Northern tribune. [volume] (Cheboygan, Mich.) 1875-1885, 1876-12-16

From'the New York Observer.
Miss Wings kitchen. was as prim and
clean as broom. sCapand soft water could
make 1t; and Miss Wing sat i'm it, rigid
and warlil>e, before the blacklist of stoves,
her feet planted firmly on square OF rag
carpet.
There was never an atom of dust, or
even skinner or tin spoon out OF place,
in that kitchen; for in all the Wide
world, there was no one or thing that
dared to enter without especial permits
sion, excepting few stray sunbeams,
and even they crept in and shimmered
on the geraniums in the window as if
they hardly dared.
1t was Thanksgiving eve. and the faint
odor of cranberry tarts and pumpkin pies
crept out from the pantry, and gave sort
of festal fragrance to the room, which
might have led stranger to believe that
Miss Wing meant to celebrate, and had
been preparing tor guests. 1t would have
been difficult for her to tell you Tor
whom. however, las all her nearest rela-
lions lay up on the hillside. and, driven
by her own stern will, slOvers and friends
had departed far from her."
The only person living who was at all
connected with her. was poor country
minister. with aJOhn Rogers sort OF
family, whose life wasa constant struggle
to cover the bodies and satisfy the hum
ger of the ten healthy, growing children.
We cannot wonder that he sometimes
thought of Cousin Selina's age and nice
little fortune, that ''would 60 to some
one" Neither can we wonder that in a
fit of desperation he wrote and asked her
to take his eldest daughter for the WIN
ter.
LET the girl come" said Miss Wing,
Ill make her useful" So useful, indeed,
that Milly Thorne never went TO bed at
night without seeing ropes OF dried APP
pies that she had strung, and acres of
tallow candies she had dipped, swimming
before her tired eyes.
But all things have an end, and patient
little Milly Thorne, worn out with nard
work, and despairing OF ever nndlng In
Miss Wing that proverbial SOFT spot
which is in every ones heart, packed ner
little satchell and went back over the
hills to the crowded house, the tlred
mother and the many children, where
there was dearth of everything but love.
So Miss Wing threw away golden OPP
portunity OF browning her old age with
love and happiness.
think it must have been from force
of habit that she had cooked her most
golden pumpkin and stuffed her fattest
pullet for solitary Thanksgiving feast.
For it was very certain she would bid no
one to share 1t with her, and still more
certain that no one would come unbid-
deu. For she set her face like flint
against visits from grown up people, and
with every child in the village she was at
open war. The meeker ones among them
would run if they saw her coming. and
not even the bravest dare ask her for
flower, while the lawless and un-
governed ones invented ways to torment
her.
One little colored boy. especially,
whom the children called Caterpillar,
was the plague of her existence. His
chief amusement was to perch himself
upon ber white gate post, his rags flutter-
ing in the wind. the BATTERED crown of an
old straw hat cinging 70 his woolly head,
and plaFiDg IN imaginary banjo, sing 20
adiniring duSsy audience collected on
the sidewalk
"Ten little darkies STAMINA in line ="
At first Miss Wing affected calm in
difference which she WIS far from feel
ing. But when it grew TO be regular
entertainment it was more than she
conld endure. So one day, when Cater
pillar had just commenced his second
stanZa,-
mine little darkies sitting on gate,
One OBJ em 'tumbled on am dar was only eight
she made an unexpected assault upon
him with broomstick, tumbled him
over on the sidewalk and summary dis
persed his audience. Nothing daunted,
however, Caterpillar picked himself mp,
l. l. f..1x n &c fS
and, retreating to distance, sang:
Ole Nam Wing,
Ugly ole ting;
Crack you ober de skull, boys,
just coz yer wanter sing.
This act of Miss Wings was taken as
an open declaration OF war, and peace
and quietness were over for her.
The most mysterious things happened
to her garden. Tomatoes, that hung ripe
and red upon their stems at night, van
ished before morning. The onion bed
looked asian army had marched through
it. Melons and green corn walked away
together, and the grape vines hung their
heads as if mourning the treasures OF
which they were despoiled.
But these were not the greatest annoy
ances. Every night her door-bell rang,
moved by some mysterious power. 1t
the door suddenly and dive out. There
was never anything TO be captured but
dirty piece of cord.
One never-to-be-forgotten morning
Miss Wing rose from her couch, prepared
her solitary breakfast. and called the cat
to get hers. For the first time in eight
years Tabby failed to answer. She open
ed the wood house door i'm fear and trem-
bling. There, suspended from beam
by one of Miss Wings own apron strings,
was poor Tabby, stone dead.
Pinned on the string was dirty scrap
of paper, on which was written:
"CATERPlLERs cOMPELMUNTs.n
For the first time in many years Miss
Wing sat down i'm low chair, threw her
apron over her head, and wept. Willingly
now would she have held out the white
flag if it would only bring back poor
puss.
Strange to say, from that very day
there was a cessation of hOstilities.
Whether it was because they were ex-
hausted and needed rest to think. of
something new, or whether there was
really nothing left for them to do, Miss
Vino could not tell. AS days passed on
and no fresh mischief was done, she
gradually gave up looking for it, and
Possessed her soul in quietness. And
now as SIZE sat grim and solitary by her
kitchen fire, except for vague feeling OF
bitterness as she looked at Tabby's empty
corner, she had almost forgotten Cater
pillar. 1t was quite shock to her nerves,
therefore, when her door bell was rung
with violent jerk.
'sThat imp issat his mischief again"
she exclaimed. The ring was repeated,
but she paid no attention to 1t, and nnai-
ly shutting, irresolute step was heard