Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1882-02-15


her mother opens the door Of the keep
Ing room and bids her TO 60 10 bed aud
not to ruin her eyes with sewing by
lamp-light,
"Just minute" says Hettyi "as
soon as ! finish this sleeve" And the
minutes glide on and on, aud the sleeve
Is finished, held up and admired, aud
Mistress Helty takes Of her shoes and
slips softly up stairs to bed She does
not even close tho window. What
should come into the house unbidden
save the cool night alrS Everything
IL silent. The mother bird broods her
little ones securely, unconscious Of the
cruel eyes near by, until Reuben comes
whistling along tho road, and, boy like,
stops to shy 4 stone at the tempting
white mark on the garden fence the
prowlcr leaps away with long bounds
over the wet grass, and tragedy was
aycrtcd, with nothing to show for II but
dirty tracks upon the piece of factory"
spread out to bleach, BY aud by
there Is littlo stir in the lilac jungle
u woman comes cautiously out OF her
hiding place and steals away to the
barn. The cows aro lying there under
the long shed, sleeping, perhaps, in a
cows uneasy fashion, but with ccr-
tain air of mothcrliness and content
about them. They do not even wonder
at the late conner rs she treads her way
among them, enters the barn, mounts
the scaflold already filed with sweet
new hay, and is soon asleep, hearing
now and then broken twittcr from the
restless swallows under the caves, or
perchancc faint, sweet voice singing,
with lingering pity in its tone,
"Sick aud wounded. and ready to die."
Who can tell when the summer day
begins? One instant dusky silence,
cool, moist and fragrant, hanging over
the hill, the next IL burst Of song from
some trcc-top, caught up from hum
dred green coverts, swcllcd and repeat
cd and prolonged in mad chorus that
presently settles again into silence.
Then the slow stir of life awakening,
the hustle among the poultry, the low
ing of some impatient COW, or the sound
of her companions nipnino the short,
.,----., VIC unwilling v,v"n u"
rheumatic pump handle, and here and
there the dull thud of an improvident
axe preparing the kindlings for the
kitchen fire.
The day was well under way in ST.
las Rogers household before the major
ity of his neighbors had reached this
point. The cows were milked and
turned into the green lane to make
their own way into the pasture, the
steady whirl Of the grindstone and the
sharp ring Of the steel told that the
moments before breakfast were being
made the most of, and even at the
table there were few words spoken,
and no useless lingering. But after
breakfast Silas Rogers took down the
leathcr-covered Bible that had been his
old mothers daily companion for
eighty years, and all the family sat
reverently down to worship. The
golden moments might speed as they
would, but no day in that household
began without its portion from the
Bible. 1t might have been lingering
recollection of Hetty's song, it might
have been one of those celestial provi-
dences which we call chance, which
led him to read from the gospels the
story of the wandering sheep and the
lost piece of silver. 1t is doubtful if
any of them were very deeply touched
by it. 1t was a familiar story to the
good wife, and she could not keep her
thoughts from straying anxiously to the
loaves rising perilo, sly in the pans,
while Hetty glanced at the clock and
secretly hoped her father had not chanc-
ed upon long chapter. The reading
came abruptly to an end with the heav-
emily rejoicing over one sinner that re-
penteth, and with an earnest though
homely prayer the service was ended.
Abner and Reuben almost stumbled
over a woman sitting absorbed in the
doorway. Silas looked at her but did
not stay to questian, and when they
were gone she rose and said abruptly,
"Will you give me some breakfast?'
Mrs. Rogers looked at her. She
saw tall and not uncomely woman
of about thirty, but with something
indefinitely evil about her face. The
hard mouth, the bold, defiant eyes,
repelled her, yet it seemed as if at any
instant they might break into scornful