Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1884-01-02
In the Lighthouse.
A NEW YEARS STORY.
Burlington. Dec. II, 1888.

1t was the last day in the old year, and
though the maple trees we're bare and the
flowers all dead. The oaks were covered
thickly with leaves. True, when the wind
blew. it rustled through brown, dry foliage
very different to The living tints of months
back; but when you looked at the soft
muddy roads, or the clear blue sky, you
scarcely realized that it was Just past
Christmas.
John Hudson, keeper of the lighthouse
at Fishing Point,was brushing his weather
beaten coat (once black; now almost
sage green') and giving parting direc
tions to John Hudson, Junior-called
"Jack" by his familiars. Now mind
aud don't set the house on fire while am
gone. must fix that chimney when l
get back, or we'll be burnt out yet; and
don't take to fooling with the oii-there
isn't very much of it left now There is
that cord of wood in the yard; guess
you had better fill the wood boxes, and
be round before long,and we want to have
everything taut and trim when be comes.
Get your dinner when you get ready; |
may be back in time, and | may not, with
all these errands to do in the village; but
anyway, shall be home this afternoon.
Good bye, sonny" and he tramped briskly
away through the trees.
"Stub! Stub! here, sir. You must stay
home with me. Father don't want you.
There's rat, sure's live! Sick it, Stub!
S-s-s-sick it,"
Now" said Jack, after an exciting
chase, in which boy and dog had howled
and barked most powerful duet, "now,
Stub, We'll wash the breakfast dishes
won't wep"
Stub looked a knowing assent, and sat
gravely on chair (which he first knocked
The cat OFF, while Jack washed and dried
he few dishes as deft as by girl. He
had lived here as long as he could remem
ber. His earliest recollection was looking
at the bright reflector upstairs, and seeing
in it sweet, loving face, with tender blue
eyes near his own. His next memory OF
the face was in the coffin, pale and still,
while his father held his hand, and the
minister from the village talked in low
sad tone. But this was years ago, when
Jack was Gas he would inform you) "only
II little fellow" Now, from his Gignfied
age of ten years, he felt himself almost
arrived at mans estate. His father was
formerly sailor, but in consequence OF
losing some of his fingers in the icy
regions of the north, he had 10 accept the
position of lighthouse keeper-loving the
sea too we'll 10 think for moment of any
work further inland. Such stories as he
used to tell Jack in the winter days, when
they would be cut off by snow drifts from
the rest of the world. Such thrilling
adventures delighted the boys ears in the
long solitary evenings. Stories of the
time on Labrador, when tremendous
whale capsized boat crew, and two men
got drowned; of the mutiny that once
broke out on the Fair Betsy, and the
sneaking Italian who got put in irons for
starting it.
Jack would go to bed with creepy
kind of feeling after these stories. but the
morning light always drove away the
shadows, and he would vow to himself
never to let such ridiculous stories frighten
him again. "Stub, let's play Robinson
Crusoe in the yard, now the dishes are all
washed; Jane, Ito the cat,) you can come
too, if you want" said Jack, opening the
door. Stub accepted the invitation fol
himself and Jane by making dart at hel
as she lay blinking near the stove, and
rushing her out doors with scant cere.
mony.
This shed here shall be the cave, and
I'll wear fathers fur cap and be Robinson
Crusoe. You can be Friday, Stub. You
are black and don't know much; and
Jane shall sit up here on the woodpile and
be the parrot. Now Friday, you just stay
there while 60 and get some sticks fol