River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1884-08-14
MEADOW FARM.


MEADOW FARM.
Mary Miller came home from the
factory upon that April evening, with
light, quick step.
The sky was all ionquil glow; the
frogs were croaking in the stumps; the
naples were orimsoned with their
earliest banners of blossoms; and, as
she tripped along. Mary found tuft
of violets, half hidden under drift of
dead leaves pale, purple, scentless
blooms!
"The first violets always bring good
luck with Them" she whispered to her
self as she pinned them into the bosom
of her blue flannel dress.
Home" was scarcely the ideal realiza-
ton of that poetic word to our factory
girl. She and her mother lived In the
upper half of shabby, implanted
wooden house, with the blacksmith's
scol ding wife and seven riotous chill
dren down stairs, and one-half of tram
pied back yard by way of a garden,
where nothing ever grew but burdocks,
nettles and Mrs. Mugg's long-legged
fowls.
But Mrs. Miller, who had been
school teacher once, and still retained
some of the refinement of her early
education, had the tea ready, with a
shaded lamp and bunch of maple
blossoms ON the table ready for Mary
to come home.
"Good news, moiher" the girl cried
lightly. "The meadow farm is to be let !
Mother, we must take it,"
Mrs. Miller looked obviously ct the
eager, bright face, with its blue-gray
eyes and fringes of yellow hair.
"Can we afford it daughter ?" she
said slowly. "a whole house and farm
of forty-three acres?"
ut isn't such very large house,
mother" pleaded Mary as she laid the
bunch of violets in her mothers lap,
nor so many more rooms than we have
here. And we could keep two COWS,
and I could sell milk and butter, and
spring chickens and eggs; and / am al
most sure that Will Davidge would work
the farm on shares. And only think,
mother, how delightful it would be to
have a home all to ourselves, where we
couldn't hear Mrs. Mugs boxing Bob
by's ears, or Helen shrieking with the
toothache! And little garden, mother,
where we could have peonies and holly
hooks, and all those lovely, old fashioned
flowers that your soul delights in. !"
Mrs Mi1Ier'S face sOftaned
cit would be great temptation, Mol
ly," she said.
"Its month since old Mrs. Dabney
died." said Mary. "And they say that
her daughter in the city and her son in
California despise the old farm, with its
one-story house and it's old red barn.
SO it is to be let. And SO cheap, tool
Only hundred and fifth dollars year.
Mother, we must take it I'll leave the
factory and turn dairy maid. I've saved
enough, you know, to buy the two COWS
and some real Plymouth Rock fowls to
begin with, and oh, it will be such hap
piness Say yes, mother-do say yes !"
When Mary Miller pleaded like this
the gentle widow never knew how to
refuse; and the upshot of it was that
they leased the Dabney house, and be-
came co-sovereigns of the realms of
Meadow farm.
1t was their first night there. Over
head the young May moon shone
through veil of purple mist. A soil
tary owl hooted in the chestnut wood
back of the house, for Meadow farm was
situated on lonely mountain side,
where no one ever came except on spe
cial business.
The Plymouth Rock chickens were
safely shut up where foxes could not
reach them nor minks steal in to bleed
their young lives away; the cows-two
fine young Alderneys-were chewing
their cuds back of the old red barn, and
Mary Miller had flung handful of ce
dar sticks on the hearth, where their
scented blaze illuminated the old
kitchen with leaping brightness beau
tiful to see.
Because it's just possible that the
house may be damp" she said, latter
being uninhabited SO long. There,
mother, isn't that cheerful? And isn't
it nice our old rag carpet should fit this
floor SO exactly?" with satisfied down
ward glance. "And do you see those
tiger lilies? / found them down by the
garden wall oh, such a red wilderness
of theml Old Mrs. Dabney set them
out herself, they say. 1t seems only yes
terday," she added thoughtfully, "that
came past here and saw old Mrs. Dab
ney sitting in the big chair by the fire,
just where"
Mrs. Miller uttered little shrek and
grasped her daughters arm at this mo-
ment, Mary stopped short, with an
ashy pallor overspreading her cheek.
For as she spoke the door opposite
had opened, and very little old wom-
an, silver haired and shriveled like a
mummy, came in, and walking across
the floor, seated herself in Mrs. Dab
ney's very corner. An old woman
dressed in the snuff colored gown that
Mrs Dabney had always worn and wear
ing a snuff silk cap, while bag depend
ed from i-er arm.
"It cold, ladies'" she said, looking
around with deprecating air. "Cold
for the season of the year. And they
don't keep fires at Tewkstown."
Mother" said Mary, recovering her
self with hysterical gasp of relief. at
isn't old Mrs. Dabney's ghost at all.
It's old Miss Abby come back from the
Tewkstown poorhouse.
"You don't mean-"began the mild
widow.
"That Mrs. Daniel Dabney and Mrs.
Everard Elberson let their old aunt go
to the poorhouse said Mary Miller.
Eyes, it is quite true. Mrs. Daniel
leads society in San Francisco, am
told, and Mrs Elberson is grand lady
in Bridgeport, with reception day and
servants in livery What could they
do with half crazy aunt who takes snuff
and talks uncertain grammar? Poor
Miss Abbyl She has wandered back to
her old home. She was eighty her last
birthday, and things are all misty and
vague to her."
"What shall we doF" said Mrs. Mil
Ter in accents of perplexity. "a crazy
woman here-it don't seem just right,
Molly, does it?
"Ill take her back after she has rest
ed little and had a cup of tea," said
Mary cheerfully.
"But prehaps she won't 60"
ooh yes, she will, said Mary. "Poor
Miss Abby! She is as gentle as a