Bradford opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1874-1881, 1876-05-06
THAT HOMEMADE ice CREAM.

~~NA ssS">~ NN>A~~ sNol SAsssAs~se
"Good gracious, mari" said Angelic
Crane to her overworked parent, O
nightfal OF Q memorable day-a da
that marked the beginning Of the younl
squire's Christmas holidays at home, an,
every minute OF it crammed and crowd
ed with labor for the entertainment u
his honor at the Crane homestead
"good gracious! You amt going 4
have some home made cream, surely P
The young lady's nose, which was ex
oeedingly retro,lsse already, was perchet
high in the air with disdain. "If there
any thing can't abide," she said, "it'i
frozen corn starch and that's all yor
can make OF homemade cream, any way
you fix it!" o.
"Hold your tongue, Angy," said hel
mother "you're the most onfeelin
creetur ever see. You'd hev me har
ness up the team and drive away te
town and pay out mint OF money
when kin jest as we'll hev It for nothin'.
Hain't We got a prime new freezer, and
cream and eggs and ice, without its cost
in cent? What more do you want r.
"a prime new freezeri" scornfully
echoed Angy;. "You'n want half a
dozen of 'em" .4n... ~ l
well, can't borry emf" said her
prudent parent.
"And who's going to hang over 'em ~
said the young lady. whose stay at
boarding school had not obliterated the
home dialect. "They need to be turned
and turned. and everybody's worn out:
It's nearly time to dress now, and you
want a little coolin' off yourself. You're
as red as beet" N !.
"I'll stay if l can be of any service, I"
said voice in the doorway. ..sst.
"Why, Sally" said Mrs. Crane,
"you'll want to run home and Dress,
won't your
"Oh, I'd rather not" said the voice,
this time trembling little. "Idon't
feel at for any fun, Mrs. Crane. It
don't seem to me I ever will again"
spose not. deary. " said the farm!
er's wife, with an expression of pity
mingled with relief. "ItIl be dreadful
convenient TO- hev you stay. Sally, IL you
kin. There's power to do yet, and
only one pair o hands to do it. Is'pose
you wouldn't keer to go up in the par
lor; but the freezers'll be in the ceflas,.
and the heater keeps it nice and warm
down there; and while you're a-makiT
the cream, you kin listen to- the music,
and hear the noise and all. It'll come
kind O. nice to you that way. won't it,,
Sally9" '..%',,',
"Good life, marl' laughed the viva
cious daughter; I" is that what you call
nice 2 1t reminds me OF the little hun-
CRY boy who went to smell the steam
at the pastry cooks p vi
"You don't know nothin' about the
way Sally feels" said Mrs. Crane, "nor
I don't think you could if you tried. I
believe you'd dance and whistle about
before the grass took root over your
pappy's grave; but Sally loved hern,
poor child, and she can't help thinkin'
of the poor schoolmaster lyin' out there
in the snow, when here he was, only d
bit ago, as click and smart as anybody.
It's no KNOWN whose turn it'll be,
next" r..,... 70. y
Whether the good woman had any
reason of her own. for thus Dwelling
upon a melancholy subject, it decided
poor little Sally's aversion for the merry
making, and put to fight the gay Angel.
ica, who was in no humor for. red eyes
and poses, when the young squire would
s. ortly come, and it behooved these fea-
lures to be at their best. '""
But Sally fell to sobbing outright, not
giving thought to the deleterious effect
Of tears npon her beauty, although once
upon q time it was bright and bonny
enough to ensnare the young squire
hn ho,s
to school on his handsome sled, he made
many stumble over the ice in looking
back upon the sweet face under its scar
let hood, the little cheeks all aglew, and !
the yellow curls wantoning about with |
the brisk wintry air. Sally's was always
the biggest apple from the finest tree in
the orchard; the most luscious grapes |
from the grapery found their way to
Sally's desk; and in the intervals of his |
possessing penknife young Master
Randall left no blunt pencil in Sally's
sachel. i
When it became necessary that he
should be sent to q place of instruction
BETTING his station in life, and the fiat |
had gone forth that the dear old days at I
the village school should become part /
and parcel Of the past; when he. must I
bid goodbye to bis romps in the new
mown hay, his races with the young |
colts in the ten-acre field, his berrying
and picnicking, his coasting down the
glorious old hill; when he must part
with his dog Lancer and hisgun and bis
all; with Sally-it was
heartrending time. Whatever grown up
folks may think of these childish griefs,
they are as tough to bear as the heavier
ones that come later, and they leave
great ugly scars that are sometimes only
half healed over. ...... -
When Will Randall cut Sally's name
and his own deep into the bark Of the
old walnut tree at the foot or the lane,
it seemed to him that the knife went
into his heart with every tnrn of the let |:
ters in her precious name. Tears rolled
out of his eyes in spite of his manly en-
deavor to choke them down; as for Sally, [
she had given way long ago, and, with
her sunbonnet tight down over her face,
was watering the gray old moss at. the
foot of the tree with floods of childish I
woe.
At last it was done; there were the
initials linked together deep in.sthe
rugged bark; the crimson light from
the western sky shone fun upon each
and all. Win put his knife back in his
pocket with a click of determination,
gulped back his tears at onoe and for the
last time, and taking Sally from the
ground, he smoothed back her yellow
locks, coaxing her into quiet with the
solemn promise Of his loyalty henceforth
and forever to the love between them.
He declared that the names linked there
upon the tree should never be separated
while life remained to him, and with
many vow o: fealty coined frsm the