The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-05-23

earth. He simply went along through life look
ing at the snow OF the flowers which happened
to be in sight, and thinking nothing about the
! fire or the gold underneath them.
| That night they used their heap of hay for q
bed; they slept soundly on it, too. The next
| morning they ate more sweet apples and crack
ers; then David started for Bassets, little town
| three miles distant in search of work. A man
| in Waterbury had told him that there was tub
factory in Bassets, and he thought of it now as
| forlorn hope.
| Minty did not go with him. He came back
about noon, bringing some eggs and pound or
so of salt pork, bought with his scanty remain
ing store of money, but his full, young face
looked leaden.
/ No work in Bassets.
| Minty tried to cheer him. She kinded fire
in the wide old fireplace in the kitchen; she
| secured an old frying pan, which she had found
In the attic, and fried pork and eggs for dinner.
But David could not eat much. His simple
| heart had taken to despairing more entirely from
its very simplicity. He had very little imagina-
ton. and consequently little hope. TO which ne
could resort He sat with his head in his hands
the rest of the day Minty scolded and vexed,
| but she could not rouse him.
| Encouragement Lad developed an obstinacy
in him, of which he had never before seemed
capable.
| The next morning he was sick-chilly and few
erish-and could not get up. His pitiful help
less look at Minty was hard to he seen.
oh, Minty, I'm sick; can't get up. What
will you do9'
| IN do well enough; jest you lay still and
| no. worry. You'll be better by noon"
! But he was not. Minty brewed for him tea
OF green peppermint leaves which she found near
| the house; covered him up warm to induce per-
spiration, and did everything that she could, yet
| without much effect.
AS the day passed he grew no better. He did
not seem violently or alarmingly i'll, but the
| fever did not leave him, and he steadily lost
| strength and flesh. Their pitiable restitution
| pressed them harder and harder. They would
/ how ha0Y To hot hne
and starvation if Minty had not found way
out of the difficulty. She took it, right or
wrong She felt at the time very few scruples
about the matter; she did later but she would
! have done the same thing again, probably I'M
| der the same circumstances.
Two or three broad meadows away from the
old house there were several cows pastured
| They belonged to some farmer. Minty went
| there every night before the cows went home
and MIXED them one and another. She used
| an old earthen jar of graceful shape, which
she had found, for milking pail. She strobe
| home with it like guilty thing across the fields
She brushed through the sweet fern knee Deep
with the tall jar alf-poised on her right hip,
carrying her strong, beautiful figure like an
Eastern woman.
| Mipty kept thinking every day that the next
| Gay she must call on some one for assistance,
! have doctor But when the next day came
! David would think that he felt little better,
| perhaps, and should put it off. She had fierce
dislike of asking for charity. She thought it
| would be equivalent to knocking at the aims
house door, as it probably would have been.
| She kept all signs of habitation of the old
| home resolutely from the few passers by.
! She never looked out of window without due
| caution. Her greatest terror was that she
should be caught stealing the milk. She used so
| much art IN milking from one COW and another
| that she hardly thought the dmnution in guam
| tity would betray her, for while, anyway. But
she started at every sound on her way to and
| She did not tell David how she got the milk.
| She laughed when he asked her, and said it was
| all right it was a secret; when he got well he
! should know. He was easily enough put off; he
| did not trouble himself much over that or any
thing else before long. He grew weaker aud
weaker. Finally, one day he lay most of the
| time muttering in half delirium. He would not
move much unless Minty left him for moment.
| Then he would call after her ''Minty Mirty
| Minty, every second, until she came back.
| Returning from her milking expedition, she
| could hear him before she reached the house.
His greatest fear seemed to be that she would
| leave him.
"You won't 90 off and leave me, will you,
Minty?" he would say.
Leave you, o, Davy, guess WON'T"
| He asked her that question overa and over. Her
assurances only satisfied him for the moment
The delirious fear kept springiEg up again in his
| weak brain.
The next evening Minty watched the pale
! light coming in at the windows with a new reso-
| luton. ''s5omethin has got to be done to-day"
she whispered to herself. "Somethin' shell be
| done"
She tried to talk with David, after the sun was
| up, and he seemed to rouse. She sat down on
| the floor beside him, and took his hand in her
| lap, bending down her head and leaning her cheek
| against it.
'Davy, dear, I've got somethn to tell you an
want you to listen ist minute
20, Minty,, don't you leave me! Don't you go
| an leave me'
| NO. Iwon't-Iain't goin' to, Davy. Leastways
not fur more n two or three minutes See here,
Davy darlin', I've got to go an git doctor to
| come an see you. I've got to go iist up here to
| Bassets, you know, an l needn't hev to be
gone"
20. Minty Don't leave me; don't, don't,
| don't'
"Oh, list fur two er three minutes: won't Won
| let me, dears want to get the doctor, so he
can give you some medicine to get you well.
Don't you know, DavyW
20, Minty, don't leave me! Q, Minty, darlin'.
| don't leave me, don't, don't, DON'T"
| She reasoned with him, and coaxed him for
| long time, but ii was of no All she could
get in return was that one despairing cry, Don't
| leave mel"
! Finally she gave it up and sat looking straight
| ahead her beautiful face held rigid with
thought. There's somethin' got to be done'
| she muttered.
| After little she rose. He clutched at her
dress and set up his pitiful cry again.
There, there, dear, / amt gon'. / amt goin'
to Bassets. I'm jest goin' to step out of the room
second. III leave the door Open"
| She ran out of the house to the barn, his cry
| following her. There stood the old sulky which
she and David had laughed at on the night of
| their arrival. She took hold of the shafts and
| pulled it out through the wide doors into the
! green yard. 1t was light and she did it easily
| enough. She was very strong.
II can DO it," she said, with nod of her head.
| She dragged the sulky along into the road and
stopped close to the front door.
Then she ran in, laughing "Come Davy,
| darlin'. you're going to ride The carriage is
ready"
so Minty, don't leave mel"
| "Course, / amt goin' to leave you I'm goin'
with you Don't you worry bit, darlin. Jest
| let me git your clothes on, an you'll hev beau
| tiful ride"
| She got the poor fellow into his clothes, talk
| ing merrily to him all the time. Then she