Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1881-05-27
"TO LET-KTPPLE GRANGE.n

The hedglings feW aSayl
"TO LET-RTPPLE GRANGE"
Mr.. Pixley was real-estate agent. Mr..
Pixley had had a goodly number of houses on
his list in his time, but never one so persist
emily, unalterably, perseveringly on his list
as Ripple Grange. Year after year it had fig
ured on his books as q Desirable Country
Residence to be had on Reasonable Terms p
year after year it still hung hopelessly on his
hands.
Nor was Mr.. Pi1ley the only reAl-estate
agent who had wrestled, so to speak, with
Ripple Grange. Other land brokers and rent
collectors had had their "try" at it, with
equally unsatisfactory results. 1t had been
advertised in newspapers, and pasted up on
bulletin-boards, and still II remained kip
pie Grange-To Let"
Hang the old place !" said Mr.. PiHley We
hemently scratching his bald head ~ wish
il would burn down, or blow away, or some
thing II is q disgrace to a business man to
keep such an eye-sore on his list I've
great mind to put old Miss Briggs into it, TO
keep it in order until can get better ten
ant She wants place cheap. I'll let her
have Ripple Grange for nothing"
So when Miss Briggs came tiptoeiDg into
the real-esiate ofiice-R faded melancholy
little old maid, leading her terrier-dog by its
string, and wearing green veil to neutralize
the spring winds-Mr. Pixley told her that
Ripple Grange should be hers, for the pres
ent, at least.
"You'll probably find it lonely" said he.
II dote on the country" said Miss Briggs
And very much out of repair" he added.
II don't doubt but that il will do for me-"
said the little old spinster, her faded eyes
frightening.
Probably, also, there's a ghost about the
premises, jocosely uttered the agent
Miss Briggs shook her head with a sad
smile. ITS live people am afraid Of, " said
she, mot dead ones"
"well," said Mr.. Pixley, "Kipple Grange
shall be yours this quarter IL you'll fx up the
garden little, and give the place hred-in
sort of look. or course it will be for sale,
and / shall expect you to do your best for
our interests"
And Miss Briggs courtesied, and said, Eyes,
she would" and withdrew, greatly elated in
spirit.
Upon the same day, the 25th of April, Mr.
Beggarall, the real estate agent of Dorches-
ter, let Ripple Grange to old Mr.. Hyde, who
was naturalist and botanist and an ento-
mologist, TO say nothing of half a dozen other
lists, and who wanted quiet country home,
with woods and meadows in its vicinity,
wherein to prosecute his beloved sciences.
And MscPherson a. Co., of Long Island made
n bargain with the Rev. Mr.. Bellairs, an in
valid clergyman, who was in search of coun-
try air and complete repose. Mrs Bellairs
was pattern housekeeper, and gloried in the
prospect Of grass s-bleaching, new-laid eggs,
wild raspberries, aud plenty of plums and ap-
ricots for preserving purposes.
And, strangely enough, it occurred to none
of the three real-estate agents to let the 9TH
er two know Of his action.
There 10 never any demand for Ripple
Grange" said Macpherson 4 Co., indiffer-
emily.
''Tll write to Pixley and old Mac when
get time, said Beggarall.
There's no hurry about Ripple Grange"
thought Pixley. IF Miss Briggs keeps it
from tumbling to pieces, she will do very
we'll"
Meanwhile Mrs Ripple herself, the plump
widow whose grandfather on the husbands
side had bequeathed her this impracticable
piece of property, began to think of running
down to look at ii herself. ''They tell me
there's no such thing as letting it, said she.
''Pve a mind to 60 down and see for myself.
One really pines for the country, now that
they are selling lilac blossoms and pansies in,
the streets; and I'm quite sure that a change
OF air would do me good. I'll take Dorcas,
my maid and few cans Of peaches and sRr-
dimes, and wen picnic at Ripple Grange, just
for the fun of the thing"
1T never rains but it pours," saith the an
cient proverb so upon this windy, blooming
April day. when the sunny meadow slopes
were purpled all over with wild yiolets, and
the yellow narcissus was shaking its golden
tassels over the neglected borders of Ripple
Grange, the old brick house. which had stood
empty for six good years at least, became all
of a sudden alive.
1t was an ancient mildewed structure on
the edge of a wood, an old red house whose
front garden, tangled over with rose-briers,
and grown with the fantastic trunks of mossy
pear-trees, and apples that leaned almost to
the ground, sloped down to the bank of q
merry little rivuiet Here the tiger lilies lift
ed their scarlet turbans in the July sunshine,
and the elumps of velyety sweet-williams
blossomed first and sweetest Great cream
hearted roses swung against the tumbls-down
stone wall, and love-in-a- mist, London-pride,
and all those rare old-fashioned flowers of
our ancestors ran riot, sprawling across the
grass-grown paths, and packing themselves
into the angles of the fence, where the hon
eysuckles trailed, and the scarlet poppies
looked like drops of blood. The old garden
of Ripple Grange was like a horticultural
show gone mad at midsummer. And even
now it was sweet with tufts of orocus, blue
velvet iris, and daffodils, while at the rear
rose up the silent hemlock wood, still and
scented and emerald green, in the twilight
Miss Briggs, with her terrier-dog, her band
box, and her poor little hair trunks studded
with brass nails, had got there early. She
had opened the windows to let in the yellow
glow of the April sunset, kindled FIRE with
straight sticks on the deep-tiled hearth,
and was sitting on a starch-box turned upside
down, drinking cold tea, and feeding her dog
with occasional scraps of canned beef and
bakers bread.
'It seems rather lonely here, said the lit
tie old spinster to herself, "and the rooms are
very large and dreary looking but dare
say can hire little furniture in the village,
and the garden is really superb. 1 never
saw such tulip roots in my life. And the lit
tie brook twinkling at the foot of the wall is
an idyl in ITSELF"
Miss Briggs, who had good deal of poet
ry in her starved soul, set down the can, and
reached over to look out of the window at the
golden western sky.
$50 quiet, too" said she $50 secluded! I"
But, TO her amazement, even as she looked,
she perceived the figure of a stout old gentle
man, bald and spectacled, and carrying an
immense fiat travelling case under his arm,
who was picking his way among the rose
briers that lay prone across the path, stop
ping here and there 10 examine the growth
Of silver-green houseleeks on the garden wall.
Miss Briggs, who was somewhat near
sighted jumped at once TO the conclusion
that this interloper was tramp. She hurled
the tin can recklessly down into the budding
curranf. .buahea