Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1890-05-16
ROBINS AND HAMMERS
a Mary wilkins story which Fits the
neoa~1

Mary wilkins story which Fits the
Beasoa.
1t was Monday morning Lois had her
washing all done and her kitchen cleaned
up, and it was not yet ten o'clock the dew
had not dried oil the grass, and the surprise
of the morning had not worn off in her
heart. Lois was girl who felt such things.
After she had finished her kitchen. work
she came with her broom into the front en-
try, with its unpainted, uneven floor she
was going TO sweep that out then her work
in the lower part of the house was done,
and she had nothing more to do before din
ner except to put her own room upstairs in
order.
She opened the front door after she had
come the length Of the narrow entry then
she could not help standing there and star
ing out, leaning on her broom a little while
It was beautiful outside, and, aside from
that, the out doors gave her somehow a
sweet sense of companionship. The soft
wind and the sunshine and the sweet spring
smells came in by the open door like people.
Lois felt il, though she did not go so far as
thinking it. She had been lonesome, with
out knowing she was so till then. She was
always alone in the house all day while her
father was at work Her mother was dead
and she had no brothers or sisters.
The house faced southeast, and there was
a weeping willow tree in front of it, Its
long bOughs, which were more like tender
green garlands than branches, swayed gen
tly in the wind, and the sun shone through
them. Lois locke at it radiantly. The spring
birds were singing very shrill and sweet
There we're bluebrds and orioles, and, more
| than ali h. h. II. 4
| robins ever since she was a child. But now
there was something else she liked TO listen
10 better than the robins, and that was the
sound Of the carpenters hammers on a
house over the way. She could see its pinky
unpainted pine walls through the trees. That
was to be her house, where she and John
Elliot were TO live when they should be mar
ried in the autumn. The taps of the ham
mers seemed to Lois to harmonic sweetly
with the calls Of the bluebirds and the robins:
they were Of the same kind to her both
sounds belonged TO love and hope and the
| spring.
Lois was small and compact in figure
her light brown hair crinkled closely around
her forehead and hung in tight curs on her
neck. She had a pretty thin face, with
bright eyes, sensitive lips, and clear skin.
She was neat in her poor calico dress. There
"
once they had been comfortably off Hiram
Arms had been a prosperous farmer on his
own account up in Rowe now he was rent
ing this great, unPainted, weather beaten
old house in Pawlet, and letting himself out
TO other farmers for low hire. A good many
causes had brought it about fire and mort
cages and sickness. 1t had not happened
until after Sarah Arms's death-that was al
ways q comfort to her daughter Lois. Sarah
Arms had been high spirited woman; there
were people who said that her ambition and
extravaganza had brought about her hus-
bands failure. There had been bay win
dow and a new piazza on that snug farm
house at Rowe which the old neighbors spoke
of now obviously. Hiram Arms never
ought to have put on them additions" said
they; but Mis- Arms would hev 'em, poor
woman"
So now the father and daughter grubbed
along in Pawlet, the daughter uncomplain-
ingly, the father complainingly. He was
naturally nervous man, and trouble had
shaken him. But at last, since Loiss en-
gagement to John Elliot, their affairs began
to look brighter. John had not much mon
ey he would have to mortgage his new
house but he had steady work and good
pay, and prospect of better. Hiram Arms
was TO give up the desolate old house which
he rented, on his daughters marriage, and
90 TO live with her in her new one. He
was very proud and happy about it, and
talked it over a good deal among the neigh
bors he had always been almost foolishly
fond Of his daughter, and he was growing
garrulous.
Finally Lois took her broom and went
about her work She had been brought up
on the rigid New England plan, and had
guilty feeling that 1t was a waste of time if
she stopped minute to be happy. There
was very little furniture in these large,
square, low. walled rooms, but everything
was scrupulously clean. After her sweep
ing was done and her own room put in order,
Lois had little time to sit down and sew
before she got dinner; after dinner, when
the dishes were put away aud her father
gone back to his work, she had long quiet
spell the whole afternoon till six o'clock
There Lois sat in the one of the two
square apartments which they used for a
sitting room, sewing. She was making a
kind of coarse cotton edging. She could
not think of such things as boughten trim
ming for her poor little wedding outfit but
it was no matter, for she thought this was
beautiful. Hattie Smith had taught her
how to do it. She was her nearest girl
neighbor, and she lived quarter of a mile
away, with no houses between Lois wished
Hattie would come over there that afternoon
as she sat there, and by three O'Clock she
did come in sight a stout, girlish figure, in
an ugly light brown wOOlen dress fitting
tightly over her curving shoulders She had
her plaid shawl over her arm. the afternoon
was 80 warm.
"Oh, Hattie" cried Lois, running TO the
door and opening it, 'I'm so glad you've
come / was awful lonesome"
"Well, l thought I'd come over two or
three minutes. Mother and got our wash
ing out of the way real early today, and
there wasn't anything to do at home, an |
thought I'd bring my sewing over here"
The two girls sat peacefully down at their
work in the sitting-room. Hattie was run
ming up some breadths of dress and Lois
kept on with her edging.
you get along real fast with that edg
ing, don't You ~ said Hattie.
"Well, don't know. haven't worked
on it very steady"
81 think it's real pretty"
$50 do beautiful"
Hattie dropped her sewing after little,
and stared at Lois, with an odd expression
on her large face, half of concealed pleas
ure, half of doubt and commseration.
"Lois, said she, 81 heard something to-
day, an don't know whether to tell you
of it or not l told mother | was half a
mind to, for thought you ought to know
it, 1t made me real mad"
"Whst is it, Hattie Z"
why, don't know as | ought to tell
I'm afraid it'll make you feel bad"
''No, it won't"
"Well, if you're sure it won't. l wouldn't
mind it a bit if was you. 1t made me
real mad. think she was Just as mean as
she could be. You see, old Mis- Elliot run
over to borrow some soap this morning, an
she sat down a minute, an we got to talkin'
about John an his new house an you.
don't believe had better tell you, Lois. >"
YES; / won't mind. Go on"
"Well, mother said something about what
a pretty girl you was, an Mis- Elliot said
yes, you was pretty enough. but she couldn't
help wishing sometimes that you had some
thing to help John along with little. She
always thought the woman ought to furnish
the house-she did when she was married
an it was dreadful hinderance TO young
man to have to do everything. John worked
terrible hard, an she was afraid he'd get
sick. And then she said she always thought
a girl ought to have at least two silk dresses
when she was married, black one an a col
ored one, and good stock of clothes, so her
husband wouldn't have TO buy anything for
her for two years certain. Now, Lois, you
won't feel bad Z Why, Lois, don't cry !"
Lois's poor little cotton edging lay unno-
ticed in her lap, and she was sobbing pitt
fully in her little coarse handkerchief