The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1883-11-22
THE TWO NELSON HOUSES.

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"I think there's no prettier trade than
mine. Pve been at work in my business
for forty years, and now every where that
/ drive about among our hills, within a
radius of a dozen miles, I pass houses, and
barns and churches that l have built.
n love to see them. It seems to me
as if a carpenter has more to show for his
work than many men have; and if it is
well done, and stands the weather, and
gives good satisfaction, it is a great pleas
see it in his houses, and to think they are
going to stand and be a credit to him long
after he has passed away.
Naturally, | notice a good many things
about houses, for when rve built one 1 keep
up an interest in it afterwards.
"One very singular thing 1 have noticed
is how a house will get a good name or a
bad name, just like a man or a woman.
Something will happen in his house, or
about it, and years and years will pass and
still the story will stick to it; and never
mind how it changes tenants, people will
point at it as they go by and tell its story.
"Why, there's a good two-story house at
North Easton that is empty most of the
time just for that reason. Tenants saw it
gets to be beyond enduranceto have people
stop as they pass and point to this window
and that, and talk and stare. The people
in the house know just what they are tell
ing. And knowing the story myself, 1
can't wonder; for it was an awful thing
that happened there. The house will never
outlive it.
'sThen there's the old Sampson place, on
the river road; it has stood empty these ten
years. Nobody would live there for love or
money.
"The story is that a man went by there
late one night and saw old SIMPSONS wife
at one of the front windows. 1t was pitch
dark, and yet he declared that he saw her
face, and it seemed to stand out white. like
snow, against the darkness. And the next
week the news came that she had died sud-
denly where she was with the old man,
away dow in Florida. And there's always
been talk, but 1 mustn't wander all over
the lot.
"What I set out to tell you was the story
about the two Nelson houses. The road
that leads across from Standish town to
the Flume village is one of the prettiest
roads we ave in these parts. It runs SO
white and smooth, with the grass between
it and the fences nibbled short by the cows.
and part of the way the pastures spread
out on each side with clumps of bushes and
way there are heavy chestnut woods. /
tell the neighbors that they might travel q
good way off, and find no prettier road.
I'm the whole mile-and-a-half there are
only two houses; they stand close together.
One is a large, new house. The other is a
low, old-tashioned cottage, with a long two
story l. higher than the main body of the
house.
"rhe houses are in pretty strong con-
trast, and everybody who drives by asks
about them.
sTen years ago this summer, the old
house, and the old farln-barn behind it,
stood there alone. l always used to think
then that it was a pleasant-looking spot.
Take it on a bright, fresh morning, or on a
quiet fall afternoon, and that cleared farm.
stead In the woods always looks cheerful.
1 The land rises q little there, so that YOU get
= a view across the country. You can look
clear over Standish town.
"The house was built in ITO. There is a
notch cut in the post of the front door
where they stood up the men that enlisted
in the Revolutionary War to measure
them. And old Jonathan Nelson's gun,
that he carried to Bunker Hill, Ive seen ii
many and many's the time, when Pve been
enough of that.
"At this time l was telling you of, the
farm was owned by two brothers-rather
youngish men-John Nelson and George,
Their father, old Captain Elias Nelson,
had died without leaving a will, and the
place fell to these boys, in equal shares.
"George was younger than John. He had
been to college n was a lawyer up in the
city, and he had only came down here for
the summer months, with his wife and his
two or three boys. John lived here the
year round and carried on the farm. There
were some ninety acres of land in all,
thirty or so in moving and tillage, the rest
in pasture and woodland.
"The soil isn't anything extra there, and
1 think John had a hard time of it. He
wanted to do his best for his children, Civ.
ing them schooling all he could; and
guess he didn't make much headway.
81 used to drive through Standish oyer
that road a good deal, for there has ALWAYS
been more or less building at the Flume
village, and L liked to stop and chat with
John at the front gate, if I saw him about
the place when | passed,
He was n peculiar man in some things,
he looked as grave as a deacon, and was
/, always silent with strangers; but with
anybody he was familiar with he was very
apt to get OF some dry saying. He had a
great stock of stories about things on the
farm; and he would tell them with q per.
fectly sober face, and really seemed sur.
prlsed when you laughed at what he said.
And to tell the truth, the stories themselves
didn't amount to much, but they seemed
droll from the way he told them.
81 remember one time his telling me, in
the most serious way, about a hired man of
his that was up in the woods with the
boys, digging out a woodchuck; and after
they had dug awhile the man laid down his
spade and kneeled down and put his ear to
chuck. So in a minute the boy asked him
if he heard him..
"'Well, no. says he, not quite; but ]
can almost hear him.
81 remember how John told me that, as
grave as an owl, but with such a turn to
his voice that it was impossible not TO
laugh. And then he went OF and advised
me to hire the man, he would be so valuable
to me in various ways, he had such an ear.
speaking of his being of a silent turn, l
remember the only time that he ever spoke,
/ guess, in towHsfneeting. How MANY
have often joked him about it.
nIt was q full meeting, shortly after thu