The Republican journal., 1876-01-13
Seeing Better Days.

days. How far back wasn't exactly Ger
titled; but she had seen them. Better
days hung mouldily about her, like the
letaced shreds of antiquated embroidery.
The sturdy gossips of the seaside vii
lage, who went out with their skirts
tucked up and their bare brown arms
able for any work. looked askance at the
widow Minton, with her pititul meagre-
ness of aspect, her tlickering black eye,
and her trailing old gown. They nudged
each other, and said, "Better days-Lord
save us.'
But the widow did not trouble the
neighbCrs much. nor they her A body
who couldn't do heartsome hands stir
ring was best left alone to her brooding,
and the widows smoky little cabin, soli
tarily apart on the sea shore, was left
pretty much to herself and the boy Tom
Tom was u sturdy, brown-faced lad,
who picked up living by doing odd jobs
tor the boatmen, and now and then tax
ing day for fishing. Tom had probably
never seen better days. The widow
shook her head over him so stupidity
content, poor Tom! SO beaming and
good natured over heggarliness and
hopelessness a tall, well-grown fellow,
with bare feet, Il torn straw hat, and a red
shirt. Tom took the world easily, looking
with reverent eyes on his mothers by
gone gentility, but by no means seeming
to covet 1t for himself.
The widow deemed it due to her past
responsibility to be seen at church of q
Sunday evening, and you could see the
two walking at twilight along the sands
together, she with her clean pocket-hand
kerchief folded over her old hymn-book
and certain doubtful hesitancy of gait.
as if heaven itself might be looking down
critically on her shabby black gown and
rusty bonnet As tor Tom, patient Tom,
he went plodding slowly after her, with
his smiling face, whistling to himself as
ding, poor Tom! Patiently falling asleep
during the sermon, and patiently listen
ing open-mouthed to the closing hymn,
his careless bright face. contrasting so
oddly with his mothers querulouo and
tear-worn visage, won for him the sobui-
quet of the widow Mintons rainbow.
The minister of the parish, mistaken
soul, deemed it incumbent to make call
on the widow; and on charity bent it is
said he unwarily offered to employ her
services in his household for a season.
He deemed it his duty to rouse the old
woman to activity.
He did rouse her; and it is averred
that he never found time to call at the
cabin again. Did he take her for a COM
mon household drudge, or a low-born
field hand? She thanked God she had
too much spirit left yet to put herself I'M
der any bodys feet. He hadn't far to 60
to find scores of drudges ana diggers, but
he might 60 further before he knew 4.
lady when he saw her.
1t might have been the afternoon after
the good mans visit that the widow sat
idly brooding at the cabin door. Her
eyes had a wandering, far-away look,
and her face was keener than ever. Be
yond the bluff which sheltered her cabin
stretched far line of sea-coast, the white
sand cleaning silvery in the sun. Far
off group of bathers in bright dresses
frolicked between shore and water. They
came from the great hotel down beyond; !;
she could almost catch the sound of their
voices as she sat slowly rocking in her
doorway. 1t was quiet afternoon; the
air was soft and soothing, and the wild
ow's heart, so full of bitterness, felt itself
sweeten and soften in the stiffness. This
part of the shore sheltered by its over
hanging rock, was seldom disturbed by
intruders, but presently the watchers eye
caught sight of a young girl splashing
and frolicking in the water just beyond
the rocks. 1t was q pretty sight, the
rounded arms. the curving shoulders, the
swaying, floating figure. And perhaps
the old woman recalled with a sigh the
time when she was young and blithe too,
and had as CHEEKY voice as that with
which the far swimmer hailed her COM
panions in the distance.
Gazing absently on the smiling scene,
reverie tell upon her, and when she
looked again, the young water nymph
had disappeared. She had probably
swan ashore behind the rocks. The wild
ow turned away, hugged her thin shawl
over her shoulders, and thought that the
sea wind was chilly. Hark What was
that? Surely she heard a cry. No merry
shout OF ringing laugh this; it might be
the cry ola wild bird on the way TO its mate.
She couldn't have got beyond her
depth that young creature, surely! But
10 ! what Of it if she had? Dying young
a body gets quit of deal of trouble.
And Yes, surely that was a scream.
The widow looked sharply out Would
Tom never come? The tide was rising
and-and something certainly was the
matter She called, she beckoned franti-
cally to the bathers beyond; they seemed
both blind and deaf
No one. not one soul at hand, and that
young thing in peril Of life A minute
she stood STILL listening feeble old
| Il e. %n
whom no one would have dreamed Of
looking for help.
81 can't stand this" she said "Seems
| might pull out that old scow myself.
Toni" she screamed with yell that
held the concentrated energy of ten
years. But no Tom appeared. And it
was the widow herself, with those with
cred old hands that disdained the minis
| ter's kitchen work-it was the widow her
self, who, straining, tugging. and with
her grey hair iluttering in the wind, un-
loosened the old dug-out from its moor
ings, and trembling, unskillful, armed
with 4 rude paddle, went spinning out
| dizzily over the water. 1t leaked, the
old scow; it scorned the broken paddle
and the heavy oars, but finally it came
drifting out blindly and dizzily to the OBJ
.ject Of her search. A plump hand with a
glittering ring upon it clutched the edge
Of the boat, nearly oversctting it. A
young, eager face with streaming hair,
looked up from the water, and gasping,
shuddering, half drowned, and wholly
scared, the young water-nymph was pre-
sently aboard the old craft.
"Oh, how frightened l was!" she cried
81 felt sure was losing all my strength,
and would 60 to the bottom. Oh, you
good soul ! you dear soul! how did you
ever get to me in this water logged
| craft?"