Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1875-06-17
NO. 143.
Calls and Skstehfs.
A TRUE STORY.

CUuoiH DtIIIdIuIu TOSteI anu i SIL To-
gether in the old-fashioned porch Of an
old-fashioned country house. Through
the brightness of the June twilight linger-
ing round us the early roses flame redly
and smell sweetly. A full moon, bright
and saucy, mounts on her golden steed up
the broad highway OF heaven, while few
stars, twinkling merrily, canter behind
her like a guard as she goes.
My cousin Benjamin, wrapped in his
purple silk dressing-gown, in the gray
and rosy twilight, quotes pensive pas
sages from Wordsworth as he looks out
over the silvan scene, and talks of even
ings passed in wandering by silver Sham
non and the sounding sea Of summer al
ternoons dreamed away in the shadow of
the cloud-kissing Apprentices while l, lis
tenlng. draw my scarf about my shoulders
and answer absently, keeping up an un-
dertone Of
g" hen the young May moon is beaming love-
words redolent of airs that have blown
from the days that are no more.
Now, after reading the above paragraph
over, take it all back. wrote it Just for
fun. My cousin Benjamin and are no
such sentimental noodles. He wears, as
he always does in the evening, cash
mere dressng-gown of a great, sprawl
ing, oriental pattern, and one foot,
wrapped in flannel, is extended on a foot
stool before him, for he has touch of un-
poetical gout. As he leisureiy smokes his
evening pipe, he nurses his invalid foot,
and tells me that Jenny, the sorrel colt,
has swelling on the knee which will
most likely unfit her Tor work through the
summer.
|. who am five years younger than my
cousin, sit opposite him in the covered
porch, with II thick gray shawl folded
round my shoulders to ward off possible
attacks of rheumatism.
am knitting socks of bright crimson
wool, and while give one ear to the all
nents OF Jenny, the colt, with the other
listen anxiouslv for the returning foot
steps of Alice and young Benjamin, who
have gone for an evening stroll.
1t is now many years since my cousin
(by-thc-way, although we call ourselves
cousins, the Foster blood in my veins has
been so diluted with alien stock that the
original fluid is hardly recognizable) Of
fered me the shelter of his great, warm
heart and brown brick house. left vacant
by the death of MIS-. Benjamin. i, who
was poor and homeless, gladly accepted
the home so kindly proffered, and have
never but once left it for Il protracted abb
sence.
Three years after that journeyed hum
dreds of miles westward tor the sole pur-
pose of rescuing from the cold charity of
the almshouse Alice Ford, the infant
daughter of John Ford, convicted ielon,
lying in Il prison cell under the ban of pc
nal servitude for life.
| had been the betrothed wife of John
Ford in my youth, and we had been very
fond Of each other in those days of
romance and roses, in those evenings of
song and sentiment, when the young May
moon is beaming, DEAR" when he had
dreamed OF love in cottage with nothing
Il year to support it, but that day when he
grovelled at my feet. kissing my hands
and dress, and blessing me for giving his
baby girl the shelter of Il Christian home,
| was not sorry to think was an old maid
had not concealed from my cousin Ben
jamin the anteccdents of Alice's father. !
had even offered TO 90 out into the world
and begin the battle of life over; but he
only opened his great warm heart and
brown brick house the wider, bidding us
stay and welcome.
All you do not know how manv wan
derers your house will hold when Chari-
ty opens the door. The roof seems to go
up, the walls to widen and lengthen.
warmth and light flow through the rooms.
and mamma seems to come in through the
windows, spreading the table with boun-
tiful feas,s 1t NOu do not believe me.
Just try it once.
SO the children grew up together, and
as watch them sitting and walking side,
l should be perfectly happy but that !, in
my turn. have kept 4 little secret from my
cousin Benjamin.
\ few weeks after my return home
read in Il newspaper that the corpse of
man, shockingly multilated, but supposed
to be that of John Ford the escaped con-
vict, had been taken from the shadows
oil a western river and given prison burial.
The words haunt me. Supposed to be
John Ford, What if it were not him.
What if he were still living and should
some day come back and claim Alice and
make us troublea
Thinking of such possibilities, tremble
with dread, and forget those other sweeter
times when John Ford was an innocent
lad, "When the moon was beaming, love."'
and we walked by the borders OF the calm
BenGemerc But this is nonsense, and
take it all back again.
While am explaining these things. or
rather while | am going round the stitches
of my crimson wool sock, my cousin Ben
jamin has finished his pipe, and is grow
ing tired and hungry.
"Where can the children be ?" he says,
pecring out into the dusk. 1T is time we
had our tea.
do not answer. for Just then we hear
the click o, the garden gate. and sweet
Alice comes up the walk. Her paly-gold
hair shows bright yellow in the open air,
her white dress CLEANS, and her little high
heeleG boots make Il pretty "taek-tack,
tack-tack," As she runs up and seats her.
self at my feet.
Mercy, child, where have you been?
| eXclaim, passing my hand over her damp
curls. You will have have cold, with
a fever, tomorrow, and there is not
stem of pennyroyal in the house to make
hot tea Tor you"
1T isn't case of pennroyal tea at all,
many" she answers, rubbing her little
nose against my knee. Il think it will
rao,;,a n lnSa of tbarcn ob art OF tho vary