The Somerset reporter., 1885-05-13
Selected.
MISS BASHB Y.
BY MAUD MOORE.

1.-THE old Beehive is a-goin' to be torn
down." said Keturah, as she placed plate
of buckwheat cakes ON the breakfast table.
"The Beehive torn down." said mother.
"Why, Keturah, who told your
"Joues's boy, when he KEN TO borrer the
wheel-barrer. He says, says he. sThey're
agoin' to tear down the old Bee-hive;" and
time enough too, says l; it b Amt been fit
for human creeters to live In this long
time"
Edward" said mother, ''haye you
heard anything OF this2"
Father slowly emerged from the depth Of
his morning paper. "What! Oh, the old
Weatherbee place Yes, l believe the town
has decided thai 1t is unsafe to live in, and
SO better be torn down."
"Poor Miss Bashby!" raid mother.
"What will become of herr"
"Poor-house, most likely" ans wered IA
ther dreamily, again absorbed in the stock
list.
The old Weatherbee house, or the Bee
hive, as it was called, stood on bill just
at the outskirts of the village. A winding
lane led up to it from the main street, u
lane that In GUNNER was tangle OF black
berry anu sweet-brier bushes, with here
and there gnarled oak-tree leaning against
the old stone wall. People said it was
once pretty avenue that led up In gradual
windings to the fine house on the hill.
But the once lne house was now dap.
idated old BUILDING, and only a Cart track
wound up the hill among the tangle of neg
lected trees and shrubs. 1t was two
stored, squarely built house, with huge
chimneys, and small diamond-paned win.
dows. A flight of stone steps lie. up to
the front door, and long l. connected the
main house with huge barns and outhouses.
But the windows were broken, a part of
the main roof had failed in, and only two
low rooms in the L had been habiiabe for
many years. There, Miss Bashsheba and
her invalid sister, Miss Patience, had lived,
dependent for their daily bread on the pit
lance the two earned by plain sewing and
the kindly charity of the neighbors.
Miss Patience, who Miss Bashby ofrR
scorniully declared, "hadn't a bit IF
Weatherbee pride in her." received Crate
fully the assistance of friends, but M ~
Bashby could not forget that she wa
Weatherbee, and accepted what was given
her more as her right than as gift.
Often mother sent US children up the
long lane to the old house, with some little
delicacy to tempt the appetite of the inva-
lid. / dreaded, yet was half glad to 60
The old house, and the two tall women
with their queer, old-time ways, had
strange fascination for me.
AS | stood Oh che worn steps, knocking
at Jne 0OOT, anu ntdiu Iue $40" Ireau Oh
old Miss Bashby echoing down the long
passage. felt like placing my basket on
the door sill, and running away.
"What do you want, child3'
"Please Miss-Miss NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS.
sent you this"
"Oh |" said Miss Bashby, calmly, as she
lifted the snowy napkin, ''jells 1t looAs
nice; hope 1t will taste as good as It
looks. Tell your mother that the st she
sent was little too strong of lemoni |
hope this is better"
Then. the soft voice of Miss Patience
foated out through the doorway. AIS that
you, Sadie Allen? Tell your mother, dear,
that we are very thankful for her kindness.
Then Miss Bashby shut the door with an
emphatic bang, and | knew, as well as If |
had it, that Miss Patience was receiving
lecture, repeated for the five-hundredth
time, ON her want Of pride. AT last one
day, poor Miss Patience, weary of lille,
slipped out Of it quietly, and was laid to
sleep with the rest of her grand family in
The great Weatherbee tomb.
have no doubt Miss Bashby sorrowed
long and bitterly for her sister, but the
tears she shed, if any, were all in secret;
no one ever saw her weep. An extra bow
of black on the old-fashioued bonnet d
sterner set to the thin lips; a few added
crows feet under the cold gray eyes-that
was all.
And now the old house was to be torn
down-not fit to live in-but what could be
done with poor Miss Bashbyr Not many
of the neghbors had any sympathy for
her, but mothers tender heart was touched.
al she has to go TO the poor house, 1t will
be the death of her." she said.
"Oh children, don't you think we ought
to ask her to spend the winter with us2 l
can't bear the thought of h., going TO the
pc house"
"Why, Mother Allen !" was the universal
exclamation, show can well
"Onl don't like her." said Ned, grutily,
"she is so horribly proud"
go mother!" l said, edo you really
think we ought? Isn't there some other
way?'
''Never mind" said mother pleasantly;
1--WE will say no more about it. Perhaps IL
wouldn't be best l will not ask her un-
less you are willing"
The next day there were signs OF CAPT u
lation among us. Strange to say, our big
boy Ned, was the first to surrender.
"See here, mother" he said, 81 don't
want to be mean. Let her come. can
stand it If the rest can"
viii said quietly, Poor old thing! l
don't care if Ned doesn't
Then |, too, said, but with a foiebodiDg
Bot there still remained one tower Of
strength to storm.
When Keturah heard of it she exclaimed
"The Lord love US! Comm hereS Not if l
know IL! Now, Miss Allen do be reasona-
BILE! I've lived with ye more'n fifteen year
-nussed most all the children-helped
fetch EN- through the whoopin' cough,
measles and ct cetery, but as for havin'
that mean old creeter"-
"Keturah!" said mother warningy-
then the kitchen door was shut, and only
the occasional sound of mothers pleading
voice and Keturah's angry shifts came TO
US from ne scene Of battle.
When mother came out of the kitchen
half an hour later, we knew by the quiet
smile on her face, and the subducd rattle
OF dishes from Keturah's domain, that the
latter wa vanquished.
So the very next day Miss Bashby came.
We gave her the south b. broom, and had
an open fire, and q cosy armchair beside 1t,
ready 10 welcome her. But II an idea that