Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1876-07-10
None to Caress.

There had been a summer shower;
roof, window, garden, were washed to
dazzling polish, and the wonderful liquid
eouleur de rose of the moment poured
over all an air of enchantment. The slen-
der young woman in deep mourning
whom the stalwart proprietor of the awk-
ward vehicle lifted down like feather
accepted her dreaded destination with a
smile.
"How lovely l' were the first words
that escaped her lips and they were ap-
propriated as fitting compliment by
rustily clad man, who seized the little
glOyed hand vigorously, in his horny
palm, and "hoped he saw Miss Thatcher
quite we'll"
"Supper's bin ready this half hour"
was the laconic and not amiable saluta-
ton of Mr.. Seaman's spouse, who receiv-
ed Louisa in the porch.
''An' the boys is gone fishin', you see,"
said the host. "When Solon's to hum
from grammar school, Ezri's sure to jine
him, an take day off"
After tea, served in a narrow white
washed ante-room to the stiff funereal
parlor, where Miss Thatcher was bid
"take off her things" the young lady
begged to be shown to her own room,
and was led up stairs to low-windowed
bedroom, carpeted with braided rags,
and furnished with Redeemed pine and
calico counterpanes. The luggage had
been pushed in with mental ejaculation
-"What on earth can distric' school
ma am want with two big trunks ?" and
the audible information, "Fve filled your
pitcher. Here's candle The git-up
belrll ring at six"
With as slight preparation as might
be, the over-wearied girl-homesick to
her hearts core-crept into bed.
She awoke with a start. The room
was quite dark cool damp mountain
wind rushed through the epen windows.
She lighted a match and glanced at her
watch. Only nine o'clock, and the world
still wide-awake. A burst of hilarious
laughter arose from the kitchen below,
where the returned fishermen we're seal
ing their fish. From the house beyond
the orchard came the tinkling of piano
and thin, sharp female voice practiced
gingerly song just then come into
vogue
NO one TO love. nons caress,
Travelling alone through LIES wilderness"
"My serenade," thought Louisa, as
she tried in vain to recompose herself to
sleep. Gould any words express me
better? An orphan, without brother OF
sister, penniless, nearly friendless, the
one being that l loved and adored gone
from me forever. No one to love, none
to caress.' Could anything be truer Of
me than that ?'
The village school children were en-.
chanted with their new teacher. She
was gentle and firm, interesting anC
companionable. There was not sunny
day all summer when some of them die
not come after school to take her witt
them to Red Cedar Pond, the holiday
rendezvous of the country round.
If the afternoon proved rainy, anC
this Juvenile escort failed, Miss Thatch
er, wrapping herself in waterproof, anC
taking book with her, would 60 dow
the orchards steep bank to the old mill
She made friends" with Tim, the mill
: er's boy, and Bill Bowles, the miller, anc
"the old deacon" the prehistoric propri
etor of the premises. who had not faileC
day these fifty years to look in, rail
or shine, to see ''if things was to rights.
She found love of a corner where
through the cracks under the grea
beams, she could see the water wildl
rushing. and where she could hear, i
its grand excitement. the grind an
whirl, the boom and splash, of the ma
food whose sound up on the hill yonde
: assumed such drowsy monotone.
"You be so fond of readin'. miss,
said Tim, the miller's boy, 'mebbe 20
would take a shine TO Gurus book W
have got ere. There WIS time whe
I all the visitors to Red Cedar Pond cur
down to take look at it; but it's grow
: rusty like. A hand-writ book, miss
5 manscrip sum folks calls it. 1t b'long
J you might say. TO Bowless Mill, for
i wus left with the old deacon, TO |
kept till called fur. an wus writ by th
n curusest spesmin of human eretur; bU
g he died afore my time. I'm a strang'
IS in these parts. ] wus reared twel1
J. miles bach"
3 "And no one has called for the book
4 4 "NOt yit," said Tin, mysteriOusly-
mot yit. Folks is too sup 'stitiOus. The
d be sum who say it never will be ealle
IT for tllI the old deacon lies aside o. Il
'e eretur who writ it. He died suddin, a
IS wus buri'd up in the deacOn's buri'l lC
re An sum say he wusn't buri'd, but
'e gone a sea wage, anil come back a
r sum say he's been seed bodily rOuE
b BOwles's Mill moonlight nights. But y
needn't be scared, miss. The book