The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1877-11-29
A Rainy Day.

1T Is the universal IaSnlOn 10 Tall at
rainy days, and to get blue, cross and
bored, ut such times. "Any temper
may be excused on rainy day." says
somebody, whose ''new novel; we were
reading the other day.
Now we do not believe in this con-
domination of rainy days.
A rainy day is to many persons u
holiday. Those whose employments
are out-of-door employments should
hail rainy days as the children ut school
hail Saturdays.
When we were child, we lived on a
farm, away back in the country, and
on rainy days the big old barn was our
playground. What good friends we
were with the spcckled hens and the
mcek-faccd cows, and the red oxen,
and the old white horse, and how
many forbidden handfuls of corn did
these friends of ours receive as tokens
of our good will.
The farm hands threshed the rye and
oats on rainy days, for the fail had
not then been superseded by the horse
power machine; or they shelled the
beans, or husked the yellow corn, and
sang snatches of old songs long since
forgotten and numbered with the things
that were.
And the air was sweet with smells of
clover hay and meadow brakes, and
the wide rafters were fcstooned with
cobwebs whose finencss and delicacy
no human skill could rival; and the
blue-green swallows twittered in their
nests beneath the cross-beams; and
above all the soft patter of the rain
made music on the moss-grown shin
giles.
And all trees on the hillside were
dyed fresher green, and the parched
grass on the garden slope revived in
the grateful moisture, and the tall
dahlias and asters were heavy with
diamond rain-drops; and in the swollen
brook the snow-white geese padded,
and were happy as Kings on thrones.
The monarch of the barn-yard, the
red-backed rooster, went about with
his tail at half-mast, and the gaudy
peacock, with all sail clOse-furled,
sought refuge for his discOnsOlate con-
dition on the lee side of the cow-shed.
How plainly it all comes up before
us to-day! How distinctly the pleas
ant, homely picture is photographed
upon our memory!
And even at this late time, a rainy
day has lost for us none of its weird
charms. Though wide vistas of Joy
and sorrow lie between then and now,
we still love a rainy day. We have our
life all to ourselves. Outside cares are
laid aside for the time. No visitors
love us well enough to brave the storm.
We can rummage old chests, and bring
forth treasures of other days without
fear of being disturbed. We read over
old letters full of affection and sweet
ness still, though, perchance, the hands
which formed those faded lines have
long since moldered into their native
clay.
We try on old garments of obsolete
fashion, and imagine Ourself our own
grandmother, in embroidered petticoat
and linen short gown.
We finish odd jobs of work, which
have lain for months, waiting just such
an opportunity, and freshen our knowl-
edge Of familiar quotations from our
favorite poets, and we think OF old
friends who have passed beyond, and
wonder vaguely what they are doing
to-day in that far and mystic land over
the river.
And what, hundred years hence,
shall we be doing?
A rainy day? To be alone with
memory-alone with duties to be per-
formed--tQ live over the past-to real
ize the present-to indulge hope of the
future.
But to sit at ease by ones own fire.
side, surrounded by those who love us,
and whom we love-to know and feel
that on this rainy day no alien presence
will intrude, what is better? What is
sweeter?-Kate Thorn, in N 7. Weekly.