The Findlay Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Hancock County, Ohio) 1870-1881, 1878-03-29

AOlutI- MY u IG III ustli ElN LlOtuSI
he'd known better, ef he had ha' been a
fool. But, you see, folks is folksy; they
amt as they had ought ter be, and you
can't fix EN- no way, reelly. Icalc'lated
that if you waited for him the grain d
be clean lost; eff We took the law on him,
why, that would be time an money
spent, and the wheat had oughter be a
grownin'; 'twouldn't never grow without
fencin', for that bulls dreadful obstrop-
olus; and we had them old rails handy.
Anyway its fixed now; and efye want to
jaw him, or set Squire jerks onto him,
why, there's time enough while the
wheat's a CROWN agin to satisfy We that
way."
You go long," growled the deacon
falling back ON the pillow. lisa pretty
piece O. business to come to my time o
life to learn how to handle thistles but
Iguess you'd bet;ergo to bednow; you're
ALFRED tired"
well, be some;" and stretching and
yawing, Jim obeyed."
That amt nobodyis fool" circulated
the deacon, looking after him; "'r if he
is, It's a plaguy sight better folly than
most folks wisdom
There was no lawyer sent to John
Dekin; the fence stood firm against win
try storms, but Jim noticed that the bull
was not turned into that lot again; and
when spring returned the grain shot
up in full luxuriance, thick and heavy
headed; none the worse for its accident
al pruning, perhaps all the better. And,
besides, there was certainly a softening
in John Dekin's aspect toward his
neighbor; perhaps not unmingled with
contempt for the deaconis "sofness;;"
but still a grain of leaven had been
planted in this unpromising lump; time
perhaps eternity-only could show
it worked. So Jim went his way in and
about Sawyer; being of no account in
the eyes of most people; of less than
none in his own; but planting here and
there by the wayside little seeds of kind
ness and humanity that blossomed to
some souls delight and benefit. "She
hath done what she could" was the
Lords own commendation, and this was
the lowly measure of Jims desert; but
can any of us do more? How many of
the great and rich leave behind them a
grateful record in even as many hearts
as always remembered, with tender
affection, poor Jericho Jim?
But it was reserved for him to do the
great service of his life for his good old
friends, the Ellery. 1t has not been de-
clared to you, dear readers, any more
than it was to Jim, that Deacon Ellery
had son Lying in a distant city, who
for some years. had never been spoken
of in his fathers house. Sam Ellery had
been the very core of MS fathers heart
to use the pathetic Irish phrase, and yet
he never found it out: for, with the
painful shyness and reticence of race
and nature, Deacon Ellery hid his affec-
ton deep in silence and coldness. He
was rigid Calvinist, and had striven to
bring up Samuel in the straitest sect Of
that sort. He went away from home to
position in a bank in Boston, where he
began as hoy" and had now arrived
at the Office of cashier. At first he had
returned once or twice year to the old
home, to mother, and also to keep up a
certain youthful sweethearting with
Annie Palmer, the minister's pretty
daughter; but as he grew to be man
he rebounded into Unitarianism. That
his son should become a member of that
sect in particular was the very gall and
bitterness Of iniquity to the old deacon,
who could have better borne detection
N almost any other direction; and in
what he called righteous wrath he
wrote dreadful letter to Samuel, and
forebade him to ever enter his doors
again till he had repenteG of this great
sin, and humble himself in dust and
ashes for betraying his Master, as the
deacon was pleased to style it. Al
though a loving and entreating letter
from his mother went after this fulmi
nation, and somewhat calmed Sans
first contemptuous anger, and though
| the letter was answered, and a fitful
correspondence carried on between
mother and son through Annie Palmer,
Sam accepted his fathers alternative and
stayed away from home as persistantly
as the deacon ignored him, for he was
indeed "a chip off the old block" His
name was never named in the family
nor uttered in the daily prayer, and if
his fathers heart ever cried after him it
cried III sileuce.
Now Jericho Jim adored the minis
ter's daughter with the dumb passion of
faithful dog. 1t was the greatest joy
of his life to h;Iye her come to the door
with the milk pitcher for him to fill, as
she sometimes did; and one pleasant
word or smile made Jim happy all day.
After the fashion of wiser folks he paid
tribute to this goddess con tinually. He
brought her every wild flower in its
season, and the rarest Of all; he knew
where the rhodora grew, and gathered
its early blooms for Annie; delicate or
chids unveiled their shy haunts for him,
and the slight sweet flowers of spring
all lay at Annie's feet from her faithful
wOrshiper. Cardinal flowers and spot
less pond-lilies came in their season; and
he stored the biggest nuts and begged
the sweetest fruits that grew in the gar
den, nor ever begged in vain. for Jim
was petted and privileged in Sawyer.
Annie was nightly joked about her
feryent admirer, but nobody ever
laughed at Jim; his pathetic simplicity
shielded him like a young girls inno-
cence. But Annie knew very well that
this poor boy liked her, though not how
deeply; and knowing, too, his curious
power of setting people to rights, it oc-
Cured to her that he might perhaps
pave the way for her lovers reconcilia
ton with his father; for the careless ad-
miration of the deacon's son had long
ago deepened into love- and Sam Ellery
had been many times to Sawyer to see
Annie Palmer since he finally left his
fathers door; and now they were soon
to be married, and Annie longed with
all her heart to have peace between
father and son.
One July evening, just at twilight,
Jericho Jim arrived at the door Of Par
son Palmeris house with the milk for
Sunday. which was always carried round
Saturday night, and also with a pail of
fresh lilies from Warren pond. Annie