The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1886-11-04
THE BINSTEAD FARM.

We all knew when sister Clarisss
loaned the thousand dollars which was
the accumulation of her six years o.
teaching, to Sam Binstead, that it was
as good as sunk in the sea. And we
told her so. but it was of no use, fol
you see, Clissy is one of those visionary
people who see the .angel in the
human heart" most clearly wher
it isn't there; and Sam, cousin by &
good many removes, had borrowed out
every other relative before he thought
of us. AL hadn't a dollar to spare.
She wouldn't have if Judge Hilton had
divided his legacy with her, and
wouldn't have given him a nickel Of
my three hundred if he had gone or
his knees for it; not but Clissy-think
of it, will you, actually and positively
handed over her thousand dollars as il
she'd been a princess, and said:
Pm very glad to accommodate you,
Sam. You needn't mind a mortgage,
your note is quite sufficient. l know
that you will pay it all back"
Did hep Well, 1 think not. You
v knew him or you wouldn't ask.
To be sure he died; but he wouldn't
have paid it if he had lived, for he was
n OF those easy-going men who wear
sack coats with the pockets saggine
down, and who always complain of their
bad luck, and never pay their debts.
That was the way that CHS happened to
go West. He did give her a mortgage
on a farm out in Missouri, and when he
died, it fell to her. L don't suppose
that she'd have taken 1t if there'd been
anybody to give it TO; but there wasn't,
and no stranger would have accepted
it for a present, so she had to keep it.
She couldn't sell it, and she couldn't
rent it for enough to pay the taxes,
and her tenants burnt the fences be-
cause they were too lazy to cut wood.
Let the barn tumble down and the
CIissy looked up and said: 'I'm. going
out to my farm"
AL almost screamed with surprise
and | was speechless. 1t was no use to
say anything, for Clissy is very decided.
So. the day that her school closed, she
went down to the depot and bought a
ticket to st. Louis. and took the eve
ming train out as coolly as if she ex-
pected to return next day. AL and /
went home and had a good cry, and
decided that we should start as soon as
our schools closed. and spend the sum-
mer with her. We taught in town,
and had a ten-months year while Clissy
was out in the east-end, where the
schools close the last of May.
No length of years will ever make
me forget the night that we reached
Sparta-that is her town-and saw dear
old Clissy on the rickety platform,
whip in hand. waiting for US. Bless her
heart, how she Rugged us, although she
hadn't been away five weeks! Then
she took us around, behind the station,
to her red, spring-wagon, hitched to the
most killing little gray mule you ever
saw, and we clambered in. She was
mortally afraid of the little beast, and
he knew it. You'd have died to see her
unite him from the post, standing at
arms length from him. 1t was two
miles to the farm, and we all three
talked as hard as we could, and yet we
hadn't begun to tell our news when we
reached that f~orlorn, implanted old
wooden house, with the c~hicken-coop
right in front. We were starving after
our three days ride. and Clissy had a
good supper, and then our life in the
West began.
1t would take a book to tell about the
events of that summer, so l must just
pick out two or three things, that led
directly to the grand finale:
She had things started pretty well
when we zane. 1t was to be- stock
farm, and she had bought sheep and
calves, and a cow, and chickens, and a
%ferocious old mother pig with a lot OF
dottie dumpling little piggies ; but the
old cannibal ate up four Of them-how ]
hated her for it-and a hoe, and a big
shovel, and lots of other things.
The first morning Al and | thought
we'd take aramble and see how we liked
it. But she wanted to go down to the
stream and I wanted to go up to the
''knob," as Clissy called it, and see the
landscape. l hadn't got there when a
cow looked menacingly at me, and ]
a as 1 never dreamed l could run.
The man was milking in the %barnyard.
and he looked up with a grunt when
came. We had to call him COrnrod be.
cause he wouldn't answer to Conrad.
AL didn't appear to breakfast; but she
is such al irresponsible creature any
way, that we supposed she was sketch.
ing some stump, so we kept her chops
warm, and washed the dishes so as tC
churn before it became too hot.
About ten o'clock l went out to hunt
eggs. and was sure that l heard my
name, in accents wild. l called "Clis.
syr' and "Cornrod!" and we followed
the sound until we could see the poor
girl perched in a little, shaking thorn
tree, about four feet from the ground,
while a murderous old ram stood guarG
below. She had been there three
blessed hours. Conrad threw q piece
of earth at him. and he walked away,
and the poor child limped home will