The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1886-09-11


would be here pretty soon. Don't you
think we'd better look over the things in
tine garnet before he comes? don't feel
as il could have any one but ourselves
touch mothers things"
"Just as you think best, sister Sabra,"
answered Miss Cynthy, meekly. The
coming change was an even greater grief
to her than to her elder sister. She loved
her old home with an almost passionate
tenderness, and it seemed to her, some
times, that leaving it would almost break
her heart.
The two sisters finished their morning
tasks in silence, and without a word
climbed the narrow stairs that led to the
old garnet. Such a treasure house of
family relics as it wasl Not child of all
the ten whose development could not be
traced in cast. off clothing and old school
books. There we're boxes and trunks
carefully packed, standing primly against
the wall. Old garments, dating back to
old Squire Marcy's first wedding coat,
hung above them. Near window was
broken looking glass, with gilt and ebony
frame, the upper portion filed with gay
flower piece. and Miss Cynthy, in SUBJ
dued tone, asked Miss Sabra if she didn't
remember hearing tell how sister Jemi-
ma broke that glass just before mother
died?"
The timbers of the old roof were enor-
nous, suggesting an abundance of lum-
Der to which we, in these modern times,
are strangers. Many pegs and nails we're
driven into them, from which swung pa
per bags filled with dried herbs, spear
mint, boneset, pennyroyal, all diffusing a
pleasant odor through the garrett, which
Miss Cynthy thought more agreeable than
the huge bowlfuls Of steaming hot herb
tea, which Miss Sabra always made her
swallow, her feet in pail of hot water
meanwhile, whenever she took cold. Two
large wooden chests stood far back under
the caves, so large that they never could
have been brought up the narrow stairs,
but must have been built where they
stood. In them we're piles of OLD papers,
years upon years of Springfield Repub-
licaps and Massachusetts Ploughmans,
Old Farmers Almanacs for more than
half a century; and there we're carefully
cherished a pile of Journals of the
House." containing the doings of the
legislature when Squire Marcy "repre-
sented the town."
Miss Cynthy gave pitiful look into
chest, and then sat down in basket of
neatly sewn carpet rags and began to
cry. "Oh, Sabra," she sobbed, "I've
been used to seeing these things all my
life. Seems as if it would break my
heart to part with them. I've great
mind to bring in BILL"
"Cynthy," said Miss Sabra, "this is
fooiishness. There's no use in givin'
way go. We can't help ourselves"
"Well," said Miss Cynthy, extricating
herself from the carpet rags and wiping
her eyes, what shall we do first?"
An old spinning wheel, which had
stood for years in it's own nook, resting
after long service in spinning yarn for
blankets and stockings to keep the Mar
cys warm, quivered little, as if with
grief at the coming change. and the
cradle, wherein all the little Marcys had
been rocked, rocked gently once more, in
a deprecatory way, as the sisters turned
fvUC
trunks, more precious than the rest, were
kept.
81 thought we'd better look over
mothers things first" said Miss Sabra,
opening the shutters and letting in
food of autumn sunshine. A faint odor
of camphor and cedar and puDgent
spices filed the closet, for this was the
store room for winter clothing and wraps
in summer. The sisters cloaks and
wooden dresses hung on the wall. Broad
shelves, piled with homemade blankets
and patch work quilts and comforts bles,
filed one side Of the little apartment,
and in band box in one corner, careful
ly wrapped in linen and packed away in
red pepper and camphor, we're the sisters
furs, the one spontaneous gift their father
had ever given them. For Miss Sabra's
and Miss Cyntby's wearing apparel usu-
ally represented sundry sacrifices of eggs
and poultry and fresh butter, exchanged
at the village store for something to
wear. But once, when the old gentle
man had made an exceptionally good
sale of his fat cattle, he opened his heart
and purse strings and presented his
daughters with set of gray squirrel furs,
more precious in their eyes than sealskin
or sable.
"Well Cynthy," said Miss Sabra, this
is the trunk of mothers things. We'd
better open it to make sure there's moth
ing else in it, and then we'll take it down
stairs and look the things over. guess
they're all right, but it's three years come
October since we went through them"
Miss Sabra knelt down before the little
hair trunk, studded with brass nails, fit
ted the key in the rusty lock and with
some difficulty turned it and raised the
lid. The clothing, yellow with age, lay
neatly folded, with leaves of "Sweet
Mary" scattered through it, to give it
pleasant odor. But upon the top lay
folded paper, long and blue, with for
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