The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1885-12-02


and wooden stools which had absolutely
refused to be made capable OF further
service. 'Aunt Mittable"-which name
was a pervision of the good old New Eng
land prenomen Mehitable-had been all
tie mother she had known, and it seemed
lonesome enough to be sitting there in
the empty house with Aunt Mittable
tucked away in a corner Of the frozen
church.yard. Her husband was dead,
and her three little children were strug
Cling up in the world as best they could.
She had had position as janitress in a
public school, but she had lost it when
she came to Mullen Farm to nurse Aunt
Alittable in her last illness; and now she
scarcely 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
which piled between Boston and the
Azores islands There was mortgage
on the place which had swallowed up
all aspirations in the direction of selling
it, and Mrs. Grigson family hoped that
the auction sale might help to pay the
expenses of her old aunt's burial. Other
wise she did not, to use her own express
sion, ''see her way clear"
Mrs. Grlgson was not 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 carpetess
floor, while the barrel slaves smouldered
into carmine tinted ashes, she could but
remember the days when she had hoped
for such different life.
II was a gal then," thought Mrs.
Grigson. cit didn't seem as if there
was anything impossible. Well. we'll, l
s'pose most folks are disappointed Jest as
bad as l be, ef they live long enough"
And then the poor widow went to bed
to keep warm; and all nightk long the
yellow moonlight flooded the solitary
room where Aunt Mittable had died,
aud 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.
crests. The auctioneer arrived in one
horse buggy from the village; the neigh
bors assembled from all points of the
compass. For in Feltyille Four Corners
people entertained the same sentiment
toward an auction sale Is New Workers
feel toward a private view of the Acad-
envy of Design, or o 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 Ply
mouth Rock" from the fossilized APP
pearance of its feathers; Squire Daggett
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 be an ennis
sary from an old curiosity shop in the
city was prowling about with memoran-
dum-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
mot speaking a word the whole time"
In her special corner Abigail Barton was
whispering to a knot of eager women
with much excited gesticulation, and
close by the high wooden mantel sat poor
Mrs. Grigson in her best gown, trembling
little, she scarcely knew why.
"Aunt Mittable was always partial to
auction vendoos," said she to herself.
ut does seem as ef 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.
'Illl set a rose o. Sharon there as soon
as the spring fairly opens mused she.
"Aunt Mittable always liked flowers"
And the crowd around Abigail Barton
increased, and sort of intangible thrill
went through the rooms like an electric
current.
'Is anything wrong2" Mrs. Grgson
asked. nervously. "Hev they heard any
newsp
''I seen it myself" she could hear Abb
gail saving; "'ve got it TO hum in my
pocketbook. I've always heard that she
was queer, and / 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: SNOW, then, ladies and gentle
men, if you please, aud 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 incorporating sofa of the same
slippery material, realized twenty dollars,
and the wooden clock was bid up to six
dollars and half by Squire Daggett him
self.
"He can't know that the machinery's
clear worn out, and it hain't struck in
six months" said Mrs Grigson. 81
don't know but it's my duty to tell him. y
"Hold your tongue, Naomi" whis-
pered brother Lyman, who, with his
hanac in hfo poclnfc Krroo Not4anaI m