The Press., 1891-07-30
Number IS.

CT, the mischievous "Hi;" both were ready to de batt1e, if need be, for the | household. ~GEr .tu.F Never did sun shine on @ more devoted amily never did sorrow cement precious l ties more closely. Bessie loved her sparkling sister for thestraits she did not possess herself; Philip thought his peo- pie the very best in the world; and Maida loved them without questioning why ; while the entire household bowed in ad- Ioration before the throne of their dear in valid. E.uaa.j ,EiEsa =..s..r st.ea.s
 1t was glorious morning when John drove his oxen out of the gate and slowly down the hill to the Burchmore farm. Two large barrels of cider were securely fastened in the cart by means of large chain, and before them, on board laid across for the purpose, sat Maida Hale. "Yer ma said you might, did she 2'' asked John, as the girl began to sing in Q clear soprano voies:l.
 nISwent away from Danbury town, si ! From Danbury town went I."R 4t1 Might what9n responded the girl !; ''sing that song9 that is a proper one.
 "No," said the man, ''no, that you might go down to Burehmore's." T7I
 'sOf course she did, :" said the girl, with a disdainful toss of the head 'if Blessed had not said yes, should not be here." a''Humph!" said John, ''did she know there's sickness, an mebbe it's ketchin2''
 "She knew all about the sickness, and I am taking down this basket of goodies, and am to see her my own self and give her the Blessed's message. You must be funny, John, if you think can catch lumbago, and that is all the sickness there is. I read all about it to mamma, so I could help Mrs. Burchmore's better"
 "What about your school9" asked John.
 ''None until Monday" said Maida, as she throw aside the large stat sun-bonnet l which she wore, and shook out her long hair; "no school until Monday, John, and have promised the Blessed to keep out of mischief" ...., ,.s. "Humph !" said John, with an addi- tional shake of his head and an addition al ''gee, haw," to his oxen; '"I should hate most nightly to contract to keep you out, Miss Maida." l The girl gave her head another express i've toss, squared her shoulders and said with some pride: "You are not expected I to keep me out or to take care of me al all." t..
 "No, Miss Maida, I'd a sight rather | break in some steers" l The girl was silent for moment thinking her own thoughts, which were far deeper than blunt John dreamed Suddenly, she spoke to hel companion 1T 8 tone quite at variance with her former defiant one, and said: "John, I don' think should ever dream of mischief i it were not for my grandmother" 7. i "Bless my seul," said John, as he turn ed to look at her, "why. Miss rMaida the old lady was saint and has beer dead these, twenty years ''she never pu it into your head to make all my turkey. drunk, just to see them stagger rount like so many drunken lords"
 "Then the lords should know better John; but oh, how silly and foolish they did look, didn't they, John?" ..,
 'I must allow they did, Miss Maida but not bit sillier than man when he's that foolish"
 Do you know thought of that, John and I asked papa if the pulp would make turkeys so miserable, what must the cide do for people?" F.. "Was the squire angry?"
 "Papa is never angry with me-" sait the girl, with dignity. John changed tn, subject. "Well, Miss Maida, you can't say tn old lady made you starch all the handker chiefs in the laundry and set everybod, to snickerin' when your pa pulled his ou ; in church and tried to shake it out. d'clare, it rattled like brown paper, an, your pas face grew as red as fire." Johl laughed 8 little, and a. bright flush ap peared on the girls face. ... |, Something or somebody must mak
 me think of such things, !" she said, "The
 just pop into my head like flash and i might be grandma, for she was very will
 and gay when she was 8 girl; but oh, s good, when she grew up and helpe
 grandpa write those old sixteenthly ser mons that are up in our attic" =
 9When I come to know the old lady she was the piousest woman I ever knew. I Perhaps I shall be some day, John we can't tell," said the girl, as she stoo' up in the cart at the risk of her neck t |, pluck an overhanging branch. ..
 John turned to look at her, and h
 thought that he had never seen a sweete face :, in the world. A little wave of re gretful sadness passed over him as h
 thought of his own baby girl, sleeping b. her mothers side. Somehow he ha, never cared for any child since but Mis-
 Maida, and he had taken her in his arm
 the first night after coming to Glenridge and she had laughed in his face, even a she did sometimes in these later days.
 She was only two years old then, an, John took her into his heart at once. H
 had dim idea that he was responsibl
 for her department in some way, an must discipline her when her parent
 were not about; and Maida bore it wit
 more meekness than was her won't whe reproved by others, for Johns sad stor
 had been told her by the dear mother.
 the man had uttered his inmost though , that morning as he looked into that clear
 frank face, beaming with health and har piness, he might have said: .'Indeed , you will make grander woman than sh ever was, child;" but Puritans of the ol
 school, and, alas, some of the new, ofte give sour words from the lips when kin
 ones surge from the heart. It Is bit c