Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1881-06-24
STANTON, VIRGINIA, FRIDAY, JUNE "a, 1881.

will be for sale, ard shall expect you to
do your best for our interests"
And Miss Briggs courtesied, and said,
es, 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 at entomologist, to.say moth
ing of half dozen other lists, and who
wanted quiet country home, with woods
and meadows in it's vicinity, wherein to
prosecute his beloved sciences. And Mac
Pherson & Co., of Long Island, made a
bargain with the Rev. Mr.. Bellairs, an in
valid clergyman, who was in search of
country air and complete repose. Mrs.
Bellairs was pattern housekeeper, and
gloried in the prospect of grass bleaching,
new-laid eggs, wild raspberries and plenty
of plums and apricots for preserving pur-
poses.
And, strange enough, it occurred to
none of the three real estate agents to let
the other two knowof his action.
''There is never any demand for Ripple
Grange" said MACPHERSON & Co., indif-
ferently.
s'I'll write to Pixley and old Mac when
I get time" said Beggarall.
'There's no hurry about Ripple Grange,''
thought Pixley. eff Miss Briggs keeps it
from tumbiing to pieces she will do very
well''
Meanwhile Mrs. Ripple, herself the
plump widow, whose grandfather on her
husbands side had bequeathed her this in
practicable piece of property, began to
think of running down to look at it for her
self. ''They tell me there's no such thing
as letting it, said she. tive 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
of air would do me good. I'll take Dor
cas-, my maid, and 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 proyerb; 50 upon this windy.
blooming April day, when the sunny
meadow slopes were purpled all over with
wild violets, and the yellow narcissus was
shaking it's golden tassels over the neglect
ed borders of Ripple Grange, the old brick
house, which had stood empty for six good
years at least, became all of a sudden
alive.
It was an ancient widowed structure
on the edge of a wood, an old red house
whose front garden, tangled over with rose
briers, and thick grown with the fantastic
trunks of messy pear trees, and apples that
leaned almost to the ground, sloped down
to the bank Of merry little rivulet. Here
the tiger-lilies lifted their scarlet turbans
in the July sunshine, and the clumps of
velvety sweet-williams blossomed first and
sweetest. Great cream hearted roses
swung against the tumble-down stone
wall, and love-in a-mist, London-pride,
our ancestors ran riot, sprawling across
the grass grown paths. and packing them
selves into the angles of the fence, where
the honeysuckles trailed, and the scarlet
peoples looked like drops of blood. The
old garden Of Ripple Grange was like a
horticultural show gone mad at midsum
mer. And even now it was sweet with
tufts Of crocus. blue-velvet iris, and daft
fodiIs. while at the rear rose up the silent
hemIock wood, still and scented and emer
aid green. in the twilight.
Miss Briggs, with her terrier dog, her
bandboxas, 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 Oh a
starchbox turned upside down, drinking
cold tea and feeding her dog with occa-
sional scraps of canned beef and bakers
bread.
SIT seems rather lonely here" said the
little old spinster to herself, land the
rooms are very large and dreary-looking;
but dare say can hire little furniture
in the village, and the garden is really SUI
perb. never saw such tulip roots in my
life. And the little brook twinkling at
the foot of the wall is an idyl in ITSELF"
Miss Briggs, who had a good deal Of
poetry in her starved soul, set down the
can, and reached over to look out of the
window at the golden western sky.
$50 quiet, tool" said she; $50 secluded!'
But, to her amazement, even as she
looked, she perceived the figure of stout
old gentleman, bald and specialized, and
carrying an immense flat travelling case
under his arm, who was picking his way
among the rose-briers that lay prone across
the path, stopping here and there to ex-
anime the growth of silver-green house.
leeks on the 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 currant bushes.
s'Go away!" she cried.
Mr.. Hyde peered upward, with one
hand back of his ear. "Eh?" said he.
''Or I'll set the dog on you,' squeaked
Miss Briggs, encouraged by the shrill bark
of the terrier.
Woman" said the scientist, "who are
you?"
I'll let you know" said Miss Briggs,
waxing more and more excited in her in
dignation. elbow dare you trespass on
my rremises?'
"How dare you trespass Oh mine?" re-
torted the old gentleman, CURLY.
''He's mailman, thought Miss Briggs;
and she remembered, with thrill of ter
ror, that there was no key to the big front
door, and the bolt was rusted into two
pieces