The Hazlehurst signal., 1885-11-19
rose with tho striped bloom,


hev It for the slip 1t growed from was
give me by Grigson the very first year
VIZ was married"
And rs she was not invited to stay to
tea. Miss Kctchum at last went away,
leaving Mrs. Grigson sitting sorrowful.
" before the fro of discarded barrel
slaves. ruinous packing boxes, ancient
chair legs and wooden stools which had
absolutely refused TO be- made capable
of further service. "Aunt Mittablc"-
which name was pcrversion Of tho
good old New England prTnomen
Mehitablc--had been all tho mother
she had known. and il seemed lone
some enough to be sitting there in the
empty house with Aunt Mttable tucked
away In corner Of the frozen church
yard. Her husband was dead. md her
three little children were struggling up
In the world rs best they could. She
had had a position rs janitress in n pub.
lie school. but she had lost il when she
came to Mullen Farm to nurse Aun; Nit
table in her last illness; and now she
scarcely knew which way to turn.
Brother Lyman. her only living relative,
was poorer than hcrself--a good-heart-
cd. cmpty.pockeied man, who occupied
some position on sailing vessel which
plied between Boston and the Azores
Islands. There was mortgage on the
place which had swallowed up all as
piraiions in the dircction OF selling it.
and Mrs. Grigson family hoped that the
auction sale might help to pay the cy.
penscs Of her old aunt's burial. Other
wise she did not, to use her own express
sion. "scc her way clear"
Mrs. GrigSon was not q sentimental
list. A iani,rcss in public school
building, with forciingcr roughencd by
the coarscst nccdc-work. and mind mar
rowed down by the daily trcad.mill Of
the most groveling cares. has not much
time for that sort of indulgence; but rs
she sat there. drinking an infusion of
the weakest tea. ami watching the yell
low March moonlight lay the perfect
pattern of the uncurtaiued window ON
the carpe,less floor, while the barrel
slaves smouldcrcd into carmnc.tin,ed
ashes. she could but remember the days
when she had hoped for such different
life.
al was gal them" thought Mrs.
Grigson. 1T didn't seem rs il there
was anything impossible. Well. well.
| s'posc most folks are disappointed
jest as bad ~ b., Of they live long
enough"
And then the poor widow went TO bed
to keep warm; and all night long the
yellow moonlight flooded the solitary
room where Aunt Mittablc had died,
aud a solitary cricket sang on the
hearth-stonc where the red ashes had
long since faded into white dust.
The morrow dawncd wild. bright
and windy, as March mornings often
come rushing over the bleak Connccti-
cut Interests. The auctioneer arrived
in onc-horse buggy from the village;
the noighbors assembled from all the
points of the compass. For in Feltyille
Four Corners people entertained the
same sentiment toward IN auction sale
as New Workers feel toward n private
view Of the Academy Of Design, or 4
flower show at the Madison Square
Garden. Miss Ketchum was there in
her best dyed shawl, and the bonnet
which the irrcycrent youth OF the
ncighborhood had christened "Old
Plymouth Rock" from the fossilizcd
appearance of its feathers; Squire Dag
gett drove down in his family-carry-all
with the six Misses Daggett. The par
son and the parsons wife were there,
punching pillows and inspecting
holsters and counting cups and saucers.
A man who was vaguely reported to DO
an emissary from IN old curiosity shop
in the city was prowling about with n
memorandum.book under his arm.
Everybody was there, even down 10 the
village fool, who had been allowed TO
come with his grandmother, under
solemn promise of mot speaking a
word the whole time" In her special
corner Abigail Barton was whispering
to knot of eager women with much
excited gcs,iculation. and close by the
high wooden man,el sat poor Mrs.
Grigson in her best gown, trembling n
little, she scarcely knew why.
"Aunt Mittable was always partial to
auction vendoos," said she to herself.
lit does seem rs ef she'd ought 10 be
here"
And she thought of the lonely grave
under last years wccdy mullen stalks
in the neglected corner Of the church.
yard. and sighed.
I'll set rose o Sharon there rs
soon as the spring fairly opens" unused
she. "Aunt Miitable always liked
ilowers.'
And the crowd around Abigail Bar
ton increased. and II sort of intangible
thrill went through the rooms like an
electric current
as anything wrong?" Mrs. Grigson
asked, nervously. "Hev they heard any
news?"
Il seen it myself" she could hear
Abigail saying; ''l've got it to hum in
my pocket-book. I've always heard
that she was queer, and l shouldn't
wonder il that was the way she'd hoar-
ded up"
Mrs. Grigson rose to join the group;