Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1883-07-26

as she looked into the receSseS of her
empty pocket-book. "What will Abram
say?"
The clergyman, slender, dyspeptic
man of siX-and-twenty, stopped at the
garden-gate to give Sister Briggs n
friendly good-afternoon, that day, but
she did not return his polite greeting.
He repeated it little louder, and still
she took no note of his spectacled-gaze
and new silk hat
Il hope | haven't offended her in
any way" said Mr.. Sweetlands to him
self; and he tried to think back to the
sentences of his last sermon about gos-
sips and meddlerS. Il don't think |
said anything which she could by any
possibility apply to herself. Miss
Briggs-MiSs Briggs, say"
He waited minute or so for reply
which did not come; then he sighed
mildly, and walked on.
These single sisters are perhaps II
trife difficult to manage" said he.
but doubtless experience will smooth
my pathway in time"
And, naturally enough, the Rev. Mr.
Sweetlands stepped in at Sister Pack
enham's to ask her how she thought
he could possibly have offended Miss
Betsey Briggs.
And just as he was detailing in Mrs.
Packenham's puzzled ears the tale of
his perpleXiIy, stout, elderly man,
with sea faring aspect, raped at the
door with the knobby handle of his
ragged stick.
"Ahoy, there" said Captain Giles
Gilliloe. II hope amt intrudin'. but
these is all strange waters to me-
I've just hailed a neighbor n craft
Betsey Briggs by name, and she don't
lower no signals. P'raps I've sighted
the wrong coast"
Miss Briggs lives at the next house,"
Mrs. Packenham said. That's true
enough"
I'm her COUSIN" said Captain Giles
Gilliloe. "She has invited me to moor
my craft in these parts for while,
but | amt used to heave anchor along
side o them rs don't speak to me civil.
And | hope I've made my lOg-book
clear"
81 really can't account for it," said
Mrs Packenham, with a troubled eX-
preston of cOuntenance. set down,
Cap'en Gilliloe I've often heard her
speak of you, and I'm sure she wouldn't
intend any incivility. Set down and
have a chat with Mr. Sweetlands, our
minister and I'll step over to Betsey's
at once and see what all this means"
The sun had gone down in the Grim
son blaze which belongs only to July
skieS-a soft purpling twilight was
brooding over the swamp meadow, and
the orange lilies glowed mystically in
the apple orchard. as Mrs. Packenham
hurried toward the old Briggs home
stead, whose chimney stack rose out of
a wilderness of tall lilac bushes. There
sure enough, was Miss Betsey in the
vegetable garden, her sunbonnet flap
ping in the evening breeze, but just as
Mrs. Packenham laid her hand on the
latch of the picket gate, Bowse, Ear
mer Ponds big red bull, knocked his
horns against weak spot in the ada
cent pasture fence, and came thunder
ing into the inclosure with his tail in
the air, his huge head lowered almost
to the ground and low-muttered note
of defiance breathed through his threat
ening nostrils.
LA, me! cried Mrs. Packenham,
there's that brute loose again! And
not a man in sight. And Betsey
Briggs with her red caliker gown on.
She'll be killed as sure as the world.
Oh, dear, oh, dearr'
AS the reflection eddied through her
mind, the animal made an infuriated
charge toward the figure darkly out
lined against the hedge of silver-green
pea-vines, uttering savage below as
he rushed past, and Mrs. Packenham
hurried, screaming, down the hill.
"Abram! Mr.. Sweetlapds! Cap'en
Gilliloew she shouted. Helpl help!
Oh, why don't somebody come? Far
mer Ponds Bowse has knocked poor
Betsey Briggs down into the pea-vines,
and is a-gorin' her awful Help! help!
help! She'll be killed, as true as the
worldl Help! help"
Just as she burst into the door at the
end of the kitchen, the opposite one
opened, and in walked-Betsey Briggs
herself, cool, calm and composed, with
a veil folded neatly over her dove color
ed silk hat, and a traveling-bag in her
hand.
Mrs. Packenham sat down, and
began to laugh and cry Historically;
Mr. Sweetlands ODened his pale-blue