The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1888-02-16
MISS BECKY'S HOME.

MISS BECKY was going 10 Ine Oiu
Ladies' Home" at last. 1t was sorry
fact, but there was nothing else for
her to do, it seemed. Who would think
of offering any other home to poor.
almost helpless old woman, who had
outlived her usefulness? Having pass
ed her days in other peoples houses.
so to speak, she might not mind it as
much, perhaps. as more fortunate
being.
Eyes" she said, ''there's a vacancy
in the old Ladies' Home, and the hum
dred dollars that Parson Amory left
me. will pay my way in, BUTT wouldn't
last long if began to spend it, you
know, and | shall have warm bed
and my regular meals without worry
ing about where the next ones coming
from. Pm most tired Worrying about
ways and means. Seems as though |
had been about it all my life; ever since
father was taken with heart disease
hearing the class in algebra. Now
that the rheumatism has got the better
of me, so that | can't work in cold
weather, aud the doctor says it'll draw
nv fingers so that | can't use them
soon, it doesn't seem as if there was
ANYTHING left for me in this world but
the Homeland | ought TO be thankful
for that"
Miss Becky had had other expecta-
tions in her heyday, when young Larry
Rogers met her and carried her basket;
when his strong arm padded her down
the broad river to church on Sunday
mornings; when they sang together IN
the choir from the same hymn book;
when they loitered homeward in the
fragrant summer dusk, and heard the
whip-poor-will complain and startled
the tire-fiies in the hedges as they
brushed by. 1t sometimes seemed to
Miss Becky as if all this had happened
in another planet. She was young
then, with a bloom on her cheek; but.
although the rheumatism had bent her
figure and rendered her more or less
hopeless at times, yet her dark. vel
vety eyes looked out like soft stars.
and the ghost of dimple still flicker
ed on her cheek and chin in spite of
her sixty odd years. Miss Beckys
father had been the district school
teacher in those far-off days of her
girlhood. He ati taught her the SIM
pie lore at his command, but it was
Larry Rogers who had taught her mus
ic hour after hour in the empty school
house; they had practiced together
while he wrote the score on the black
board.
But all this had not sufficed to enable
her to earn livelihood. Her educa-
ton, musical and otherwise, had stop
ped short of any commercial value.
In those days she never expected to
earn her living by the sweat of her
brow. Larry was going to give her
everything. How trivial the little
quarrel seemed to-day which circum-
vented this final resolve of IFS! But
what magnitude it had assumed at the
timei On his return from trip to q
neighboring city, some buSybody had
whispered to Larry that Miss Becky
had been seen driving with Squire
Eustis son Sam behind his trotters.
Sam was just home from college, a
harum-scarum fellow, they said, who
made love right and left and gambled
bit; and when Larry reproached her
with it she had not denied; she had
simply said: ''What thenP If you
choose to listen to gossip rather than
wait till you"
"But you didn't tell me, and I've been
here a week"
81 had forgotten all about it till you
reminded me, said Becky.
''lt's such an everyday affair for you
to drive with Sam Eustisp which in
credulity SO stung Becky that she
would not condescend to explain that
she had carried some needlework up
to Squire Eustis', which she had been
doing for his wife, and that as she left
to walk home Sam was just starting off
with his smart chaise and new dapple
grays, and the Squire had said, Take
Miss Becky home, Sam. and show her
their paces;" and how she had been
ashamed to refuse their kindness, al
though preferring to walk a thousand
times; and how, once in the chaise,
Sam had been the very pink of court
esy. and begged her to drive over with
him to Parson Amory, three miles out
of her way, THAT Lucy Amory may
see you don't disdain my company.
For you see," said Sam, who was not
as black as he was painted, or as many
liked to suppose, Lucy can make me
what she will, without her | shall be
nothing and nobody; but they've told
her all kinds of wild things about me;
they've told her she might as well jump
into the river as marry such scape-
grace. And, perhaps, if l made her a
little jealous-you know there's no
Adk III III Oudb, 10 IllcICs All 1iliE III
love; and, perhaps, if the old folks see
me driving about with Becky Thorne
my stock may go up, and | may be
saved from the burning as Parson
Amory says"
And Becky had consented. How
could she refuse to do a service for
such true loves? So slight a thing.
too! She bad often traversed the same
road cinPn foot hn,. a
of toll or mercy. Sam EusGis had
married Lucy Amory years ago. and
was the foremost man in the county
to-day. Strange how that drive had
interfoeed with Miss Becky's pros
poets; how that simple fact of carry
ing home Mrs. Eustis' needlework
should have determined her fate and
devoted her to life of hardship and
the Old Ladies' Home mt the endi Talk
of trifesi Poor Miss Becky! She re-
membered once or twice the opportuu-
ity had offered when she might have
made it up with Larry; but pride, or
sort of fine reserve, had locked her
ips-Larry ought to know that she
was above silly fiirtations. Once, when
they met at Lucy Amorys wedding,
when they all went out into the orch
ard, while the bride planted a young
tree and the guests looked for FOUR
leaved clovers, she had found herself
whether by accident or design she
could not tell-on the grass beside
Larry; their fingers met on the same
lucky clover, their eyes met above it,
and for an instant she had it on her
tongues end to confess all about the
drive and its results; to put pride in
her pocket; but just then Nell Amory
called to Larry:
'.Oh, horrid spider-on my arm,
Larry! Kill him quick-do! Oh! oh!
ohi-I shall die-I shall faint"
And that was the end of it.
The old orchard, with its fragrant
ounce bushes, its gnarled apple trees,
its four-leaved clovers. was a thing of
the past; cotton-mill roared and
thundered all day long, where the
birds built and the trees blossomed ex-
cept in Miss Beckys memory. She
had turned her thoughts to raising