Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1889-06-14
TIIE RUNA WAY

looked back timorously. Far behind her
stretched the meadow a symphony of olive
and green in the late fall. Here and there by
a sunken boulder stood soldierly golden-rod
or berry bushes clothed now in scarlet and
gold At intervals in the long slope stood
solitary trees, where huttering, brittle leaves
fell in the gentle chill air. In summer time
she remembered well the hay makers rest
ing in the shade, and the jug with ginger
water she made for the men was kept there
to be cool She seemed, as she sat there,
to remember everything. The house was
all right, she was sure of that the key
was under the kitchen door mat, the fire
was out in the stove, and the cat locked in
the barn.
She held her work hardened hand to her
side, painting little, for it was good bit Of
walk across the meadow, and she was
eighty years old on her last birthday. The
cows feeding looked homelike and pleasant.
Good bv critters, she said aloud /;
'meny's the time I've driv' ye home an
MIXED We, an | allus let ye eat by the way,
nor never hurried ye as the boys done.
With farewell glance she went on again,
smoothing she walked the scattered locks
of gray hair falling under the pumpkin
hood and keeping her scant black gown
out of the reach of briars. Across anoth-
er field, then on through a gap in a stump
| fence, with its great branching arms like q
petrified octopus, TO the dusty high road
Not a soul in sight in the coming twilight.
John, the children and scoding wife who
made her so unhappy, would not he home
for an hour yet, for East Mills was long
drive
Down the steep hill went the brave little
figure, followed by an odd shadow of itself
in the waning light, and by tiny stones that
rolled so swiftly they passed her often, and
made her look behind with start TO see if
a pursuer we're coming
They'd put me in the asylum, sure,
| she muttered wildly.
At the foot Of the hill she sat down upon
an old log and waited. Across the road,
guarded by big sign, Look out for the
engine, ran two parallel iron rails, that
were to he her road when the big monster
| should come painting around the curve. At
| last the dull rumble sounded, a shrlll whls
| tie aud she hurried to the track, waving
| her shawl to signal This, in the conduc
| tors Vernacular, was cross roads sta
ton, where he was used to watch for peO
Pile waving articles frantically. The train
stopped, and this passenger was helped
aboard He noticed she was bright eyed
old lady, very neat and precise.
"How fur Z. he asked.
"Bostin
"Git there in the mornin', " he said, kind
ly, waiting for the money, as she opened a
| queer little retlcule, where, under her knit
ting, wrapped in clean cotton handker
chief, was her purse with her savings of
long years-the little sums Sam had sent
her when he first began To prosper in the
West, and some money she had earned her
| l., a,,l oh
At the cross roads, as they went swiftly
on, she saw the old sorrel horse, the rat
Ting wagon, and John and his family driv-
ing homeward. She drew back with lit
tie cry, fearing he might see her and stop
the train but they went on so fast that
could not lie, and the old horse logged into
the woods and John never thought his old
Aunt Hannah, his charge for twenty long
wears. was running away. At Boston q
kindly conductor bought her ticket fol
Denver.
"It's long journey for an old lady likt
you, - he said
"But Pm pert for my age she said anx
iously Il never had a days sickness since
| was a gal.
''Gong all the way alone I"
with Providence she answered bright
", alert and eager to help herself, but 81
lent and thoughtful as the train took hel
into strange landscapes, where the miie'
went so swiftly it seemed like the past year
of her life as she looked back on them
"Thy works is marvellous, she murmureC
often, sitting with her hands folded, ant
few idle DAYS had there been in her worlC
where she had sat and rested so long. Ii
the day coach the people were kind anC
generous, sharing their baskets with her
and seeing she changed cars right and he
carpet bag was safe She was like any o
the dear old grandmas in Eastern homes
or to grizzled men and weary women lik
the memory of dead mother, as faint an,
far away as the scent of wild roses in hill
side country burying ground. She tende'
babies for tired women, and talked TO tn
men of farming and crops, or told the chill
dren Bible stories but never word sh
said of herself, not one.
On again, guided by kindly hands throug
the great, bewildering city by the lake, an
now through yet a stranger land. Tire
and worn by nights in the uncomfortabl
seats, her brave spirit began to fail a little
As the wide, level plains, lonely and drear
dawned on her sight she sighed often.
Its Il dre'ful big world, she said to
gray bearded old farmer near her 80 hi
| feel e'enmost lost in it, but, hopefully
| across Lnell uoSoTlS llho tliias lolB oSN
Providence sent IA star TO guide them wis
men of the East, an haint lost my faith.
But as the day wore on, and still the long
1 monotonous land showed no human habita
ton, no oasis of green, her eyes dimmeC
l something like "A sob rose under the blac
kerchief ON the bowed shoulders, and tn
spectacles were taken off with tremblin
( hands and put away in the tin case.
! BE ye goin' fur, mother - said the ol
| farmer. He had brought her Il cup of 60
5 fee at the last station, and had pointed OF
A ON the way things he thought might intel
est her.
r. "To Denver"
e oval wal an you're from New En-
o land, I'll he bound
, "From Maine she answered and the
a she grew communicative, for she was "a
. ways chatty old lady, and she had po
e sessed her soul in silence so long. She to
him all the relations she had were tW
grand nephews and their families Thl
twenty years ago Sam Qor she had brougl
them both up when their parents died
consumption, that takes so many of OF
folks, went out west he was always a
venturous, and for ten years she did n
hear from him but John was different al
e steady, and when he came of age she h'
! given him her farm, with the provision 81
= should always have IA home, otherwise
would have gone away too. Well, for fl
,. years they were happy, then John marie
u and his wife had grown to think her bu
10 den as the years went on, and the chldr
II when they grew big did not care for he
D, and she felt she had lived too long
II 81 gTowed so lonesome, she said path'
N ically, "it seems | couldn't take up heart
IS live day by day, an yit knowed our fol
a. was long lived Ten years back, when Sa
d wrote he was a doin' fair an sent me sol
s money, l begun to think of him fur
he was allus generous an kind, an the gra
4. fullest boy, an so begun to save to go
)t him, for | knowed | could work my boa
SO fur a good many years to come. Fur thr
is years he amt hardly wrote, but laid Il
to the wild kentry he lived in. | said BIZ
an Iniuns don't skeer me none, fur whel
was gal up in Aroostuk kentry there "
of plenty of both, an as fur buffalers tn
el- horned cattle don't skeer me none, fur |
a been used TO farm allus. But the lo
". someness of these medders has sorter
no sot me, an made me think Sam was furtl
of off than ever calculated on,
30 "But what will you do if Sam amt
it Denver Z" asked the farmer.
on 81 hev put my faith in Providence, 4
LIST answered simply, and the stranger co
in. not mar that trust by any warning.
of gave her his address as he got off at
I'd, Nebraska line and told her to send
be word if she needed help. With a wa
on hand-clasp he parted from her to Join
Ii. phantoms in her memory Of folks that
bin kind to her, God bless EN-, " and Il
the train went rumbling on. But many
t. the passengers had listened to her story