Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1881-08-16

Ii was very old. fashioned house,
standing on the corner of quiet street
in the City of Fins. One might almost
fancy that the tide of years had ebbed
away and left il stranded there. Indeed
Mr.. Scribe, the author. who passed It
every day, going down town, suggested
as much TO the Oldes; lnhabitant one
morning as they stood for moment op-
p1site it. But the Oldes; lnhabitsnt said
no: he'd heard his gran'ther say that it
was built 10y an English dook or somethin
way back n seventeen hun erd n 'lcyen
However this might be, It had de-
scended in the Grant family, with lis an
,ique furniture and flavor of past gentility,
from father to son, and with small bur
den of debt, was the late Phipps Grant ;
only bequcst to his widow, who, with her
daughter Doris, lived there a; the time
my story begins.
If Phipps Grant had been a worker
instead OF a dreamer, Mrs. Grant and
Doris would not have had TO DO plain
sewing. and embroidery. and worStcd
work for living. Not that they teli
that their comparative poverty was de-
gradins-it was simply its great incon-
venience. as Doris often laughingly said.
There had been an artist in every gen.
Grafton Of the Grant family for century.
And Phipps Grant, having natural turn
that way, had not energy enough 10 I'M
prove it by study or application. He
painted a few very indifferent pictures,
and was always getting ready 10 paint
one which should bring him fame. But
he said i, didn't matter much any way.
as he had 4 prescniiment that it would
be his fortune TO find wha, was known in
the family tradition as the Grant treasure.
For as the story ran, one Silas Grant,
a rather misery sort Of man, lived here
in Revolutionary times with his daughter
Doris, who had wonderful gift at paint
ing. And one day, while standing a, her
easel by the open window, she saw two
of the Tory soldiery staggering toward
the house.
d" lie keeps his money always 10y him.
m told" she heard one of them say.
with hiccup. Quick as thought, she
sprang into the bedroom close by, and
seizing the little iron Golfer from beneath
her fathers pillow Tor she was alone in
the house, she ran with it TO the back
entrance. intending 10 escape into the
garden, but one Of the soldiers had taken
his place on the very steps, while she
heard the other on the front stairs. In
her excitement she hid i, in the first and
only place that she could think of, and
then taking up her pallet and brushes,
went on with her task-that OF painting
her own portrait. And being high
spirited, fearless sort of girl, it is said
that as she painted, she gave the red
coated RASCAL very strong piece of her
mind, raising her voice as he vainly
searched room after room.
Exaspera,ed by her taunts and his
fruitless hunt, he raised his musket, prob
ably intending or hoping to frighten her
into telling where old Silas Grants money
was hid.
"Shoot," exclaimed Doris defan,ly and
angrily, at is fitting that King Georges
soldiers prefer threatening unprotected wo'
men TO facing the Yankee rifles for this
was Just after the battle of Bunker Hill.
Whether purposely or not no one can
tell, but his musket was discharged, and
the ball passing through the canvas, en-
tered the brave girls heart, and her ia
ther found her dead on the floor when he
came home: but where she had hidden
the treasure was never discovered, though
great search was ever after made for II.
Such was the legend that contained some
fact and considerable fiction, as most leg
ends do. But Phipps Grant died without
finding the slightest thing to reward his
search, and Doris never gave the matter
thought, for she was an energetic, prac
tical girl, who believed in doing rather
than dreaming.
1t was Doris who had suggested letting
the two front rooms TO Mr.. Scribe, th'
author. who declared that the atmosphere
of antiquity in them was worth at leas
81 per week additional, And it was
Doris whose ivory crochet needle was
magic wand, which changed sbapeles'
skeins of yarn into the most lovely lit,l'
baby socks, shirts, sacks, and | don
know what all, which, with her mother
embroidery and exquisite lace work, sh'
sold 10 Mr.. Isaacs, the rich down towr