The Kootenai herald. [volume] (Kootenai, Idaho) 1891-1904, 1891-08-29
MISS BECKY'S HOME.

Miss Becky was going to the sold Ladies'
home" at last. It was sorry fact, but there
was nothing else for her to do, it seemed
Who would think of offering any other home
to a poor, almost helpless old woman, who
had outlived her usefulness Having passed
her days in other peoples houses, so to speak,
she might not mind it as much, perhaps, as a
more fortunate being.
eyes, she said, there's a vacancy in the
'Old Ladies' home, and the 500 that
Parson Amory left me will pay my way
in, but it wouldn't last long if / began TO
spend it, you know, and shall have warm
bed and my regular meals without worrying
about where the next ones coming from. I'm
most tired worrying about ways and means.
Seems as though l had been about it all my
life; ever since father was taken with heart
disease hearing the class in algebra Now that
the rheumatism has got the better of me, so
that / can't work in cold weather, and the
doctor says it'll draw my fingers so that
can't use them soon, it doesn't seem as il there
was anything left for me in this world but
the Homeland | ought to be thankful for
that"
Miss Becky had had other expectations in
her heyday, when young Larry Rogers met
her and carried her basket; when his strong
arm padded her down the broad river to
church on Sunday mornings; when they
sang together in the choir from the same
hymn book when they loitered homeward
in the fragrant summer dusk, and heard the
! whip-poOr-will complain and startled the
! fireflies in the hedges as they brushed by.
! 1t sometimes seemed to Miss Becky as if all
this had happened in another planet. She
was young then, with bloom ON Sher check;
/ but, although the rheumatism had bent her
| figure and rendered her more or less hopeless
at times, yet her dark, velvety eyes looked
out like soft stars, and the ghost of dimple
still flickered ON her cheek and chin in spite
of her sixty odd years. Miss BecBy's father
had been the district school teacher i'll those
far off days of her girlhood. He had taught
her the simple lore at his command, but it
was Larry Rogers who had taught her music;
hour after hour in the empty school house
they had practiced together, while he wrote
the score on the blackboard.
But all this had not sufficed to enable her
to earn a livelihood. Her education, must
cal and otherwise, had stopped short of any
commercial value. In those days she never
expected to earn her living by the sweat of
her brow Larry was going to give her
everything. How trivial the little quarrel
seemed today which circumvented this final
resolve of his. But what magnitude it had
assumed at the tIJnel On his return from
trip to neighboring city some busybody
had whispered to Larry that Miss Becky had
been driving with Squire Eustis' son Sam
behind his trotters. Sam was just home from
college, harum scarum fellow, they said,
who made love right and left and gambled a
bit; and when Larry reproached her with it
she had not denied; she had simply said:
.1,
sip rather than wait till youn-
"But you didn't tell me, and I've been here
a week"
81 had forgotten all about it till you re-
minded me- said Becky.
'It's such an every day affair for you to
drive with Sam Eusts" which incredulity
so stung Becky that she would not conde-
scend to explain that she had carried some
needlework up to Squire Eustis', which she
had been doing for his wife, and that as she
left to walk home Sam was just starting off
with his smart chase and new dapple grays,
and the squire had said "Take Miss Becky
home, Sam, and show her their PAGES" and
how she had been ashamed to refuse their
kindness, although preferring to walk a thou
sand times; and how, once i'll the chaise, Sam
had been the very pink of courtesy, and
begged her to drive over with him to Parson
Amory, three miles out of her way, that
Lucy Amory may see you don't disdain my
company For you see,h said Sam, who was
! not as black as he was painted, or as many
liked to suppose, Lucy can make me what
she will; without her 1 shall be nothing and
nobody; but they've told her all kinds oil
wild things about me; they've told her she
! might as well jump into the river as marry
/ such a scapegrace. And, perhaps, if l made
her little jealous-you know there's NJ
harm i'll that, is there. All's fair in love
and, perhaps if the old folks see me driving
about with Becky Thorne my stock may z,
up, and / may be saved from the burning,
as Parson Amory says
And Becky had consented. How coul,
she refuse to do a service for such a tru
loverl So slight thing, too! She had Otter
traversed the same road since on foot, Oh
her daily rounds Of toll and mercy. San
Enstis had married Lucy Amory years ago
and was the foremost man in the county to
!. day. Strange how that drive had interfere,
Il with Miss Becky's prospects; how that sim
pie fact of carrying home Mrs. Eusts' nee
dlework should have determined her fate an,
devoted her to a life of hardship and tn
Old Ladies' home at the end Talk of trihes
Poor Miss Becky! She remembered once o
l. twice the opportunity had offered when sh
= might have made it up with Larry; bu
h pride or a sort of fine reserve, had locke
G. her lips. Larry ought to know that she wa
above silly fiirtations. Once, when they me
. at Lucy Amorys wedding, when they a
d went out into the orchard while the brid
planted a young tree and the guests locke
u for four leaved clovers, she had found hersel
whether by accident or design she coul
IF not tell-on the grass beside Larry; their fin
p gers met on the same lucky clover, their eye