The Anaconda standard. [volume] (Anaconda, Mont.) 1889-1970, 1890-06-26
THE O%UTLANDISH LADIES.

A mile beyond the fishing village.as you
follow the road that climbs inland up the
coombe, the two tall hills to right and left
diverge to make room for a third, set like
a wedge in the throat OF the vale. Here
the road branches into two, with a sign
lost at the angle, and between the sign
post and the gray scarp of the hill there
lies an acre of waste ground that the
streams nave turned into a marsh. This
is Loose-heels. Long before ] learned the
names meaning, in the days when ! trot
the lower load with slate and sachel to
and from the village school, this spot was
a favorite of mine-but chiefly i'm July,
when the m~onkey-flower was out aud the
marsh afiame with il.
There was a spell in that yellow bios
SON with the wicked blood-red spots that
held me its mere slave. Also the finest
grew in desperate places. So that, day
after day, when July came round, my
mother would cry shame on my small
clothes, n my father take exercise upon
them, and all the month i went tingling.
They were pledged To 'break me of IT,"
hut they never did. Now they are dead,
and the lowers-the flowers last always,
as Victor Hugo says. When after many
years ] revisited the valley the stream had
carried the seeds half a mile below Loose
heels and painted its banks with monkey
blossoms all the way. But the finest l
was glad TO see still Inhabited the marsh.
Now it is rare to findthis plant growing
wild, for, in fact. IL is a garden flower,
And its history here is connected with n
bit of mud wall, ruined and covered with
mosses and ragwort, that still pushes up
from the swam ground, when i knew it,
n had once been part of n cottage. How
a cottage came here, and nov its inhabi-
tants enterod and went out, are questions
past guessing, for the marsh hemmed il in
on three sides, and the fourth is slope of
hill fit to break your back. But there was
the wall, and here is the story.
One morning, near the close of the last
century. a mall child camel running down
to the village with news that the cottage,
which for ten years had stood empty. was
let; there was smoke coming out of the
chimney and an outlandish lady walking
in the garden. Being catechised, he
added that the lady wore bassomy bows
i'm her cap, and had accosted him i'm a
heathenish tongue which caused him to
flee incontinently fearing worse things.
This being told two women, rulers of their
husbands, sent their husbands up the val
ley to spy, who found the boy had spoken
truth.
Smoke was curling from the chimney.
and in the garden hat lady was still
moving b small, yellow creature.
with a wrinkled but pleasant face, white
curls and piercing black eyes. She wore
a black gown. cut low IN the neck, white
kerchief, and bassomy, or purplisb, bows
in her cap, as h child had stated. just
at present she was busy with the spade,
and showed an ankle PASSING neat for
her age, as she turned up the neglected
mould. When the men plucked up gal
lantry enough To offer their services she
smiled and thanked them in broken
English, but said that her small forces
would serve.
So they went back to their wives: and
their wives, recollecting that the cottage
formed part of the globe, went off To i'm
quire of Parson North, ''than whom" as
the tablet to his memory relates, ''none
was better to castigate the manner of the
age" He was a burly, ha~rd-riding rufiian,
and the tale of his great fight with Gypsy
Ben i'm Launceston streets is yet told on
the countryside.
Parson NORTH wanted TO know il he
couldn't let his cottage to an invalid lady
and her sister without consulting every
washmouth in the parish.
Jaw, SO there's two said one of them,
nodding her head. "But tell us, parson
dear, If ties fifty for two minated women
to come trapesing down in a po'shay at
dead o. night, when all modest flesh be in
their bed-gowns?
Upon this the parsons language be-
came not merely violent but grossly in
delicate, after the fashion of those days.
He closed his p~eroration by slamming the
front door on his visitors, and they went
down the hill 'blushing," as they said,
'all over at his intimate words"
So nothing more was known of the
strangers. But il was noticed that Parson
North, when he passed the cottage on his
way To meet or market. would pull up his
mare, and. IL the outlandish lady were
working in the garden, would doif his hat
respectfully.
.'Bou jour. Mile. Henrietta"-this was
all the French the Parson knew. And the
Ial.. .EA..l mi la.I .H -.
English:
GOOD morning. Parson NORTH"
"And Mile. Lucille? ?"
"Ah. Just the same, my God! All the
day stare-stare. If you had known her
before!-so b%e-eautiful, so gifted, 81 bien
~elevee! 1t is M aiiiic,ion; but think she
loves the flowers"
And the parson rode On with a lump i'm
his throat.
So two years passed, during which Mile.
Henriette titled her garden and turned il
into n paradise. There were white roses
on the south val l.and in the beds mignon-
cite and boys love, pansies, carnations,
gilly-ftowers, sweet williams, and flaming
great h~ollyhocks; above all, the monkey
blossoms that throve so well In the marshy
soil. n all that while no one had caught
so much as a glimpse OF her sister, Luz
ellie. Also low they lived was a marvel.
The outlandish lady bought neither fish
nor butchers meat. nor bread. To be
sure the parson sent down n pint of milk
every morning from his dairy the can was
left at the garden gate and fetched at
noon, when il was always found neatly
scrubbed, with the price of the milk inside.
Besides. there was a plenty of vegetables
in the garden.
But this was not enough To avert the
whisper of witchcraft. And n day, when
Parson NORTH had ridden Oft To the wrest-
ling matches AT Exeter, the blow fell.
Farmer Anthony of Carne-great-grand-
father of the present farmer-had been
losing sheep. Now not a man i'm the
neighborhood would own to having stolen
them so what so easy 20 suspect as witch.
craft? Who so fatally open To suspicion
as the two ~outlandish sisters? Men, wives
and children formed a procession.