The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1888-09-13
FRIEND RUTH's PREJUpICE.

"a farm! seventy acres! All our own,
Is thee sure, Patience, that thee isn't
dreaming "
Little Patience Plumb winked hei
bright blue eyes again and again. tc
make sure that she was certainly and
indubitabIy wide-awake.
mo, Aunt Ruth, > said she, II am moi
dreaming. Read the letter for thyself. >
And Aunt Ruth, setting her spectacles
across the bridge of her nose, took the
+, folded paper from Patienoe's hand and
slowly spelled out the words Which
heard from other lips, had such fabu-
lous sound.
Yes. 1t was true. Guarded about with
legal phrases, there was the intelligence
that she, Ruth Plumb, who wove rag.
carpets for a livelihood and contentedly
ate mush and milk when she could not
get beef and potatoes, was landed pro.
prietress now of farm up in Rhode
Island which had belonged to one Ezra
Nutting, third or fourth cousin, whom
she had never seen.
Little Patience looked eagerly at the
elder woman.
AUNT Ruth" said she, isn't thee 90.
ing out to see it land mayn't go with
thee ?"
Thee may go with me, little Pay
said Miss Plumb. smiling; but as for
going out to see it railway journeys cost
money, and when we go we shall stay.
"Wlll thee live there, Aunt Ruth ??
cried Patience with sparkling eyes.
Miss Plumb looked pathetically around
the little chamber, whose one window
was bedimmed by monster black wall.
81 have always longed for a country
home, Pay" she said. Thee has always
lived in the city; thee docs not known
how person feels who has once stood
on the hills and heard the free wind
roaming through the pine-trees."
So the loom was stopped and the little
cupboard door locked, and the two wo-
men went TO Nebasset, near which rocky
promontOry, on the edge OF the Sound
was situated the Nutting estate. Not
much of an estate after all. A queer
little brown house, like a discolored
mushroom, huddle of barns, and a
stone cellar hewn into the rocky side of
a beetling hill, in which were arranged
rows Of barrels on sort of stone shelf.
Miss Plumb peered inquiringly at these
barrels az, escorted by David Lorn, a
handsome, sun-burned giant who occu-
pied the next farm, she went over the
first time.
"What are these, Friend David ?" she
asked ltile doubtfully.
Guess likely they're cider" said Da-
vid Lorn, "Old NuIting, be made the
beet cider for twenty miles around"
"Cider r. repeated Miss Plumb.
Didn't you know that this was ia
nous cider farm r said David. Didn't
you zee the orchards of apple trees up
on the hill ?"
"Yes, saw Them" said Miss Plumb,
"but did realize their meaning. IL
thiuk, Friend David, thee may pull out
the corks"-
"Bungs,w we call 'em," gently co rected
Lorn.
"Bungs, If thee prefers that title, and
let the baleful fluid flow away. / am
prejudiced with an exceeding prejudice
against intoxicating liquors"
There amt no harm in cider" pro-
tested David LOrn.
Touch not, taste not, handle not r.
said Miss Plumb firmly. "As to the ap-
pie orchard, it is not for me to criticise
the kindly fruits of the earth, but could
wish that they had been pasture fields or
o-Datches or something less delete
rious than they are"
She walked quietly on. David Lorn
was opening his mouth to demonstrate,
when Patience gently beckoned him to
desist.