The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1883-11-28
"BARTONS JO.H

said old Philo Barton, as he sat smoking his
pipe under the morning-glory vines at the
back door. " My cabins the best lookin'
on the whole mountain. and yet the logs,
nor the underpinnin', nor yet the windows,
amt no different from the rest But it's
them marigolds, and four-oclocks, and blue
double asters that does the business ~
It's because you've got woman about
the place." said Tom Phillips, enyiously.
81 reckon !" was Philo's reply, as he
crowded the coarse shay tobacco down into
his pipe with the ball of his thumb.
Blue and misty lay the morning lights
upon the Wahsatch Mountains, where bar
rem gorges glowed with African desert heat
and clear little trout streams trickled over
rocky beds to gain the rivers whose cold
tides crept through the steep walls of the
neighboring canons with low, mysterious
murmur. And old Philo sat smoking at his
front door, and basked in the sun like o
larger growth of lizard.
Philo Barton had come, like many an
other one, to the Silver Land, to make his
fortune, ten years ago. But, like many an
other one, his life had proved failure, and
at sixty he was broken-down man, glad to
earn a little money here and there by days
work, when his rheumatic back would allow
him to make the effort. There was some.
thing still left in the bank at Salt Lake City,
but Philo retained too much of his New
England up-bringing to trench upon that
little fund
" may need it more thin do now" he
reasoned. I'VE amt suffering now,-me
an Jol It's pretty tight calculating now
and then, but we don't go neither hungry
nor cold. Guess we won't draw out that
hundred dollars till we need it'll But it's
queer the way luck runs. l laid out my all
in this ere tract of land, because | reckoned
it was the right spot. But it wasn't. Eff
I'd bought fifty rods tc the left, I'd a-struck
that there Blue Beauty mine, rs David
Dorsey is a-shoyelin' his fortune out of |
But didn't. l don't know why. There
amt no aceountin' for luck Dave Dorseys
CROWN rich, and I'm CROWN poor. l
wouldn't care for myself, but it's hard on
Jol She's out under the grapevine, wash
ing, now. Washing's pretty tough work for
o slim creetur like 10! We always kept a
hired gal when Mrs. Barton was alive. But
things is different now! don't know
why"
For, in his dim way, old Philo recognized
the mystery of daily life In this world
some people try to fight against fate. Philo
Barton was wise enough to accept his des.
tiny as it came
In the meantime, This aughter-Joeelind
she had been christened, but every one call
cd her cold Barton's Jo,n stood singing
under the shadow of the grape-vines, where
the green clusters were just turning to anne.
thyst. Her sleeves were rolled up, the wind
blew her short, fantastic eurls to and fro,
and an apron of striped red-and-white bed
ticking ingulfed her slender form. She was
rosy and sun-burned, with big black eyes,
and she was rubbing away at old Philo's
blue-checked shirts with muscle which
many an athlete might have envied.
And why should not Barton's 10 have
muscle2 She groomed the shaggy little
mustang pony herself she drove the cows
home at night-she settled any difference of
opinion with the bull with q stick that re-
sounded over his horny pate like the blows
of a blacksmith, she split the wood, in
order to save her fathers weak back, and
dug the potatoes, and brought in the vege-
tables, and then, when she had time, she
trimmed the branchy marigolds, and water
ed the shy-blooming pink and purple asters,
and sat at her stocking darning, looking
down into the empurpled shadows of the
valley below, where the pinnacles of Salt
Lake City and the huge egg-shaped dome Of
the " Great Tabernacle of Zion" rose up
like the uncertain mists of dream.
That, with trihing variations constituted
the daily life of g Barton's Jo." She grew
up like wild flower in the wilderness.
Even the rough miners suppressed their
oaths and became gentler when she passed
by. There was q civilizing influence in her
mere presence. And as fo- old Barton him.
self, she was the very apple of his eye
She has tough time, 10 has," he said,
slowly, shaking his head. " But she don't
mind it, 10 don't She loves her old father,
10 does !"
As for washing, what did 10 care ION
that She had washed ever since she was
fourteen years old-and had caught Mossie,
the Indian squaw, in stealing checked pock-
ct handkerchiefs out of the tub
You're not doing right !" she said to old
Mossie. "See how streaky the clothes are
You don't rub 'em enough Aud see :"
jerking the handkerchiefs out of the old
hag's tattered pocket. What business
have you with these ?"
Missy find fault, Mossie no stay" said
the old Wahsatch squaw, "Mossie &c
wayi"
Go, then !" said 10, with cheeks flushed
with righteous indignation. g. can wash
better than that myself And I won't have
thief about the premises !"
SO 10 herself had taken the helm, and
conquered Fate.
As she rubbed and rinsed away in the
checkered shadow Of the leaves, still dark
er shadow fell upon the short stunted grass.
A man, riding by on black horse, with q
ad-brimmed s0m5rero, and pack strap
ped to his saddle, had drawn the rein.
~ am in LUCK" he said, curbing his
prancing horse. Look here, my good girl,
you are the first washer-woman have come
across since left Salt Lake City! Here are
my clothes, and here is something to pay
you for your trouble shall be back here
in week am going to the White Mine I"
Before she could answer, he had flung the
bundle through the grape leaves,-a little
gold piece had fallen at her feet and he was
gone. 10 looked at the clothes, then she
picked up the quarter-eagle, and ran back
with white, dripping arms to the sunshiny
step where old Philo was basking, in a sort
of semi-lethargy.
Father" said she, what shall do A
stranger wants me to wash his clothes. And
e,--he has paid me in advance! A quar-
ter-eagle!"
Wash EN-" said Philo, CURLY.
10 Redeemed.
am not washer-woman, said she
- IN q. ~