The Ohio Democrat. (Logan, O. [Ohio]) 1886-1906, 1890-07-05
HETTY'S STORIES.
"Love Under the Lindens" Be-
comes Reality.

comes a EC0allUy.
"Father," said Hetty Plumer, 81
wish you would let me go into the
factory"
"Into the factory?" said Mr.. Plumer,
dropping his pen into the middle page
of his account-book, and staring up
with eyes of round surprise. Mon
sense, child, nonsense! What do you
want to go into a factory for?"
The rosy sunset was gliding the
ancient roof-tree of Laurel Farm; the
merry babble of the brook in the ravine
sounded preternaturally loud in the
stiffness, and the grand blackbird, who
always came to the milk-room window
to receive his vesper meal from Hetty's
own plump fingers, was swinging idly
to and fro on the branch of the apple
tree, uttering flute-like note now and
then; Mr.. Plumer sat by the kitchen
table, grim, bald-headed, worn to skel-
eton by hard work; Hetty stood at the
opposite easement picking over jet
black cherries for the tea-table, q
dimpled, fair-faced girl, with solemn
blue eyes and brown hair curled in a
knot at the back of her head.
''I should like a little money of my
own" said Hetty, timidly.
"Don't give you dollar week, as
long as the city boarders stay?" de-
manded Mr.. Plup,er.
"Yes, but you put it all into the saw
ings' bank" complained poor Hetty,
land ! never have penny of my own to
spend"
"All you need, all you need!" said the
farmer, authoritatively, and he went on
with those endless accounts, until poor
Hetty felt as if all the world must be
represented by numbers.
Mr.. Plumer owned the farm, Aunt
.Jemima managed the household and
Hetty was at every ones beck and call.
The city boarders, to be sure, made a
pleasant change in her monotonous life,
but then she was afraid of them,Sof all
except Hugh Allaire, who helped her
with the sick chickens, picked blackbe
ries with her of the dewy August morn
ings, and told her how to manage her
camellias, pinks and dropping begonia
plants.
He had come down to Laurel Farm in
charge of an invalid cousin, and Hetty
soon began to miss him during his occa-
,sional absences, and to rejoice at his re-
turning, in degree which was by no
means accounted for by the chickens
and the pinks. And, truly, Hugh AL
laire was frank, honest young fell
low, who would fully justify any girls
partiality.
Poor Hetty! She felt that she was
shabbily dressed, and many a time she
had stepped behind the lilac hedges to
conceal the contrast, as the gayly-at-
tired city damsels futtered by, in search
of ferns, or upon botanical expeditions
into the cool woods.
'sAnd yet" said Hetty to herself, 81
should be as goodlooking as any of
them, If only had their silks and rib
bons and lace frills"
And when Farmer Plumer absolute
ly vetoed the factory question, Hetty'S
active mind turned in other directions.
'Miss Edgett teaches in Fifth ave-
nue. school, y she pondered, as, mentally,
the summer boarders passed in review
before her. ''They pay her literally,
people say. But couldn't teach. /
am not wise enough for that. Nus.
Arblay is an artist, and paints minia-
lures on ivory for fifty dollars each. I
can't paint. Miss Folliott writes for
the Boston magazines. l wonder II l
could write for the papers?"
But Aunt Jenima threw cold water
on this scheme.
''Stuff and nonsensew said Aunt Jemf-
ma, who was cutting up pigeons for pie.
Folks has to be born with talent for
that sort of thing"
''But how do / know that ! wasn't
born with it?'' queried Hetty, persist
entity.
81 guess you'd have found it out be-
fore this;' said Aunt Jemima, packing
her pie-crust-lined pan with the tender
legs and wings of pigeons and raining
a liberal shower of salt and pepper over
the layer thereby formed. And thus re-
pulsed, Hetty carried her query to Miss
FolliOtt herself.
Mary Folliott, who made laborious
for very little remunera-
ton, smiled sadly on the young as
pirant
"You might try" said she. "The
field is open to all. would not willing
ly discourage any one, although my ~n
has been trying"
So Hetty sat down, and wrote little
story---a story of country fields and
sweet. smelling woods, with such simple
element of love as her girlish expert
ence had taught her; and she read 1t to
Hugh Allaire.
do you think the Weekly Leader
will publish it?' said she.
"Of course it WILL" said Hugh. And
80 she sent 1t in.
And, encouraged by Mr. Allaire's COR
dial interest, she told him all her hopes
and fears with innocent openness.
"Hetty," said he. sits all nonsense,
your not looking as we'll as those pulled
and painted ohty girls. You are rose
in garden OF poppies; diamond in a
heap Of glass stones You are prettter,
at this moment, than any girl in the lot
of 'em."
But Hetty laughed and shook her
head.