Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1886-08-06
A CLOUDY DAWN.
A Story Suggested by the Whistle
of q Bird.

homc-moadow," said I, pausing TO
listen, as the harsh, grating, but most
summer-like of sounds came clearly
through the warm, still air this June
evening, minglng with the voices of
the children playing in the garden.
Mrs. Hartley listened, too, and look
came into her eyes as though she saw
some other scene than the sunny
garden and fair, green fields beyond,
and the lengthcning shadows cast by
the elms, their leaves glancing golden
in the setting sun. She was buxom
dame, fresh compleXioncd, with soft,
gray eyes and brown hair; an excellent
housewife. for was not the Mill Farm
renowned for its buffers and cheescs?
Where else were eggs so plentiful, or
honey so delicious? No wonder
Farmer Hartley was accounted lucky
man
was sitting in the old-fashioned par
lor, with its heavy oak beams across the
ceiling, its dark, polished furniture, and
old china bowls full of dried rose-leaves,
and wide-open latticed windows through
which iloated the scent of mgnonette
and pinks, while Mrs. Hartley brought
out the sweet home made cake and
frothing new milk in n quaint mug of
old china.
"Aye," said Mrs. Hartley; "the corn
crakeP So it is, Miss Nelly; so it is"
Something in her voice struck me.
"Does it make you sadPn l asked. ~
like to hear the bird, though it does
make such strange noise; it always
reminds me of summer evenings when
the grass is long"
YES; that's when it comes. You
never hear it after the grass is cut. 1t
reminds me O. my young days, Miss
Nelly"
And were they sad days, Mrs. Hart
1eyP'
mot always; but the corncrake
brings time o. trouble TO my mind.
Run away, Bobby" as curly-headed,
red-cheeked little lad put his head in at
the door; 1.-THE parlor is not for you
children. Where is your father?"
Fathers in tn barn"
Every we'll Run away and tell Sally
to pick out the brownest eggs for Miss
Carrington.h
Bobby disappeared, and there was
short silence, broken by Mrs. Hartley,
WHO said:
Aye, / mind well hearing the corn
crake that summer when my mother
died, and thought the sun would never
shine fair on me again, so full o. trouble
and death was it-many a long wear
ago now. Mother had been i'll long
while, and was nigh dying; for her life
seemed TO go as the grass grew, and we
knew she would never bide here till the
fall o. the leaf. Father was game
keeper and we lived in the cottage by
Northover woods. Me and Tom Mars.
den-he was the blacksmith at North
over-had been courtjng long while,
with fathers consent, for Tom was we'll
to-do, and the forge was his own. |
thought deal of m, for he was good
TO look at, and strong; never lad in
the village could come nigh him for
looks or strength. And when l first
knew him he was main steady aud well
thought of by all. But there was n bad
lot of fellows in Northover-poachers
and suchlike-and, somehow, Tom got
in with EN-. Father, he spoke to Tom
about it, for he said: ats no good
thinkin' tina can pla' wi mud, and keep
thy own clothes clean; some on it will
stick for sure!'
Tom laughed and told father he could
take care of himself, and as for catching
n stray rabbit or bird, it were bit o.
fun on dark night, and no harm in it
either.
SAYS father:
'Thou'lt not find it Q bts fun if
catch thee at it.
So they parted in angee and father
came home saying must think no more
o Tom, for that he couldna let his lass
wed poacher.
That evening when the dusk was fall
ing, | sat by mothers bedside thinking
of it all. Father was out in the woods
and mother asleep, so the house was
very STILL and all. the windows open, for
il was this time o. year. And l heard
the corncrake in the field nigh the cot
tage as plain as now, sometimes quite
near and sometimes farther away, as ii
Tan about in the long grass. Presently
al stopped croaking, as though some
lhing had startled it, and then there was
a little rattle by the lattice like bits o.
gravel thrown up. got up softly, not
10 disturb mother, and looked out, and
there stood Tom against the fence with
gun in his hand.
81 thought to have seen thee at
sundown, Eunice, lass" he said; I've
been waitin' this half-hour by the
broolA
II couldna leave mother" / says;
''she's worse and weaker than while
back, and father is gone into the
woods. He's main angered with thee,
Tom"
"oh, aye" he says, sits about the
birds; but it's naught.
i shook my head.
"Father says he'll not have me wed
thee if thou dost not mend thy ways,
and leave going with them poaching
fellows. What dost thou want with
themp Thou never used to heed such
like
"'Tis naught to fret about, lass;
they're none so bad as thy father
thinks. I'll get shut on 'em when we're
wed"
What art thou doing with a gunP" 1
asked him.
"Nay, lass, thou art getting too Curl
GUS. Maybe I'm going shooting filter
mice" he says, laughing.
''Thou'lt break my heart, Tom," l
says. "What with mother nigh to
death, and father angered with thee,
and thou going on this gait"
I'm sorry thy mother is no better,
Eunlce," he says, "but as for the rest,
there's naught to fret about I'll come
and see thee tomorrow
And he went oil smiling and waving
his hand us he turned down by the
copse. Then the corncrake began again,
croak, eroak, all round the meadow,
and sat and watched mother with
heavy heart till the stars came ont. and
Young moon lying on her back, which
was an Ill sign, for you know the say
ing;
when the moons like boat.
There Is trouble alloat
But hoped it might not b. for me,