Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1885-05-15
Calls aud Skstfhfs.
MEADOW FARM.
By HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

l1gnI, quick stcp.
The sky was all a jonquil glow; the
frogs were cracking in the swamp; Inc
naples were crimsoned with their earliest
banners of blossoms: and. as she tripped
along, Mary found inf of violets. hall
hidden under a drift of dry leaves-pale
purple. sceniless blossoms.
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 gown.
Home was scarcely the ideal realiza'
ton of that poetic word to our factory
girl. She and her mother lived 10 the up
Der half of q shabby, implanted wooden
house, with the blacksmiih's scclding wife
and seven riotous children down stairs,
and one-half of q trampled-down back
yard by way of garden, where nothing
ever grew but burdocks, nettles. and Mrs
Mugs long-legged fowls. But Mrs
Miller, who had been a school-feachel
once, and still retained somewhat of the
refinement of her early education. had the
tea ready, with shady lamp and bunch
Of maple blossoms on the table. ready for
Mary to come home.
GOOD news, mother !" the girl cried,
lightly. The Meadow Farm is to let
Mother, we must take it y
Mrs. Miller looked obviously at the
bright. eager face with its blue gray eyes
and fringes of yellow hair.
Can We afford it. daughterf" she said,
slowly. "a whole house and farm OF
forty-three acresP"
at isn't such very large house, moth.
err, pie adj Mary. as she laid the bunch OF
violeis in her mothers lal-'not so many
more rooms Than we have here. And we
could keep TWO cows, and could sell milk
and butter and spring chickens and eggs,
ard am almost suie that VIII Davldge
would work the fam on shares. And on
" think. mother, how delightful it would
be TO have a home all to ourselves. where
we couldn't here Mrs. Mugs boxing Bob
by's ears. nor Helen sbrieking with the
toothache! And little garden, m, Their.
where we could have peones and holly
hooks. and all those lovely old-fashioned
flowers that your soul delights in ~
Mrs. Miller's pale face softened.
81, would be great temptation. Mol
ly," she said.
at is month now since old Mrs. Dab
nev died." said Mary. "And they say
thar her daughter in the city and her son
ont in California despise the old farm with
its one-story house and its old red barn.
So it is TO let. And so cheap, too! Only
a hundred and fifty dollars year! Moth
err. we must take it IN leave the facto-
~ and turn dairy-maid. I've saved enough
you know, to buy the two cows and some
real Ply mouth Rock fowls to begin with.
Say yes. mother-do say yesr'
When Mary Miller pleaded like this,
the gentle widow never knew how to re-
fuse and the upshot of it was that they
leased the old Dabney house, and became
co sovereigns of the realm of Meadow
Farm.
1t was their first night there Over
head. the young May moon shone through
a veil of purple mist. A solitary owl boot
ed in the chestnut wood back of the house,
for Meadow Farm was situated on lone
|y mountain-side where no one ever came
except on special 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 Aldernays-
were chewing their cud back of the old red
barn. and Mary Miller had flung hand
full of cedar sticks on the hearth, where their
scented blaze illuminated the old kitchen
with a leaping brightness beautiful to see
because it's just possible that the
house may be damp" she said. latter be-
ing unnhabited So long. There. mother,
isn't that cheerful And isn't it nice that
our old rag carpet should fit this floor so
exactlyP" with satisfied downward
glance. "And do You see those tiger
lilies found them down by the garden
wall-oh, such red wilderness OF them
Old Mrs. Dabney set them out herself,
they say. 1t seems only yesterday" she
added thoughtfully, THAT came past
here and saw old Mrs. Dabney sitting in
the big chair by the fire. just where"
Mrs. Miller uttered a little shrek and
grasped her daughters arm at this mo-
ment. Mary stopped short. with pallor
overspreading her cheeks. For as she
spoke, the door opposite had opened. and
very little old woman. silver haired and
shrivelled like mummy, came in, and
walking across the floor seated herself in
Mrs Dabney's very corner. An old wo-
man, dressed in the snuff-colored gown
which Mrs. Dabney had always worn, AID
wearing snuff-silk cap. while bag de.
pended from her arm.
ats cold, ladies'" she said, looking
around with a depreciating air. Gold
Tor the season of the year. And they
don't keep fires at Tewkstownr'
Mother" said Mary. recovering her.
self with an hysterical gasp of relief. ii,
isn't Mrs. Dabney's ghost. It's old Miss
Abby, come back from the Tewkstowr
poor house."
You don't mean''-began the milo
widow.
THAT Mrs. Daniel Dabney and Mrs
Everad Emerson let their old aunt 90 te
the poor house ?" said Mary Miller. Eyes
il is quite true. Mrs. Daniel leads society
in San Francisco. am told, and Mrs. Ell.
berson is a grand lady in Bridgeport, with
a reception day and servants in livery
What could they do with half-crazy old
aunt. who takes snuff and talks uncertain
grammerp Poor Miss Abby! She has
wandered back to her old home She wa.
eighty her last birthday, and things are al
misty and vague to her."
But what shall we doP" said Mrs
Miller. in accents of perplexity. "A crazy
woman here-it doesn't seem just right
Molly. does it?
''l'll take her back. after she has rested
a little. and had a cup of tea." said Mary
cheerily.
But perhaps she won't CO."
''Oh, yes. she will. "'said Mary. Poor
Miss Abbey, She is as gentle as child. >
Her words proved TO be correct. Miss