Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1874-02-23
Taking it for Granted.

J
Elwell, said Mr.. Bigelow.
| looked around, and the man rose
and held out his hand.
"Averill-my name is Averill," said
he. looking sharply at me out of pair
of shrewd gray eyes. Il am an old friend
of your mother but have not met her
for matter of fve-and-twenty years.
So | thought I'd call and ask after her
and her family
81 am glad to see you," said I. Are
You relative of my mother %
''No," replied Mr.. Averin. I'VE were
of the same name, but not connected
unless it may be very distantly. l used
to know her and her folks, though. as
well as | did my own sisters, and better
too. Let's see-where is your Aunt Au-
gusta now p
''She is living with her children in
Portland, - said |.
pretty well, is she, do you know ?"
asked Mr.. Averill.
Very we'll when we heard last. Nv
Aunt Augusta has good children and a
pleasant home, and seems quite happy"
"Um-m-m-m That is nice said
Mr.. Averill fumbling at rough nugget
OF gold that hung as a charm from his
watch-chain.
[ hadn't much to do that day, so l
talked off and on with my visitor till it
was time to 60 home, and then took him
along with me. l left him in the sitting
room and went to find mother. She was
mixing biscuits for supper, looking thro'
her glasses, and singing a snatch of
some old, half-forgotten love-ditty of
her youth.
Mother .'' said I, breaking in upon
her song. Come in the other room. An
old friend of yours wants co see you
Mother looked up over her glasses.
'An old friend ? 'Tisn't any of the
Maine folks, is it ?'' she asked.
Because, if it was so much as a dog
that had trotted across a corner of the
State of Maine, on his four legs, mother
would have run, with her arms out and
a smile of welcome, without stopping to
even wash the dough off her hands. As
it was, with only an indefinite thought
of seeing IAN old friend,' she went with
dust of -four 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,
at is Sam, as true as you are born 20
she said, at last
Then they both laughed, and then
they both wiped their eyes, though they
didn't seem like that sort of people, es-
pecially Mr.. Averill
| never knew mother to forget her
housekeeping before, but this time she
let the biscuit burn till they were black
as my shoe and when she mixed some
more she put in sugar instead of salt,
and left out the saleratus altogether.
But her cheeks grew pink. and her cap
strings few, and she nor her guest SEEM
ed to know the difference.
"oh, honey ~ cried my mother, hop
ping up from the tea-table as soon as she
was seated. '.You haven't lost your
sweet tooth, have you, Sam ?''
How you do remember !'' returned
Sam, admiringly.
Il should think | ought to- answer
ed my mother, with a girlish laugh.
The way you used to pick up walnuts
to carry to the crossroads store and
trade for molasses and make candy of !,
Speaking of the crossroads store, Won
der if you know our old storekeeper's s
daughter, she that was Sarah Curly, has
lost her husband %
mo, has she? Strange L never heard
Of it, - replied Mr. AyeriIl. appearing as
astonished as though he had been hear
ing from his old neighbors every week.
"Yes." said my mother She married
one of old 81 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-fve children
or else six, don't know-which' -
"You don't say l'' CALCULATED Mr. Av-
Grill, 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 Dir. AVerill smok-
ed his pipe and listened. 1t was the
| first time l ever allowed anybody to
smoke in my house, but had nothing
to say now. l even filed his pipe and
lighted il for him. And then he told
the story of his life, which had been full
of strange and interesting adventures.
! He was evidently man who did not
read much and who could not have writ
ten well, but he could talk not always
dramatically, perhaps, but always with
force and fascination.
1t seemed that years and years ago,
his father and my mothers father lived
in town in the valley of the Kennebec.
Ny mothers father was large farmer
( and Mr AverIiFs father was a very