the desOlate hills
stretched away in long ridges tC
the westward crested with black,
leahcss woods, like lashes, through
which the suns great eye glimmers
an instant, with baleful sparkle, ere
it dips down behind the horizon,
Down in the hollow Of the abrupt
ravinc, you could hear the low mo.
notonous fretting of the little brook
running under draperies of sere
vines, with here and there a soil
tary blue aster, half buried in layers
of brown leaves and trails of brown
moss, while on the southern slopes,
the dim October gloom was all
lighted up with the blazing scarlet
pennons of sassafras and dOg-wOod,
outlined brilliantly against sombre
dim background of oaks and brown
beeches. And the western window
of Elkanah Pearls red farm house
on the hillside, catching the fiery
shaft of sunset, looked not unlike a
great diamond, dropped among the
clustering pines and birches OF the
solitary woods.
Nor was it altogether reflected
brightness, for the wide, uncarpeted
kitchen, was all in a glow with
roaring hickory logs, yet fringed
with the brown forest moss, while
Oh the right side of the red brick
chimney, you caught shifting kalei.
doscopic views of a cavernOus re-
cess, paved with white hot Goals.
and luridly bright with ruby glim
mers-such an oven, reader, as your
grandfathe gloried in sixty years
ago, before patent feathers were
thought of, and steam bakeries were
unknown. And Martha Pearl-for
shortness called Pat4y-was stand
ing in front of this fiery furnace,
shOveling in an array Of
pies, ornamented in every
possible device and design with a
great wooden spatula.
Now, Patty Pearl was not a bit
beautiful and therefore, perhaps,
quite unqualified to figure as hero
inc of romance. She was only
nice looking girl, with bright blue
eyes, and yellow hair rolled back in
aspiring imitation of the New York
bellies "cushions upon cushions"
and cheeks as round and red as
crab apples. But for all that she
seemed exactly suited to the every
day atmosphere of the old farm
house kitchen, with it's low, smoky
ceiling, traversed by huge, mis-. .shap
en- rafters, and brushed by the
green, glossy leaves of a pet orange
tree, rooted in tub, and it's scarlet
cushioned rockers, and pine floor
covered in the centre by gorgeous
blue and red braided rug-a part Of
the rustic picture.
"Isn't that cranberry tart almost
ready, Aunt Dorothy questioned
our rosy heroine, shading her flush
ed forehead from the ardent glow
that threw Rembrandt lights and
shadows i'll all directions. IL ought
to shut up the oven right away
it's in splendid order"
just ready" said Aunt Dorothy,
trimming off sundry ragged
edges of crust with a thin bladed
knife. "There, I call this a nice
tart J"
Aunt Dorothy Pearl was undeni
ably an old maid. Thirty-four at
the very least, and yet strangely
pretty withal, for there was a
rich bloom on her cheek, and purp-
ish glosees shining in her smooth
y braided black hair, while her soft
lazle- brown eyes had a velvety
lepth in their liquid iris that gave
\ singular, indefinable charm to her
whole countenance. She wore a
crimson stuff dress, with sleeves
rolled up above pair of round el-
bows, with dots Of dimples on each
side of the curve, and a blue checked
aprOn tied in a most buSineSS.l like
round her waist.
"Now, then, Patty !" quoth Aunt
Dorothy, briskly, "we'll clear away
the table, and-.Why, Elkanah /!
what brings you home from Polar
vile so early 7"
For Farmer Pearl had advanced
into the room, gigantic, sun
drowned six-fOOter, with shaggy