Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1885-02-05
MOLLY ST. LEGER.
A Valentine Story Of Over One
Hundred Years Ago.

1t was gray. gloomy day in late
October, during the last week of their
soJourn at the old family country house
On the Kennebec. This ancient house,
built of Hallowell granite, was of the
Elizabethian style of architecture, with
castellated walls and large square
hall down into which you looked from
the galleries on the second and third
floors, and which opened upon a deep
porch altogether delectable in its whey
seciusion, SO suggestive of tete-a-tetes,
moonlight or daylight.
Three connecting rooms fronted the
river which flowed at the foot of rap
idly sIoping lawn, and from the library
window at the south end of this triad
of rooms could be seen lovely river
picture framed between tall oaks and
eyergreens. at the extremity of an open
ing quarter of mile long, at least,
cut through the primeval forest straight
to the bank of the Kennebec.
This was the work of Downing, who,
years before, had cut and trimmed and
fashioned these slopes and dells into
fair, regular beauty. But time and a
proper degree of neglect had brought
back bewitching wildness, gypsy
like abandon of struggling vines and
lawless growths, more fascinating to
town-bred girls than the most perfect
landscape gardening could possibly be.
Three hundred and eighty acres COM
prised this estate of Fairview, and it
once had deer park of hundred
acres, but that was long ago.
1t had now been raining for three
days. steady down-pour. gladdening
to the hearts of the country folk, whose
wells, owing to the long drought, had
long since refused water. Caleb Atkins,
coming down from the village as usual,
with meat and milk, had expressed to
the cook that morning his opinion that
the rain was likely to last a consider
able SPELL to which statement cook
signified her assent with the remark
that next week was court week, and it
always rained court week.
Cook has the universally logical
feminine mind" observed BeatriN, who
had overhead this colloguy while whist
ling and waiting for Ajax at the hall
door. IF it always rains court week.
why, then, of course, it's ALWAYS court
n,
Courts and storms prevail simultane-
ously over the universe. I'll ask her.
Oh. OH YOU big. black, wicked, splendid
old fellow" This last to Ajax, who
came to her whistle with bound and
a leap. planting his big muddy paws
on her shoulders, and STAYING her
remonstrances with a sweeping lap of
his huge tongue, which fairly hid from
har
..Oh, shut that door. do, Trix, and
behave in a civilized manner" growled
MarjOry, from the depths of the Sleepy
Hollow chair by the hall fire. She was
reading The Fair Maid of Perth for
perhaps the twenty-tifth tine, and was
right in the thick of the tournament
wherein fell the sons of Torquil add
yancing to death with the cry 'One
more for Hector
Whatever of modern authorship the
library of Fairview lacked, it was rich
in the older novelists, and owned a
most sumptuous edition, creamy pages
bound in fragrant Russia. of the prince
of romantic novelists, Walter Scott.
Instantly turning at the sound of her
voice, the big dog sprung into her lap,
planting huge paw. only partially
cleanSed, on an exquisite engraving of
the said tournament and eliciting a
satisfactory shrek from her, he
plunged upon the sofa whereon Sue was
DOING and dreaming. and then dashed
up the oaken stair. close followed by
the laughing. shrieking girls, casting
back glances of intense delight at his
success in inaugurating the frolic he so
much loved, and having reached the
landing on the third floor. stood way
ing his huge tail and watching with an
actual twinkle of his eyes the breath
less run of the girls up the last flight.
They were nearer the storm area by
fifty feet up there than in the hall abe-
low, and the wind and rain seemed to
be holding high carnival, whistling in
the waterspouts. roaring down the
chimneys and pelting pitilessly against
the windows and upon the slate caps of
the numerous bay and oriel windows.
A window TO the east looked out upon
the ice schooners lying just below, be-
draggled and dripping from the tips of
their mizzen masts to the water line.
An occasional sailor was seen shrouded
in oil clothes.
They swung back the door at the end
of the long upper hall and peered up
the dusky stairway.
Fascinating, isn't it?' remarked
Mariorv. Its real cosev attic day.
Let go up.''
Nothing new up there, / suppose?"
REQ ned Tx. .'We've rummaged
everything Madame Heath's broeaded
wedd ne gown and General Heath S
oueer old uniform, and Major Brock
tons kit, in the 1912 war, and Great
grandfather Brockton's wig and gown,
and all the old bonnets and mob caps
and camlet cIoaks.
.And General Heath's delicious old
love letter and the letters he wrote
when he quarreled with his SON 10,
who had the honor of being my great
ereat-grandfather, you KNOW" said
Marjory, with a toss of her gold-brown
head.
Meanwhile they were running up the
attic stairs and through the center Of
the attic, skirting the massive CHM
news, each one of which could almost
have held in its interior a seaside cot
tage.
The attics were large and high. as
the attics of such a house should be,
but although tolerably well lighted.
were rich in those deep, dark, shadowy
corners and recesses, whose ghostly
suggestions make ones flesh creep.