The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1876-08-04
Seeing Better Days.

the defaced shreds of antiquated en-
brOidery.
The sturdy gossips of the seaside viii
lage, who went about with their skirts |
tucked up and their brown arms ready |
and able for any work, looked askance
at the widow Minton, with her pitiful
meagerness of aspect, her flickering
black eyes, and her trailing old gown.
They nudged each other, and said,
"Better days Lord save us ~
But the widow did not trouble the
neighbors, nor they her. A body who
couldn't do heartsome hands stirring
was best left alone to her brooding, and
the widows smoky little cabin, solitary
apart on the sea-shOre, was left pretty
much to herself and her boy Tom.
Tom was a sturdy, brOwn-faced lad,
who picked up living by doing odd
jobs for the boatmen, and now and then
taking a 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 beggarliness and
hOpelessness. A tall, well-grOwn fel
low, with bare feet, torn straw hat,
and red shirt. Tom took the world
easily, looking with reverence on his
mothers by-gOne gentility, and by no
means seeming to covet it for him
self
The widow deemed it due to her past
respectability to be seen at church of a
Sunday evening, and you could see the
two walking at twilight along the
sands together, she with her clean
pocket-handkerchief folded over her old
hymn-boOk, and a certain doubtful hes
itancy of gait, as if heaven itself might
be looking down critically on her
black gown and rusty bonnet. As for
Tom, patient Tom, he went plodding
slowly after her with his smiling face,
whistling as he went. Always patient,
always plOdding, poor Tom Patiently
! falling asleep during the sermon, and
patiently listening, open-mouthed, to
| the closing hymn, his careless, bright
| face contrasting so oddly with his
mothers querulOus and ueaT-wOrn Wis
age, won for him the sobriquet of widow
! Minton's rainbow.
The minister of the parish-mistaken
soul that he was-deemed it incumbent
to make a 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 ac-
tivity.
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
common household drudge, or q low
born field hand? She thanked God
she had too much spirit left yet to put
herself under anybOdy's feet. He
hadn't far to 90 to find scores of drudges
and niggers, but he might go further
before be knew a lady when lie saw
her.
1t might have been the afternoon
after the good mans visit that the
widow sat idly brooding at her cabin
door, Her eyes had a wandering, far
away look, and her face was keener and
thinner than ever. Beyond the bluff
which sheltered her cabin stretched fair
line of sea-coast, the white sand gleam-
ing silvery in the sun. Far off group of
bathers, in bright dresses, frOlicked be-
tween shore and water. They came
from the great hotel down beyond.
She could almost catch the sound OF
the voices as she sat slowly rocking in
her doorway. 1t was quiet afternoon.
The air was soft and soothing, and the
widows Heart, so full of bitterness, felt
itself sweeten and soften in the STILL
ness. This part of the shore, sheltered
by its Overhanging rock, was seldom
disturbed by intruders, but presently
the watchers eye caught sight of q
young girl splashing and frolicking in
the water just below the rocks. 1t was
pretty sight, the rounded arms, the
curving shoulders, the swaying, float.
ing figure. And perhaps the old woman
recalled with a sigh the time when she
was young and blithe too, and had as
CHEEKY a voice as that with which the
r Id
the distance.
Gazing absently on the silent scene, {
reverie fell upon her, and, when she
had disappeared. She had probably
, swan ashore behind the rocks. Tht
, widow turned away, hugged her thir
shawl over her shoulders, and though
. that the sea wind was chilly. Hark
i What was that2 She surely heard {
! cry. No merry shout or ringing laugh
J this. 1t might be the cry of wilC
, bird on its way toits mate.
a She couldn't have gone beyond he
/ depth, that young creature, surely
But la what of it if she had? Dyine
! young, a body gets quit of deal o
+ trouble. And-yes, surely that was
p scream! The widow looked sharply
r out. Would Tom never come? Tn
, tide was rising, and-and something
: certainly was the matter. She called
/ she beckoned frantically to the bather
f beyOnd-they seemed both blind ant
deaf.
b, No one, not one soul at hand, an,
: that young thing in peril of life
minute she stood still, listening
: feeble old woman, with a haggard
scared face, to whom no one woul,
: have dreamed of looking for help.
AZ cau't stand this" she said
:, "Seems 1 might pull out that old scov
:, myself. "Tom !" she screamed, with
4 veil that held the concentrated energ,
/, of ten years. But no Tom appeared
- And it was the widow herself, wit
q those withered old hands that disdaine
Il the minister's kitchen work-it was th
: widow herself, who, straining, tugging
d and, with her gray hair fiuttering il
n the wind, unloosed the old dugOut fron
g its mOorings, and trembling, unskillfuI
, armed with a rude paddle, went spin
i ming out diZZily over the water. /
J. leaked, the old scow. 1t scOTned tn
q broken paddle and the heavy oars, bu
# finally it came drifting out blindly an
# dizzily to the object of her search.
:, plump hand, with a glittering rim
n upon it, clutched the edge of the boa
nearly overseeing it. A young, cage
face, with streaming hair, looked u
J. from the wa ter, and gasping, shuddel
# ing, half-drowned, and wholly scared
Tho yOuDO Uatar-nvnoDh was OreSentl