The weekly herald. [volume] (Cleveland, Tenn.) 1876-1888, 1876-08-04
TERE EsLUE CHECK APRON.
BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.


Nelly and | were whitewashin g,
OF course it wasn't a very femi-
nine sort Of thing to do. Accord
ing to all the rules Of civilized
life, we should have been en-
broidering in floss silk, or practic-
ing on the guitar, or doing illu-
minated texts, or some such lady
like piece of business.
But what was to be done about
it? We were poor and proud, and
although we liked dainty white
ceilings, we hadn't the money to
pay Black Sam, the village "artist
in lime"
"Girls,' said my mother, des-
pairingly, "the sitting-room wall
is quite disgracefulw
ENell," said |, looking solemn
ly at my elder sister, "let's white
wash it ourselves"
Nelly looked at me in some
surprise.
"Do you think we could?" hest
tated she.
"Think ? | don't think anything
about it; I'm certain we can.
Well borrow a brush from Mrs.
Nixon-I know she has one-and
you run down to the store with
a basket, and bring up a little
lime, and we'll have it done III
less than no time"
And that explains our peculiar
costumes and unusual occupation
upon that lovely June morning,
when the orioles were whistling
in the apple-trees, and the first
wild strawberries beginning to
redden on the hillsides, like Grim
son drops of blood.
Nelly wore an ancient calico
wrapper, that was my mothers:
with a pocket-handkerchief twist
ed turbanwise about her head, to
keep her auburn curls unspotted.
| had on an immense blue
checked apron, with the longest
of sleeves and the most capacious
of skirts-an apron which had
once belonged to Eudora Mop
kins, our ''bound girl"-and IL
newspaper cap shadowing my
brow.
Nell held the pail and steadied
the ladder, while |, mounted aloit,
swept the snowy deluge across
the smoke blackened ceiling, and
whistled the "Grand March from
Norma" at the top Of my lungs.
"Nell," said |, "pll tell you
whatm
"Tell on" said Nelly.
"When we get this room fitted
up something like respectable"
"If we ever do!' despondently
interpolated Nell.
"We'll have the Scriven girls to
tea, and Mark Hansleigh, and the
young Wall Street broker who is
coming to visit Scriven Cottage.
And well play croquet, and have
regular old-fashioned strawber
ry tea out on the lawn"
"And Mark Hapsleigh shall pro
pose to me, and Mr.. Tom Scriven
shall fall in love with you, and
we'll all be happy ever after"
added Nell, ironically.
"Well, | don't see why not"
said |, scraping away at the cell
ing. "To- -be-sure we are poor, but
then we are tolerably cookbook
ing, and why shouldn't we have
our little bit of a romance as well
as-"Mercy upon us! what's that5"
as vigorous tattoo sounded on
the panels Of the door below. ITS
that old tish-vender, as true as |
live, and told him not to call
here again. Look here, you old
nuisance" | bawled out Of the
window, waving my whitewash
brush, "clear out! Didn't | tell
you not to came here again? Do
you want me to set the dogs on
youW
There was a momentary silence,
then the tapping recommended,
more energetically than before.
"Just hold this brush a minute,
Nell" said |, scrambling down off
the steb- ladder. "I'll settle that
old clam man. Was there ever
anything like his impudence and
obstinacyW
"But, Stella"
"Don't Stella mow criedI. "Ill
not be openly defed by man
that sells fish and wears u ragged
beard ~
And, burning with righteous
wrath, | stalked down stairs, the
blue checked apron swallowing
me up like a pail, the paper cap
jauntily perched on one side of
my head, and my countenance
streaked with ghastly souvenirs
of whitewash. / tiptoed along, to
render the astonishment of my
tishy enemy the greater, when at
last | should confront him face to
to face, and opened the door with
stealthy abruptness.
"Now look hore, you old.