Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1876-03-02
NO. SO.
REUBEN LEIR.
RY THE AUTHOR OF patty"

A road winds beside green hills, and is
carried terrace-like across valley leading
to the sea. A village is scattered along
this road IN unsociable fashion, two or
three cottages at time, with space be-
tween the groups, as if the Inhabitants Of
the little cob-walled, thatched dwellings
were too quarrelsome for nearer neigh
borhood.
Not quite mile below the road the sea
shows in large opal triangle against the
pale sky, and on each side high cliffs.
wooded and grass-grown, guard tho
shingled entrance to Mercombe Mouth.
Three valleys from among the green hills
unite to form this one. which leads to the
sea, and through this river winds in and
out. bordered by ash trees. and CLEANS
from among them like silver thread.
The village smithy is on the side of the
road next to the hills. The cottage be-
longing to it is larger than most of the
others. with quaint, tall, stone chimney
rising from the ground, on which, carved
in the stone. is the date of 1873. The
cottage stands at right angles to the road.
with garden in front and an orchard with
flower-iaden apple-trees behind. For the
last fortnight the whole village of Mer-
combe has been like an exquisite pink
and-white nosegay.
Mrs. Leir, standing at the back-door of
the ancient cottage, looks complacently at
the garlands OF exquisite blossom, re-
lieved by the yellow green grass beneath.
and predicts a good cider year for the
county. For few minutes the mental
prediction has brought smiles to the firm,
wrinkled mouth, but this fades, and heavy
care contracts her clear, brown forehead.
and makes her eyes look sad. She is al
ways too anxious in expression, but to-
day she looks miserably. Though she is
above middle height, she seems short as
she stands bowed down beside the old
stone trough, at one end OF which two
black pigs were feeding, while jackdaw
hops at the other end with so humorous
twinkle in his eye Che keeps one closed)
that you almost fancy he is thinking OF
tickling the pigs with the straw he holds
in his beak. The ground between the
house and the trough is soft and swampy
stamped with the frequent tread of pigs
and dog, and cat and fowls. Three black
and-white ducks have padded up and
down it this morning so often with their
broad, yellow feet, that water OOzes up in
one corner, and forms an inky pool, at
which they drink with seeming delight.
But when, after this feat, they come wad-
ding to the broad, flat stone in front of the
back-door, Mrs. Leir rouses from her
dreamy mood, and, snatching up the cor
ners Of her apron. drives them away.
~ must speak to Reuben" she says,
with sigh, and then passes round the
house, through the orchard, and out at the
gate in the low, stone fence to the smithy
itself.
1t is close by on the road, just divided
from the garden by high hawthorn
hedge, white now with blossoms, and fill
ling the air with perfume.
There is no use in describing, for smith
les have a family resemblance, but it is
not always that the blacksmith's hammer
is welded by such a man as Reuben Leir.
Not handsome, but tall, and strong, and
healthy looking. with rich. brown hair
and beard suggestive OF ripe hazel-nuts. q
frank, amiable mouth, and rather o
dreamy, far-of look in his pale-blue eyes
you would have said, looking at him.
man with energies that might be reused
if some sleeping chord were touched, but
one just as likely to plod through life
without discovering that he had more
wits than his fellows.
He was whistling Coming through the
Rye" and striking ponderous blows on
little bit of iron, that seemed as if it must
surely be anhihilated and dispersed into
the showery sparks that flew up from the
anvil.
He left off whistling when he saw his
mother.
"Tea-time is it, mother? I'm coming"
he said in strong. cheerful voice.
Mr.. Ler waited till he put aside his
hammer and came out of the forge.
"Tea will be ready by the time you arc
ready for it," she said; ''but want three
words with you first, Reuben"
She went on into the garden again, and
her son followed. His head dropped on
his chest, and a sort of dogged resolution
showed at the corners Of the mouth. When
they reached the door he stopped.
II wish you'd say them here then, he
said coolly. i've got one or two things
to do this evening""
| Mrs. Leir faced around at once. There
was bright, angry spot on each cheek.
but there was more sorrow than anger in
her eyes.
"Why do you not say at once, Reuben.
that you are going to meet Rose Morri-
son ?"
Reuben looked panied. He leaned
against the door-post without answering.
There is no use in my saying it, she
went on in hard, unconciliatingl voice.
"but still must warn you. Reuben. You
began by admiring, you went on to talk
ing, and you are getting to love that little
conceited French girl in spite OF yourself"
Reuben stood upright, and put up his
hand to stop her.
"Dont say what you may be sorry for"
he said. II do love Rose. but she is not
French; her mother is Frenchwoman,
but Bob Morrison was every bit as much
an Englishman as my father was"
He nodded and walked away quickly.
He was very fond of his mother, and this
was the first element of discOrd that had
come between them.
ut is always So" he said, to himself;
"if loved an angel, my mother would
cry her down. All mothers are so-they
can't give up their sons and daughters" ="
Perhaps il his mother had heard him, the
words would have given her pain Martha
Leir was not an ordinary woman. She
was unpopular with her neighbors. be-