Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1886-01-20

Mehitable--had boon all the mother
she had known. and II seemed lone
some enough 70 be sitting there in the
empty house with Aunt M table tucked
away In corner Of the frozen church.
yard. Her husband was dead, and her
three little children were struggling up
In tho world as best they could. She
had had position rs janitress in pub
lie school. but she had lost 1t when she
came TO Mullen Farm to nurse Aunt Nit
table 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-heart-
cd, empty-pocketed man. who occupied
some position on sailing vessel which
piled between Boston and the Azores
Islands. There was mortgage on the
place which had swallowed up all as
pirations in the direction of selling 1t,
and Mrs. Grigson family hoped that the
auction sale might help to pay the ex-
pcnses OF her old aunt's burial. Other
wise she did not, to use her own express
sion, "see her way clear"
Mrs. Grigson was not sentimental
ist A janitress In q public school
building. with forefnger roughened by
the coarsest needle-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 as
she sat there, drinking an infusion of
the weakest tca, and watching the yell
low March moonlight lay the perfect
pattern Of tho uncurtained window on
the carpctless floor. while tho barrel
slaves smouldcred into carmine- tinted
ashes, she could but remember the days
when she had hoped for such different
life.
IL was gal them" thought Mrs.
Grigson. 1T didn't seem as II there
was anything impossible. Well, well,
s'poso most folks are disapp' inted
jest rs bad as be, Of they live long
enough"
And then the poor widow went to bed
70 keep warm; and all night long the
yellow moonlight flooded tho solitary
room where Aunt Mittable had died,
and solitary cricket sang on the
| hcarth-stono where the red ashes had
leng since faded into white dust.
The morrow dawned wild, bright
and windy, MS March mornings often
como rushing over the bleak Connecti-
cut hill The auctioneer arrived
in \ one-horse buggy from the village;
tho ncighbors assembled from all the
points Of the compass. For in Feltville
Four Corners people entertained tho
same sentiment toward an auction sale
as New Workers feel toward private
view Of the Academy of Design, or a
flower show at the Madison Square
Garden. Miss Ketchum was there in
her best dyed shawl, and the bonnet
which the irrevcrent youth OF the
neighborhood had christened "Old
Plymouth Rock" from the fossilizcd
appearance of its feathers; Squire Dag
gett drove down in his famly-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 omissary from an old curiosity shop
in the city was prowling about with q
memorandum-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 knot Of eager women with much
excited gesticulation, and close by the
high wooden mantel sat poor Mrs
Gigson in her best gown, trembling a
little. she scarcely knew why.
AUNT Mittable was always partial to
auction vendoos," said she to herself.
lit does seem as eff she'd ought 10 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.
I'll set rose o. Sharon there as
soon as the spring fairly opens" unused
she. "Aunt Mittable always liked
flowers"
And the crowd around Abigail Bar
ton increased, and sort OF intangible
thrill went through the rooms like an
electric current
us anything wrongP" Mrs. Grigson
asked. nervously. "Hcv they heard any
news?"
II seen It myself" she could hear
Abigail saying; 1--WE got it to hum in
my pocketbook. I've always heard
that she was queer, and 1 shouldn' t
wonder II that was the way she'd boar
ded up"
Mrs. Grigson rose to join the group;
but just then tho auctioneer's voice
drowned all else in It's high sing-song
dronc: Nov. then, ladies and rentlc-
men, II you please" and the sale began
In good earnest
The brcadths of well-worn rag carpet
broughta pitiful sum, but the four
hair-cloth ''cheers" in the best parlor,
and n certain incorporating sofa OF
the same slippery material, realized
twenty dollars, and the WOODEN clock
was bid up to six dollars and a half by
Squire Daggctt himself
He can't know that the machine
rvs clear worn out, and 10 hain't struck
In six months" said Mrs. Grigson. IL
don't know but it's my duty to tell
him."
Hold your tongue, Naomi" whis-
pered brother Lymah, who, with his
a. l.. L.