News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1889-09-19
THE UNION PICNIC.

NM tUo OAbJ NOAAN
~ have been asleep, but when
~1zESxS, Sam Schraader, his daugh-
ES ter, and Henry Verhawk
drove up the read, the busi-
ne S of the day had begun
all along, They met two neighbors
with their market wagons on their way
to the city, and one with load of
bone phosphate already returning from
the near factory Women were opening
their front doors or drawing water In
uu ct commencement of their long days
work
1t was August. A little later and an
excessive heat would dawn. Even now,
before the sun had risen, it was damp
rather than cool along the dew-wet
roal. Schraader had his hat off, and
wired the perspiration from his broad
face. Schraaders was a pedd.er's
wagon, with an umbrella over the seat,
which was N t meant to accommodate
three. Schraaler's large bulk was de-
posted in the laps of his daughter and
Henry Verhawk, with discomfort to all.
But Henry was enc of the family. He
had been a neighbor all his life, and he
was to marry Mary Schraader whenever
their tranquil, unhurrying minds should
agree upon it he WAS past thirty and
she was twenty-six and it had been for
several weeks arranged that they should
ON the day of the Union Sunday school
picnic at Hunts Grove, twelve miles
away, give Henry lift, for Henry was
going.
Schraader had to-day new stock of
the tin-ware and small merchandise he
sold, and he and Mary, who helped her
father on his buster trips, had made an
early start. But Henry had been ready
and waiting. He was as pleased to go
to the picnic as he would have been
twenty years back He sat with prim
ness that characterized him, sim form
IN a suit of white linen and a broad
brimmed white hat with green lining.
His face, ean-shaven and gulleless,
shone with his happiness in his coming
treat He would attain it by walking
seven miles, and twelve miles back that
night but in his bright anticipation
the cost was small. The simplicity of
his soul looked out from his honest blue
eyes
They had lived tI1eir lives tose her tin
and their ideas. This, added to their
rustic slowness of tongue, made 1t likely
that when Henry came to see Mary Sun
day evenings they would maintain un-
broken silence from beginning to end of
the interview, nor feel anything but
serene content; aud they logged on now
unembarrassed, in the calmness of that
thorough mutual knowledge which is the
surest promise of married happiness,
the tin-ware keeping up drowsy rattl-
ing. When they reached the turn
which separated them, Henry got down. ,
g It's going to be hotter'n twas yes
terday you better take it slow" ,
Schraader said !; and Mary turned her
serious face, broad like her fathers, and
pain, and looked after him as he
tramped on alone.
He took off his hat in the shade of
the woods on both sides, thick and dark
aud vibrant with wild sounds, aud
walked briskly. He was almost aglow
with his boyish eagerness. He had
so early a start that he thought he
should get there in time to miss none of
it.
The rustling grove was thickly bor
dered with the vehicles which had
brought the picnickers hither. Of the
latter there were in the neighborhoOd
of a thousand. NominalIv it was the
yearly union picnic of the Sunday
schools of half dozen neighboring viii
lagos, but the Sunday schools brought
with them the settlements almost entire.
Henry sat on a fallen tree in the
thick of the scene. He had been almost
the first arrival. Now it was eleven, and
the picnic was we'll under way. Thus
far he had enjoyed every moment. He
had travelled round the grove Watching
the constant arrivals now and then he
bad embarrassed and hitched the horses
of women who had come without men,
and had taken one to the watering
trough. He had looked on at the ereo-
tion of the various vender's stands; and
had watched the assembling of the pfns.
listers of the several congregations on
the Platform, before which ran q few
square rods of broad benches. Now
there had been full activity for an hour.
A merry go round was in oTeration, the
refreshment stands were gaining patron
age, and up and down, in and out,
round and round, wandered the thou
sand picnickers. To Henry it was a
marvellous scene. He sat with his hands
on his knees and his lips apart, uncOn-
scious of all but his simple, half be-
widered entertainment
Two girls had been for some time
stolling back and forth before him with
arms intertwined. Henry had seen
them arrive, with a dozen other girls
and youths, in the bottom of an ever
Rt6tn- NdROu- n COuplt
of the latter ranged after them at dis
tance, exchanged occasional insinuating
sallies, but for the present he'd at bay
with pert, conscious independence, the
forerunner of the full and gigling sur;
render intended.
They had looked at Henry as they
passed and repassed him, breaking, with
the titterings which marked their youth,
into whispered ridicule.
What's he gawping at 3"
Goodness knows"
Sc Looks as though he was stuck there,
don't he?"
"I guess he is. Dave said he'd been
setting there since four o'clock this
morning"
They Uttered in unison. Dave was
one of the pursuing youths.
''Pd like to know if he can stir.
guess I'll see" said the other. She
nudged her companion, tossed her head
daringly, and as they came opposite him
dropped her handkerchief.
He looked at her, pleasantly smiling
He bad thought they might be speaking
of him, and wondered what they were
saying. Now they were standing loiter-
ingly, their eyes upon him, and as his
own travelled from them to the hand !
ke~chief and back again, he got up and /
picked it up. But neither took it.
Its LIS, said its owner.
You know better you dropped it
yourself, Lii retorted, with stifed
shrek
''Did II" she demanded. She threw
mp her chin, with bright eyes upon him.
II didn't see," he answered, still
smiling.
He stood straight, with his feet close
together, as was his wont, and looked at
her. She was tall girl OF fifteen, red