Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1880-01-14
One WOman's Life.

Grandpa sprang from his chair and went
out hastily for his lantern, for night had
settled down upon us. The "women folks J"
peered from the windows, while old Jess, the
lazy watch dog, growled disapproval from
the doorstep.
Ten seconds before, each of the party held
either paper or a letter, for the farm-boy
had returned from the village post-office,
well laden, and we, who had loudly pro-
claimed our delight at our freedom from re-
straiQt and cQuveDtionalities, found our
selves still 81 Tie earth, eartay, as we pored
over the latest intelligence"
"Who is it what is it ?" we ask, eagerly /;
but no one answers, and over the rush and
roar of the river there comes floating to us
the musical notes" coming, coming" This
time grandpa answers with a sailors "aye,
aye" and walks down the roadway swinging
his lantern. The light plays and dances
among the maple leaves over his head, fits
here and there on tall weeds by the wayside,
and flashes ever and anon on the river. To
us, still in the doorway, it is all mystery
the song-like call, the evident understanding
of the household, the black darkness of the
night, and womans arrival, amid the dark
ness, across the treacherous, rocky stream.
What could it mean ? We repeat the ques-
tion, aud step boldly out near the open win
dows, from which some of our party are still
gazing, and the only reply was "Thirza
wants to cross"
"Thirza, Thirza," we say ; what a musical
name We saw it in the country church
yard yesterday, and pondered on it, while we
plucked the rank weeds from an unknown
grave. "Thirza, beloved wife, aged thirty"
"Thirza, the daughter, aged nineteen" and
the little infant of a few months. We read
family history then and there from the
tomb-stones, and straightway looked over
our brain-stores to find its origin, but moth
ing came to us, and we walked home with
the name still in our ears, never dreaming
we should yet see one bearing it. All the
long summer afternoon we thought of the
women who had been, but were not, and
none had ever known outside of the little
town living Thirza.
Could we but enter much-loved library,
how soon our queries would be set at rest.
We would then search out its hidden mean
ing, find its origin and story, but perhaps in
so doing spoil its poetry. Such things had
happened; and we could not decide whether
it meant high or low, queenly or servile,
whether Greek maidens had answered to it,
or dusky damsels smiled, when the voice of
love pronounced it, We could only fancy it
bestowed on some lovely girl or brave wo-
man, and to us it should mean noble
Suddenly, out of the darkness, it came to us
again.
"Thirza wants to cross" said the old lady
and, regardless of dampness or darkness, we
went down the roadway, following the Ian
tern. We could not follow it long, for soon
the old man began to descend the steep and
circuitous path leading down the rivers
brink. We leaned against friendly maple
and listened. A rattle of the boat-chain on
the rock where it was fastened, grating
sound as it was pushed off from the shore
and the shouts from the other bank to " look
out" "keep her steady" "go to the left,
and other cautions which the danger made
necessary No smooth surface allowed the
use of oars, but in their place the solitary
boatman uses his long pole with skill and
care, avoiding the hidden rock, giving large
ones a close embrace, and shooting in aud
out against the force of the current.
With darkness came danger and why
should this woman brave it, when the long
summer days made it pleasure
"Thirza comes TO watch with poor woman
tonight She waited to do her chores first. u
at shall mean 'self-denying,' noble, ,"
we said, softly; and, as we spoke, the fiat
bottomed boat landed on our little shore,
and up the rugged stairway came the woman
we were thinking of.
"Poor Thirza p said grandma, as she went
back to her knitting. Poor girl life is a
tough thing to her"
"Why?" we asked, eagerly, as we once
more put down the evening paper.
1T is long story, miss; sad story
too. You see she is kin to us. But you
city folks don't know much about such
troubles"
"Grandma," you perceive, is not skin u
to us. We call her so, partly as an honorary
title, partly from our need of such kinship
for of all our merry party, question much
if any are rich in this way.
Grandma" said we, "'city folks have
hearts; and in all my life never found a
true-hearted man or woman who did not at
once respond TO sorrows call. | want that
story can have it ?"
"Never heard of her before, did you ?"
"Never."
"Know anyone of her name 2"
"No it is as beautiful as new"
"What do you care about it for ?"
"She is woman, grandma; and poor
woman unlocks the innermost door of my
heart"
you writing folks are queer ones," said
grandma; but if you're set on hearing it,
III tell you. Only let me strain the milk
first"
We took up the paper again, but "news
from Europe " or "news in brief did not
attract us. Through political reports and
foreign intelligence the echo of the call still
fingered in our ears.
Thirza-why had we not looked in her
face Was she young and beautiful ?
Grandma called her "poor girl" but grand
mas snowy locks were nearing three-score
and ten, and fifty seemed young to her.
What had been this Thirza's sorrow How
came She with that musical voice The
voice told of culture in two words, and what
had such woman to do with "chores ?"
Had she been educated above her neighbors,
lifted up beyond her surroundings, or was
she one OF those sweet-scented wood violets
one so loves to find ?
This interest in an utter stranger was too
uncommon to pass without remark. No
wonder the old lady thought it "queer."
We walked up and down the piazza, wait
ing for grandma to begin her story; but
"straining the milk often proved tedious
process, especially when the farm-hands
stood in the doorway of the milkroom, or
lounged upon the steps talking of the crops
or weather.
Our walk was ended, for the night air
grew chill Grandma was preparing for
bed, unmindful of her promise. So we
lounged in our room, listening to the ever
precious song of the river, and dreamed Of
Thirza.
With the song of the birds, the usual farm
yard chorus, and the brightness of early
morning, we left our bed, just as a sweet
voice under our window said, "good morn
ing" There was no mistaking it, the same
had uttered the call on the night previous /;
and all ideas of bath and dressing vanished,
as we leaned from the window to catch a
glimpse of its owner.
Standing before our front door we saw
tall graceful woman, with an old-fashioned
sun.bonnet on her head, and her arms full of
small squares, made of straw, the beginning,
as we had already learned, of numerous
palm-leaf hats. The woman played with the
straws, which projected in all directions, as
she talked with her friends.
Made all those last night, Thirza 2"
Yes, my patient was quiet, and work
keeps one awake. Good morning, l must
cross over and get breakfast"
Again the well modulated voice. and well.
bred air. Why did she look down so persis-
tentlyP We had not seen the face hid by
the ugly bonnet, we only caught one glimpse