The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1881-08-11
RIPPLE GRANGE.

Mr.. Pixley was a real estate agent
Mr.. Pixley had had goodly number of
houses on his list in his time, but never
one so persistently, unalterably, perse-
veringly on his list as Ripple Grange.
Year after year it had figured ON his
books as a Desirable Country Res
idence. to be had on Reasonable Terms;'
year after year it still hung hopelessly
ON his hands. ds.-----
Nor was Mr.. Pixley the only real es-
tate agent who had wrestled, SO to speak,
with Ripple Grange. Other land brokers
and rent collectors had had their s.try"
at it, with equally unsatisfactory results.
It had been advertised in newspapers,
and pasted up on bulletin boards, and
still it remained "Kipple Grange-To
Let -o
"Hang the old placel' said Mr.. Pix
ley, vehemently scratching his bald
head. 81 wish it would burn down, or
blow away, or something! It's dis
grace 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 I can get tenant. She wants
a place cheap. I'll let her have Ripple
Grange for nothing"
So when Miss Briggs came tiptoeing
into the real estate office-a faded, mel
ancholy little old maid, leading her ter
rier dog by its string, and wearing a
green veil to neutralize the spring
winds-Mr. Pixley told her that Ripple
Grange should be hers, for the present at
least.
you'll probably find it lonely" said
he.
ST dote on the country" said Miss
Briggs.
.'And very much out of repair" he
added.
81 don't doubt but that it will do for
me-" said the little old spinster, her
faded eyes frightening.
Probably, also, there's ghost about
the premises" loosely uttered the
agent.
Miss Briggs shook her head with sad
smile. 'It's live people am afraid of, !"
said she, mot dead ones"
"Well," said Mr.. Pixley, ssKipple
Grange shall be yours this quarter, if
you'll fix up the garden little, and give
the place ived-iE sort of look. OF
course it will be for sale, and I shall ex-
pect you to do your best for our inter
ests."
And Miss Briggs courtesied, and said:
Eyes, she would and Withdrew, greatly
elated in spirits.
Upon the same day, the twenty-fifth
of April, Mr.. Beggarall, the real estate
agent of Dorchester, let Ripple Grange
to old Mr.. Hyde, who was naturalist
and botanist and an etomologist, to say
nothing of half dozen other lists, and
who wanted quiet country home, with
woods and meadows in its vicinity,
wherein to prosecute his beloved sciences.
And Macpherson &. Co., of Long Island,
made q bargain with the Reverend MI.
Bellairs, an invalid clergyman, who was
in search of country air and complete re
pose. Mrs. Bellairs was a pattern house
keeper, and gloried in the prospect Of
grass bleaching, new-laid eggs, wild rasp-
| berries and plenty of plums and april
cots for preserving purposes.
And, strangely enough, it occurred to
none of the three real estate agents to
let the other know of his action.
| "There is never any demand for Kip
pie Grange" said Macpherson & Co.,
| indifferently.
"I'l write to Pixley and old Mac when
I get time" said Beggarall.
'There's no hurry. about Ripple
Grange" thought Pixley. 'If Miss
Briggs keeps it from tumblirg to pieces
she will do very well"
Meanwhile Mrs. Ripple herself, the
plump widow whose grandfather on the
husbands side had bequeathed her this
to think of running down to look at it
herself. 'sThey tell me there's no such
thing as letting it." said she. 'I've a
mind to go 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 change of air would do me
good. I'll take Dorcas, my maid, and a
few cans of peaches and sardines, and
we'll picnic at Ripple Grange, just for
the fun of the thing"
cit never rains but it pours," saith the
ancient proverb; so upon this windy,
blooming April day, when the sunny
meadow slopes were purpled all ovel
with wild violets, and the yellow mar.
cissus 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 sudden alive.
It was an ancient mildewed structure
on the edge of wood, an old red house
whose front garden, tangled over with
rose-briers, and grown with the fantastic
trunks of messy pear trees, and apples
that leaned almost to the ground, slopet
down to the bank of merry little rivu
let. Here the tiger-lilies lifted thei
scarlet turbans in the July sunshine
and the clumps of velvety sweet-william
blossomed first and sweetest. Grea
:. cream-hearted roses swung against tn
, tumble-down stone wall, and love-in-a
> mist, London pride, and all those rar
= old-fashioned flowers of our ancestor
tan riot sprawling across the grass
grown paths, and packing themselve
into the angles of the fence, where tn
honeysuckles trailed, and the scarle