The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1879-01-01
Written for the HERALD.
LITTLE MERCY.
\ Christmas Story.
BY OLIVE HARPER.

II was in Pennsylvania. in the
Wyoming Valley, that was born and
lived o happy child. 1t was the
time CT maple sugar making, and
that time vas to my brother and my.
self long holiday, for we were al
ways allowed to go to grandfather's q
and see the whole operation, proba-
bly, bindering the workmen consider
ably by our officious helping.
We bad been 10 camp since morn
ing. my brother and /, and in the
widest state of excitement with the
tapping of the trees, the setting of
the great black sugar kettles, the
staring Of the log fire, and all togeth-
er
Il do believe Mira. Nesbit is GO
isg to make sugar, too" said my
BROTHER, jumpicg down from the
stone walls that divided the farms;
just see the smoke coming out oi
her little woods"
We always called her woods little,
as j. was, 10 comparison to grand
fathers, for il did not cover more
than tw0 acres Of ground; all the
rest was swamp.
la fact, Mrs. Nesbit owned bat
little any way her house was little,
aud her comfort still less. She lived
alone, save for her little grand-child
hose name was Mercy-Mercy
Nesbit; not Harris, though that was
the name of the father, but called
Mercy in a vague plaintive hope,
perhaps, that the name bestowed
weuld inspire feeling OF forbear.
anee, il not tenderness, toward the
child. But the mother, poor Lucy
Nesbit, had miscalculsted the strict
piety of the Christian community 10
which ber lines were cast.
Widow Nesbit owned, also, one
poor, lean little COW, and it mostly
ran at large, picking up her scanty
living along the roadside; but as the
poor, stlngy, uncultivated portion Of
Pennsylvania's soil affords but few
tufts Of grass. or even thistles, this
little coz always had look as il
hunger had become chronic with her
and now by her side ran little calf
as geunt and spare as the cow. !
Say the calf was little not because /,
was young, bet because it was small
Of its age, being now over year old
II was not pretty calf. for its coat
was rough as the mountain roads,
and its legs as knotty as the dead
pine branches, and it's ribs looked
like the bitches and tow-paths along
the Erie Canal. Ii went all the time
with a leather strap fnll Of sharp
nails on its hungry mouth, that il
might be separated from mother
milk without being deprived of moth
er company.
Poor Widow Nesbit was raising
this calf under the pleasing fiction, if
seemed to other parties, that Lucy
would some time marry and wish to
set up housekeeping, and require q
COW of her own. So the poor starv-
ed creature was known throughout
the neigbborhood ss Lucy Nesbit's
heiier, and was never spoken of
without jest or sneer, or perhaps
both. 1t turned out that that poor
desplsed beast had her part to play
in the great drama Of life after all;
and that it was not the first good
thing that came out of Nazareth.
But to return to the sugar camp:
having made sure of the smoke,
away We ran in search of the FIRE,
ard to see what we would see; and
having reached the wall, we stop
ped to reconnoitre Yes, there was
Mrs. Nesbit, sure enough, on her
knees, blow ing bard al toe Goals that
we're just kindiing into life heap of
chips and drift, got together, with the
belp of little Mercy, from the foo, of
the trees The child was at the
grandmother's elbow. as usual, and
/ remember distinctly how pictur-
esque she looked 10 her frock Of
homemade scarlet flannel set off
with checks of C, n;rastiEg color,
and with her dark tangles of curly
hair tossing in the keen March wind
Widow Nesbit's sugar camp made
a sorry appearance in contrast to
ours, We thought; for, in place of our
huge iron kettles, she had a tea-ket-
tie and two small brass pots in which
to boil the sap. 1t seemed to Us
that the tea-ketile hordered on the
pathetic Then, too, instead of our
round snd fresbly-cut backlog she
had only q rotten stick, which bad
laid On the ground Till it was sodden
with damp. l think that it was the
tea kettle and backlog combined that
induced US to extend our hospitality
to little Mercy Nesbit, and invite her
over the wall into our camp.
May not Mercy come into our lot,
Mrs. Nesbit!" we cried, peering over
the line wall, with pitiful look, to
the long black nose Of the tea-ketlIe,
aud the little uncertain fire, She stood
straight up and seemed defiant and
hard at first, and as she set her
bands on her hips, was quite sure
meant no. She did not speak for .
and Mercy seconded our ap-
peal with Der wistfpl eyes, and 1t
last sbe answered:
Well, yes, reckon, that is, if she
is wanted"
"lf she is wanted why to be sure
she IL; why shouldn't she be ?n