, 1890-11-06
AT THE klTChEN-p00R.
THE Argonant.l

lhho hitOiihutI
Merry it Is in the good greenwood,
Nhen the mayis an merle are singing,
When the deer sweeps by and the
hounds are in cry,
And the hunters horn is ringing.
1t was a Friday afternoon in
summer at John Fernald's ranch.
The stalwart miner, his pretty little
wife Mary, and, of course, the
baby-for ,that had been omni-
present since its arrlval-had been
to the woods to shoot quail.
Half dozen had been the reward,
and merrily now the hunters were
walking toward home, where Mary
was already picturing herself broil-
ing the delicious game, and John
had a mental, life-slzed picture of
himself eating 1t, while even little
John looked as though he had
full set Of teeth, so thoroughly he
entered into the general hilarity,
making growing noise as his big
father carried him Indian-fashion
on his back, singing:
oh, Robin Hood was bowman good,
And bowman good was he,
And he met a maiden in merry Sher.
wool,
All under the greenwood tree.
Mary skipped along by his side
more like n merry maid of old
Robins days than digniied ma
tron.
These moments of supreme happi-
ness are, alas, too few in most OF our
lives, but this young pair had many
of them, and, though far from neigh
bors, had no such thing us loneli-
ness in the San Benito hills.
Their lives were as.full of bright
hess as the landscape was of those
golden porpies which we Califor-
mans love SO well, and which the
book-learned, spindle-legged pro-
fessors from the states vainly try to
make us call by that ugly, German
Latin name with u Russian look.
"Now give me kiss" quoth Robin
Hood
Now give me kiss" quoth he,
"for there never came maid into merry
Sherwood,
But she paid the forester's fee."
Then this new Robin Hood took
his fee from Mary and from little
John when they reached the kitchen
door. The quail were soon dressed
and broiling. Little John was play
ing in a serious sort of fashion with
the black topknots, and big John
cleaned his shotgun.
How the butter sizzled as it fell
on the brown breasts of the six
plump fellows lying on the grid.
iron! How each draught from the
kitchen, laden with incense Il
Diana the Huntress, was sweeter
than laurel or jasmine to the
healthy nostrils of that happy fam
lily! They wanted no pepsin or pep
tonized wine, no aids to digestion.
Youth, health, happiness were
theirs. God be praised!
Thus this day closed like many
another, full to overflowing with
sunshine.
Oh, dear, what can the matter be,
oh, dear, what can the matter be,
Oh, dear, what can the matter be,
Johnny's so long at the fair2
And Mary Fernald, sitting at her
kitchen door, rocked her baby-boy
in his cradle, while she searchingly
gazed down the path which led tc
the dusty road.
1t was, indeed, a beautiful picture
that mother of year dressed neatly
I'm her printed cotton gown, all her
household duties finished for the
day, sitting in the half light of the
doorway, with the hazy Landscape
lighted by the sun just dropping be-
hind the manzanita-covered hills.
The day had been the first on
which Mary had been left alone, for
John Fernald had always taken her
with him the few times he had beer
to town since two years before, wher
Mary, fresh from her New England
home, had come to live at his ranch
In the San Benito.
Little John was, of course, toe
small to travel, and so, with man,
good.byes and good wishes, bi1
John had gone for the day to San
Juan Bautista, some twenty miles
away, to buy needed farming tools
Though Mary did not expect hin
until after dark, she found hersel
beginning to look down the Snr
Juan road long before the sun had
cast western shadows under tn,
madrona before the house.
"If 1 do not reach home by .
O'clock" John had said, 'you ma,
know that L have stayed In town. u
1t was twilight up to s O'Clock
and Mary waited at the door unit
| the last cOlors disappeared from th,