Buchanan County bulletin. [volume] (Independence, Iowa) 1869-1891, 1876-03-24
SEEING BETTER DAYS.

1T we on ourselves rely.
SEEING BETTER DAYS.
The widow Minton had seen better
davs. How far back wasn't exactly
certified; but she had seen them
Better days hung modify about her,
like the defaced shreds of antiquated
embroidery.
The sturdy gossips of the seaside
village, who went about with their
skirts tucked up and their bare brown
arms ready and able for any work,
looked askance at the widow Milton,
with her pititul meagerness of aspect,
her Pickering 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
nelghbors much, 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 sturdy hrown-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 ever seen better days.
The widow shook her head over him
so stupidity content, poor Tom; so
beaming and good-natured over beg
garliness and hopelessness. A tall,
well-grown fellow, with bare feet, a
torn straw hat, and red shirt, Tom
took the world easy, looking with
reverent eyes on his mothers by-gone
gentility, but by no means seeming
to covet it for himself.
The widow deemed it due to her
past responsibility to be seen at church
of 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 certain doubtful
hesitancy of gait, as If Heaven itself
might be looking down critically on
her shabby 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 plod-
ding, poor Tom! Patiently falling
asleep during the sermon, and pa
tiently listening, opeu-mouthed to the
closing hymn, his careless, bright
face, contrasting SO oddly with his
mothers querulous and tear-worn Wis
age, won for him the soubriquet of
Widow Minton's rainbow.
The minister of the parish, mis-
taken 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 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 common household drudge, or a
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 go to find scores of
drudges and diggers, but he might
60 further before he knew lady
when he saw her.
1t might have been the afternoon
after the good mars visit that the
widow sat idly brooding at her cabin
door. Her eyes had wondering,
far-away look, and her face was keen
er and thinner than ever. Beyond
the bluff which sheltered her cabin,
stretched fair line of seacoast, the
white sand cleaning silvery in the
sun. Far off group of bathers, in
bright dresses, frolicking 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 after
noon; the air was soft and soothing,
and the widows heart so full of bit
terness felt itself sweetened and soft
en- in the stiffness. This part of the
shore, sheltered by its overhanging
rock, was seldom disturbed by in
truders, but presently the watchers
eye caught sight. Of young girl
splashing and frolicking in the water
just beyond the rocks. 1t was a
pretty sight, the rounded arms, the
curving shoulders, the swaying, float
ing figure. And, perhaps, the old
woman recalled with sigh the time
when she was young and blithe, too,
and had as CHEEKY voice as that
with which the fair swimmer hailed
her companions in the distance.
Gazing absently on the silent scene,
a reverie fell upon her, and when she
looked again, the young water-nymph
had disappeared. She had probably
swan ashore behind the rocks. The
widow 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 or ringing
laugh this; it might be the cry of a
wild bird on its way to its mate.
She couldn't have gone beyond her
depth, that young creature, surely!
But, la! what of it if she had? Dy-
ing young, body gets quit of deal
of trouble. And-yes, surely, that
was scream. The widow looked
sharply out. Would Tom never
GOMEZ The tide was raising, and -
something certainly was the matter.
She called she bcckoncd frantically
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-a
feeble old woman with a haggard,
scared face. to whom no one would