Maryland independent. [volume] (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1874-current, 1889-04-12
BETSEY'S LITTLE GIRL.

BEISEY'S LITTLE GIRL.
Upon the whole, l liked my little
house very much.
do not deny that it had been a
sort of experiment, my buying that
solitary cottage among the sand dunes
Of the Long Island coast, where the
breakers Of the Atlantic washed the
shore, and one tall lighthouse kept its
fiery watch on the long tongue of land
which people called "The Devils Point. +"
But the doctor had told me that sea air
and quiet were what needed, and here
surely, l should find them both.
1t was a very old-lashioned house,
with low ceilings, small, lozenge- paned
windows and wainscoted rooms.
The little parlor was in front, looking
out upon the ocean. Beyond this was
small room in which l decided to put
my sewing gmachine and writing-desk; /;
then came long, dark hall, also vain
scoted on either side, and lighted only
by odd, little, round windows, placed
high up; and the kitchen-a sort of
wing-fnished the lower part of the
house.
The second story was mere attic,
but it served very well for bedrooms
for me and Betsey Balmford, my ser
want.
"S'pose it's altogether safe for you
two women to live all alone out here?"
said Old Peter Smith, whose itinerant
wagon served us with butchers meat,
groceries, kerosene, and all sorts. Of
things, every other day.
'of course it's safe, said /. "Why
not2"
"sort o lonesome, amt itr' squeaked
Old Peter.
eve came here for quiet and rest"
''And s'pose, added Old Peter, "you
should be sick. There amt no family
lives nearer than The Devils Point, an
that's three good miles away"
''But we don't propose to be sick, ."
said l.
The longer l stayed in the cottage,
the more was pleased.
The sunsets across the plain of waters
were things Of constantly changing
beauty: the air was full of saline fresh
ness; my walks along the beach were
delightful.
l read and rested, and felt myself
growing stronger with every day, while
Betsey in the kitchen was reducing
things to the apple-pic order that was
dear to her soul.
One evening, just at dusk, l rang my
bell little impatiently. Betsey's round,
red face presently appeared in the door
way.
"Betsey," said l, "what child have
you got out there2'
"There amt no child, ma am, said
Betsey.
81 am sure heard a child's voice"
Betsey stared fixedly at me.
Il guess likely, Miss Emma, it was
me, a-blowin' out at the cat, said she.
II left a pan o milk on the window
sill, and that blamed creetur broke
pane o glass, humpin' through to get at
it, and putty's one of the things didn't
think to put into the till of the tool-box
when we packed up"
''Well, said /, II wish you'd be
little quieter with your cat. ;"
81 will, ma am" " said Betsey Balm
ford.
A few minutes later, as I sat dreamily
at the window, a light running figure
seemed to pass between me and the
purpling glow of the sky-the figure of
a child, with its fair hair blowing back
like an aureole and both its hands
stretched out toward the sunset.
"There" said l. II knew it!"
] Jumped up, and ran out toward the
beach. / was almost certain l saw the
track of tiny footsteps on the damp sand;
but as | gazed the incoming tide cast
fringe of shells and seaweed at my feet
and at the same time swept away all
traces of aught else.
dts very strange thought. 81
must have been doing what poor Aunt
Eunice used to accuse me of-dreaming
with my eyes OPEN"
The next morning but one, Old Peter
was not perched on his load, as usual
Abigail, his wife, occupied the hard,
bufalo-robed seat, and welded whip
and reins.
"My ole mans down with rheuma-
tiz, said she. "It does seem as if he
allays selected the most onconvenient
times and seasons. I've got some nice
soft-shell clans this morning, Miss Gray,
and some Of my own home baked bread
And thought likely your crackers
would be out by this time
They is, ma'am, said Betsey Balm