Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1885-11-06

husband was dead, and her three little
children were struggling up in the
world as best they could. She had had
a position as janitress in public school,
but she had lost it when she came to
Mullen Farm to nurse Aunt Mittable
in her last illness; and now she scarce
ly knew which way to turn. Brother
Lyman, her only living relative, was
poorer than herself-a good-hearted,
empty-pocketed man, who occupied
some position on a sailing vessel which
piled between Boston and the Azores
islands. There was mortgage on the
place which had swallowed up all as
pirations in the direction of selling it,
and Mrs. Grigson family hoped that the
auction sale might help to pay the ex-
penses of her old aunt's burial. Other
wise she did not, to use her own express
sion, "see her way clear"
Mrs. Grigson was not a sentimentalist.
A janitress in public school building,
with forefinger roughened by the coars-
est needle-work, and mind narrowed
down by the daily tread-mill of the most
groveling cares, has not much time for
that sort of indulgence; but as she sat
there, drinking an infusion of the weak
est tea, and watching the yellow March
moonlight lay the perfect pattern of the
uncurtained window on the carpetless
floor, while the barrel slaves smouldered
into ermine tinted ashes, she could but
remember the days when she had hoped
for such different life.
az was a gal then," thought Mrs.
Grigson. at didn't seem as if there
was anything impossible. Well, well,
/ s'pose most folks are disappointed jest
as bad as be, eff they live long enough"
And then the poor widow went to
bed to keep warm; and all night long
the yellow moonlight flooded the soli-
tary room where Aunt Mittable had
died, and II solitary cricket sang on the
hearth-stone where the red ashes had
long since faded into white dust.
The morrow dawned wild, bright and
windy, as March mornings often come
rushing over the bleak Connecticut hill
cres.s. The auctioneer arrived in a one
horse buggy from the village; the neigh
bors assembled from all points of the
compass. For in Feltville Four Cor
ners people entertained the same senti-
ment toward an auction sale as New
Workers. feel toward private view of
the Academy of Design, or a flower
show at the Madison Square Garden.
Miss Ketchum was there in her best
dyed shawl, and the bonnet which the
irreverent youth Of the neighborhood
had christened "Old Plymouth Rock"
from the fossilized appearance of its
feathers; squire Daggett drove down In
his family carry-all with the six Misses
Daggett. The parson and the parsons
wife were there, punching pillows and
inspecting holsters, and counting cups
and saucers. A man who was vaguely
reported to be an emissary from an old
curiosity shop in the city was prowling
around with q memorandum-book under
his arm. Everybody was there, even
down to the village fool, who had been
allowed to come with his grandmother,
under solemn promise of "not speaking
a word the whole time" In her special
corner Abigail Barton was whispering
to knot of eager women with much
excited gesticulation. and close by the
high wooden mantle sat poor Mrs. Grig-
son il her best gown, trembling little,
she scarcely knew why.
"Aunt Mittable was always partial to
auction vendoos," she said to herself.
at does seem as eff she'd ought to be
here"
And she thought of the lonely grave
under last years weedy MULLEN stalks
in the neglected corner Of the church
yard, and sighed.
"I'll set rose o. Sharon there as soon
as the spring fairly opens." unused she.
"Aunt Mittable always liked flowers"
And the crowd around Abigail Bar
ton increased, and sort Of intangible
thrill went through the rooms like an
electric current.
"Is anything wrong?" Mrs. Grigson
asked, nervously. "Hev they heard
any news?"
81 seen it myself" she could hear
Abigail saying; "I've got it to hum in
my pocketbook. I've always heard that
she was queer, and 1 shouldn't wonder
if that was the way she'd boarded up"
Mrs. Grigson rose to join the group;
but just then the auctioneer's voice
drowned all else in its high, sing-song
drone: "Now, then, ladies and gentle
men, if you please" and the sale began
in good earnest.
The breadths Of well-worn rag carpet
brought pitiful sum, but the four hair
cloth "cheers" in the best parlor, and q
certain uncompromising sofa Of the
same slippery material, realized twenty
dollars, and the wooden clock was bid
up to six dollars and half by Squire
Daggett himself.
"He can't know that the machinery's
clear worn out, and it bain't struck in
six MONTHS" said Mrs. Grigson. "I
don't kno but it's my duty to tell him" {"
"Hold your tongue, Naomi" whis-
pered brother Lyman, who, with his
hands in his pockets, was fattened up
against the wall. 81 guess all the
neighbors hereabouts know az much
about Aunt Mittable's clock as you do. T"
"Eight dollars for the old feather-bed