The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1879-06-19
AUNT CYNTHY'S OLE LADY.

AUNT CYNTHY,S OLE LADY.
"Fine feathers makes fine birds,n NUT
tered Aunt Cyntby, coming down the
hall stairs, and passing the open door
wherein stood Rosalind Fayre, in Nile
green silk, with coffee-colored laces at
her throat. Aunt Cynthy was unjust.
Rosalind would be fine in any garb-a
fresh young beauty, who was aware of
the fact, to be sure, and did the best she
knew how by herself.
There were two front doors to hos
pitable Fair Hill At the upper end of
the piazza issued directly Mildred Ma
son. "Thar's my beauty, "soliloquized
Aunt Cynthy, passing out of sight
Mildred's white dress was frightened
by scarlet ribbons; she had a scarlet
shawl disposed about her raven locks.
| am not sure whether she was pretty or
not; but she was attractive-a heavenlier
gift even than that of beauty.
1t was November; but it was soft,
bright weather still in the border States.
and exhilarating as well. The wine of
the year was spilled abroad. The skies
were golden and crimson that sunset
Aunt Cynthy re-appeared round a cor
ner of the house, with pail in her hand,
bound for the dairy, the roof of which
was visible in the next field. . Her woody
locks were bound up in a kerchief of the
autumn colors-yellow and red. Mil
dred, taking it into her head to 90 a.
milking also, and joining the old woman
presently, suggested this fact to her.
Eyes, honey; but wars desc colors
likes yaller sees ghosts; an dem as de
ghosts likes likes red"
"Red is my color. But don't know
about the GHOSTS
&c You's not dead yit, is you? You'll
fin out befo' you is. Now dat Miss
Rosalin'! Green? Reckon our ole
Lady III glib her wide berth. Ghosts
can't abide green"
"What old lady?"
81 see her mor'en huff times. Ole
Lady wild spinnin'-wheel, all in white,
wild cap wild frill roun' it. Fair Hill
can't git shet of her nohow."
"Have you seen her often?''
Right smart often lately. Reckon
suthin gwine happen. OATS it. Ole
Lady tryin' to glib warnin' You shed
see her, by rights, Miss Milly; you is a
Mason yerself."
In the dairy were two ancient serving
men, black as the ace of spades, churn-
ing. They saluted Mildred with wide
ivory smiles, but spoke not They
brought before Mildred visions of
carven ebony images at some persistent
mechanical task. Aunt Cynthy skim
med the cream for tea, and Mildred
strolled farther up the field, into cabin,
where sat a feeble old woman, mother
OF Gale, the head dairyman, who in
articulated a greeting. Gales wife ap-
peared from the back ground, saying,
"Mother had stroke las fall. An
now Is you, missP is tollable."
Mildred was well, and was glad TO be
assured Mrs. Gale was the same. She
stood pensively regarding the two women
with her strangely beautiful dark eyes.
Mother are Alright ole CONAN, miss, )"
Gales wife surmised, with subdued
pride, but yet with an air of uncertainty.
Chronology is rarely included in the
philosophy of Ethiopia. "She war mar
rled in eighteen hundred an twelve"
Mildred first cried, "Indeed!" then
added: "Ihat need not make her so
very old, either. My grandfather and
grandmother were married in eighteen
numbered and twelve; then they were
twenty and sixteen. My grandfather is
eighty-tive now. don't believe you are
much over eighty, aunty.''
Gales wife was highly impressed.
She had entire faith in Miidred's calcu-
lations. "Don't you reckon she air,
miss?" she said.
Mildred reiterated her conviction.
Aunt Cynthia re-issued from the dairy.
cream-pail in hand. Having establish
ed character for mathematical genius.
Mildred rejoined her. Gales wife look
ed after her admiringly.. 1t seemed
such a fine thing not only to know one,s
own age, but other people'sas well.
Kosailndwas still on the piazza when
Mildred reached the house in time to
answer, "Here!" when Ruth Mason,
her hostess, asked, "Where is Mil
dred?' IN her sweet sad voice. Ruth
was the mean between the two extremes
OF Rosalind and Mildred, in the sense
that both were her cousins, although not
each others. She had Mildred's dark.
dark eyes-grave in her case. But then
matters ane things were grave at Fair
Hill just then.
The tea-bell rang, and they followed
us sound. Mrs. Mason, with snowy
halr and cap and kerchief, presided at
the urn. A clock that was two hundred
years old licked in one corner. The
OIL OF fare of course included Maryland
biscuit; 1t remains mystery why
these should have been better than had
they been beaten out of MARYLAND. A