The Middlebury register and Addison County journal. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1883-1885, 1883-05-11

hh0 otfO oih ~ Ooeth ihCNiJ NV
Octavia had left the old farmhouse and
gone back to her duties in the big
fancy store on Twenty-third street.
Octavia herself felt as il some dis
agreeable pressure were removed from
her existence. She was a frank, noble
natured girl, who was saving up her
earnings to pay off the mortage on old
Grandfather Glenn's farm.
She delighted in work, not only for
its own sake, but for the beneficial re-
suits it could produce and she had
sufficient of courage and ~self-denial to
live plainly until her object was at
tanned.
She occupied a freless hall bedroom
in a shabby little downtown boarding
house, p~atronized mostly by the guild
of working people, whose only recon-
mendation was its scrupulous neat
ness.
She wore cot.5l gloves, dyed-over
gowns and the plainest of plain bon
nets. and through it all she respected
herself.
Stay, though-we have not told it
all There was one extravaganza in
which Octavia Glenn occasionally in
dulged herself-that of charity. She
had a class of inn~ocent-faced children
in the mission school, of an evening,
and she was a diligent worker in the
ranks of a quiet benevolent society,
which wrought a great deal of good
without any blowing of trumpets.
And n day when the feeble old
...-A - al. 49,. I'll I'll .-l IL. ,x1,.,
was vacant, Octayia Glenn constituted
herself a committee of one to inquire
into the matter.
"Of course you can do as you like,
Miss Glenn" said Mr.. Idem, the pro-
priA.or of the store. But Ferrigan
lives in a most dismal neighborhood,
and I'm not sure that it is altogether
safe for you to venture there after
dark"
After dark is all the time l have"
said Octavia, b%rusquely. And it
must be a great deal worse to live
there than to go once in awhile. L
think I'll risk it,"
So she begged permission from the
clearinghouse keeper to make a little
farina jelly over the cooking-stove
when the heavy, blackberry dump
lings, which were to regale the boarders
for dessert, were taken up, bought q
few Strawberries and a small slice of
sponge-cake, and set forth to visit old
Ftrrigan, the porter.
1t was a dismal neighborhood, in
deel. where the poor cd man lived
a neighborhood where piles of ashes in
the narrow street made a sort of model
of the Rocky mOunta ms, on a small
scale, and layers of cabbage-leaves and
damaged lettuce festered in the gutter;
where rivulets Of soapsuls trickled
across the pavement: and there ap-
peartd to be more feeble groceries
than there were people. The very
gaslights sulked behind their cloudy
lanterns, and the occasional passers
prowled by like homeless cats.
Number ninety-nine," said Oc-
tavia, briskly walking into a thread
and-needle store, where IN old woman
sat fast asleep behind the counter.
"Does Mr.. Ferrigan board herep'
The old woman reused herself and
looked about.
tNCtOllil " DttCh, Oalu oiiC, anu
inst lntly fell asleep again.
Octavia smiled.
Il can find my way myself, l don't
doubt" she thought.
And she did.
The whole house seemed to he damp.
Blotches of blue mold had broken out
here and there on the ceiling, the walls
felt damp and clammy to the touch. as
if Octavia had nut her hand by mis-
take on a snail vegetable-scented
whiffs came up now and then from
the cellar, and the room in which old
Ferrigan lay gasping with rheumatic
pains felt more like Il dungeon than
anything else.
No carpet was there, no table. only
a shelf, where a dispirited kerosene
lamp had smoked its chimney into a
black cylinder; no chairs, the window
uncurtained; and the shabby bed
spread was tattered and soiled until
its pattern was beyond all recognition,
Octavia's soul recoiled from this i'm
personation of hopeless poverty.
"Can | do anything for you, Mr.,
Ferrigan? 2" she asked. after she had
tenderly administered the farina-jelly
the fruit and the sponge.cake, straight
ened up the bedclothes and trimmed
the lamp afresh.
Its very good of you, am sure
said the old man, with the plaintivt
courte. y of his nation. And Il not
deny It was a word of comfort and
kindness that | was wearying for
But it won't be needful long, In
hoping. I've sent word to my SON
he's a bookbinder, miss, and doing wei
at his trade, but it II is natural like, don't
YOU see? as he wouldn't like to be
dragged down by such a useless ole
clog as me !"
"But he is your son, isn't he ?" CRIED
Z Octavia land you're his father?'
Faith, and that's true, miss, dear
said old Ferrigan, with a sigh. "Bu
+ he's a fine, ambitious young m IL;
| rale gintleman to look at, and of
Sunday you couldn't tell him from TIN
gentry themselves. An he ma,
| marry a grand lady yet-who knows
! Il.sk lilo ma m 10 cnNilip