Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1883-08-31
DELLA GRIMJgET.

DELLA GRIHWET.
To an ordinary observer, nothing could be
more commonplace than Kempton, decrepit
little apology for village lying on the coast
of Maine. Properly speaking, however, no
seaport can be utterly commonplace, with its
suggestion Of the mystery of the sea, the
ships, the sailors who have been to far lands
the glimpscs Of unwritten tragedies on every
hand. But among sea. side villages Kempton
was surely dull enough,-as if the sea winds
had sucked its vitality, leaving it empty aud
psllid and juiceless, like the cookie shells
which bleachod upon its sandy beaches.
Yet Kempton had one popularity which
marked it as singular among all New England
towns. Its one church stood stark and dole
ful upon the hill at whose foot lay the rotting
wharvos and back from the church stretched
the church yard in which the Kempton dead
took their long repose, scarcely more monot-
onous than their colorless lives. The sexton
digging their last resting places in the ochrey
loan, might look far of toward the sea
whence they had wrestod from the grudging
waters a scanty subsistence; and the dead
wives, IL so be that their ears were yet sen
tient, might lie at night and hear below the
beat of the waves which afar had rolled over
the unmarked graves Of their sailor husbands
To and fro among the grass grown mounds
the sexton went daily, quite unmindful Of be-
ing the unique feature of Kempton by be-
longing to the weaker sex With masculine
stride and coarse hands, her unkempt locks
blown by the salt winds, the woman went
her way and did her work with a steadfast-
ness and vigor which might have put to
shame many man idling about the boats
under the hill. She was not an old woman,
not even middle aged except with the pre-
mature age Of toll and sorrow but the
weather beaten face, the stopping shoulders
and the faded hair made her seem old. To
look at her, it was difficult to realize Whist
her youth could have been like, or to call up
any image of sweet or gracious maidenhood
in which she could have shared.
1t was a gray November day. The white
caps made douby black the dark waves of
the bay, and the bitter wind blew freshly
through the wthered grass and stubble, chas-
ing the faded leaves over kempton Hill until
they rushed about the old meeting house
like a flight of terrified witches stranger
was driving slowly up the road from the next
town in an open carriage, and as he came to
the top Of the hill he drew rein before the
church and looked about him.
His gaze was not that of one who behold
the scene for the first time He gazed down
at the irregular houses under the hill, cud-
ultu ike lTlRukcutu huu weak -kuttu huGep
He looked over the bay to the light house,
looming ghastly and white against the dark
sea and sky. His glance took in all the de-
tails of the picture, cold and joyless, devoid
alike of warmth or color He shivered and
sighed his brows dropping more heavily yet
over his dark, piercing eyes, and then turned
his gaze to objects nearer at hand
Close by was the stark church, with wealth
er-beaten steeple, wherein half dozen gen
erations of Kempton women, the men, for
the most part, bsiug at sea, bad worshipped
the power of the storm, praying more for
the escape from evil of the absent than for
good to themselves. Beyond the church Rp-
peared the first headstones of the graveyard,
the ground slopng away so rapidly that little
more than the first row Of slate slabs was
visible from the street With another shiver
Mr.. Farnsworth (for by that name the gen
tleman played his part upon this world sstsge)
got down from his carriage, fastened his
horse, and walked toward the stones, whose
rudely -chiselled cherubs leered at him through
their noses with diabolic and sinister mirth-
fulness.
As Mr.. Farnsworth opened the sagging and
unpanted gate of the enclosure, ne became
aware that the place was not empty. The
head aud shoulders of a human being were
visible halfway down the hill partially OBJ
scured by the dull reddish heap of earth
thrown up from a partially-dug grave.
The visitor made his way down the irregu-
lar path so steep as to be almost like a rude
flight of stairs, and, as he neared the worker,
he suddenly perceived, with something of a
shock, that the grave.digger was a woman.
She worked as If familiar with her task -
mans battered hat pushed back from her
forehead, over which her faded hair strag-
gled in confusion, and across which certain
grimy streaks bore witness that she had not
escaped the primal curse but labored in the
sweat of her brow.
Kempton's popularity in the matter of its
sexton had not come to the stranger before
although he once had known the village life
somewhat intimately. He regarded the wom-
an with a double curiosity, to see what she
was like and whether perchance he had ever
known her. He paused as he neared her,
resting one nicely. gloved hand upon tilted
stone which perpetuated the memory and re-
corded the virtues of a captain who reposed
in some chill cove under the Northern seas
Some slight sound caught the ear of the sex
ton, who until then had not perceived his ap-
proach she looked up at him stolidly, and
as stolidly looked down again, continuing her
work without interruption. II there remain
ed any consciousness of the strangeness of
her occupation, or if there stirred any wom-
anly shame to be 30 observed, they were be-
| tTayed by no outward sign. She threw up
the dull yellow earth at the feet Of the new
conner as unmoved as if she had still only the
dwelers in the graves as companions of her
labor.
Don't you find this rather hard work, my
good woman p the gentleman inquired at
length, more by way Of breaking the silence
than from any especial interest
Yes" the sexton returned impassiyely.
Its hard enough"
1T is rather unusual work for woman,
too" he said.
To this very obvious remark she returned
no answer, a stone to which she had come in
| digging seeming to absorb all her attention
She unearthed the obstacle with some diff
Guilty, seized it with her rough hands, anC
threw it up at the feet of the stranger, who
watched her with that idle interest which Ia
Dor begets in the unooncerned observer.
''Do you always do this work ?" Farms
worth asked at length.
Eyes, was the laconio return.
"But the old sexton, Joe Grimwet, lis h,
gone ?"
The woman looked up with some interes
at this indication that the other had some pre-
vlous acquaintance with Kempton and it
people. She did not, however, stop her labor
as a men would probably have done.
eyes" she said. Hes buried over yon
der,-there, beyond the burdocks."
The gentleman changed his position uneas
lily. Some subtitle disquietude had arisen t
disturb his serenity. The wind rustic,
mournfully among the dry leaves, the pei
bles ratified against the spade of the grave
digger, increasing the sombreness of a seen
which might easily affect one at all susoept
BILE to outward influences. In such an atmol
phere a sensitive nature not unfrequently %