Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1890-06-20


low farm house on the hill. Bachelor
Barker was dead, and lis heir, a Young
nephew U Lom lie had never seen since the
boy was four years old, had come down To
-eli things oft. Rum1r said he intended 10
tear down the old house atterward and
take money from the bank and building
iiae new residence. with q mansard roof
Its a shame, said one or two. such
q pity Barker dii not make a will lie
must have had some intention about such
property. lie never could have intended
all that wealth to 90 to a boy he did not
like enough TO ask over for the summer
The doctor felt sure he would have
founded hospital, and placed him III 1t as
a resident physician for life. if the will had
been made.
The clergyman knew be meant to do
something for the church. The professor
had heard him speak Of free library AMI
reading room. Every one knew of some
thing. and all the far-aTay cousins had ex-
pected legacies.
Every one thought the arrangements all
wrong, but the heir and the auctioneer,
who had made an inventory of the old fur
niture-the tall clock, the andirons, the
solid tables with leaves, the spinning
wheels, big and little; the fiddle-back
chairs, and all those other possessions
adored by the fashionable to-day but utter
Is despised twenty years ago as 'old
things that were not worth their keeping
The young heir would, if he built his
villa, furnish it with "sets' Of the latest
style, with Brussels carpets, with white
grounds and bright wreathes of roses
scattered over them.
Cant get much for the old sticks he
said, "but I'd like to clear up and be done
with it."
Miss Camiola Brown, sitting at the front
up chamber window, cutting out calico
short waists for Mrs. Blacks five little
boys, laid down her shears for once in her
life, and with her elbows on the sill, watch
ed the people as they walked or drove
past and entered in at the gates Of the late
Mr. Barkers premises.
Poor Benjamin." she sighed. Il won
der whether up in heaven be remembers
the day when he took me in and walked
me all through the old house|
"The things are old fashioned Cam:ola, ,
he said to me; "but they were my mothers
and before that they were my grand
mothers. like them but say the word,
and I'll new furnish" no, Ben says l,
what your ma liked to have, | don't want
to alter. Ike it all; it's stuf'-and then
and then he kissed me"
Miss Camiola felt for her handkerchief as
she said this TO herself "And we stood
at the grand window and looked of toward
the mountains. We're going to be happy
as ever folks were said he. Here the
tears began to fall. ooh, Ben" she sobbed,
~'to think we quarrelel after that, and
didn't speak when we met. But you never
married, and | refused two ofIers-good
ones But, Ben, | guess we'll meet up
there some time and make up.
Poor Camiola put her head down on her
arms and cried softly among the purple
blossoms Of the wisteria that yelled the
window. No one could see her from the
road But her tears dried soon, and she
came back to the present.
They were selling .he old furniture at
auction. The claw footed sideboari, the
settle, the big mahogany cradle in which
four generations of babies had been rocked
all these dear old things that were once
to have been hers, as Benjamin Barker's
wife, and she was poor seamstress, an old
maid going from house to house for her
board and fifty cents "A day; looking for
ward 10 feeble old age and with an awful
dread IN her soul 81 becoming "town poor"
at last
II she had married Ben, how different it
would have been.
."Why, Miss Camiola! you've been
cryin'!' said Mrs. Black loud voice, just
then, in her ear. Camiola started guiltily,
but she was too candid to complain Of a
cold or the sun in her eyes.
"Well, have cried little, Mrs Black"
said she. "You see, we used to be friends,
Mr. Barker and I, and knew his ma, and
remember all that furniture, and it seems
a sin to sell it and tear down the old house,
and maybe root up the lilacs and straw
berry shrubs and, perhaps, cut down the
trees. 1t was almost like home to me in
Mrs. Barker's day.
"Woll, it must seem a sin TO any one,
and more SO TO you, Miss Camola,' said
Mrs. Black. But don't you want to go
over and see the place, and what is going
on You might as well just take a day, or
the rest Of it, I'm in no hurry, and you
look tuckered out"
Mrs Black was kind in her way and
felt a certain pity for Camiola. She had
heard that Camiola was once engaged to
Mr.. Barker, and might to-day have been a
rich and important widow, instead Of
poor, lonely seamstress.
"Go along, Miss Camiola," she added
81 know you want to-"
"Did she want tor Camiola asked her
self and from her heart came the answer,
"Yes"
She would see the old home once more,
see the old furniture; and when she could
get a chance she would go up in the garret
and stand where she stood with Ben that
day. Her old elbows should lean where
her young ones had pressed; she would
look out over the mountains, and fancy
herself girl again, with Ben beside her,
and bis engagement ring on her finger
And Miss Camiola thanked Mrs Black,
put on her show bonnet with the washed
ribbons and the shawl that had been so
good once, but was faded, and even mend
ed now, and walked up the road turned
into the lane, and entered the Barker
garden.
The smell Of the shrub came to her; the
lilac flowers were gone, bUt the willow
branches kissed her bonnet as she passed
under them.
The ncighbUrs who saw her nodded or
spoke, but they were selling the tall clock,
and there was some excitmcent Camiola
stood at the door awhile, and listened to
the bidding. Deacon Hickory got the
clock; Mrs. Amos Mole the claw footed
sideboard. a Jewish lady from the village
bought the trunks Of womcn's clothing,
sold unopened, FOR next to nothing A unit
Barnaby, the washerwoman, got tho tn BIS
and irons very cheap, in lot, and 70 on
and 20 forth