The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1891-08-05
Selected Storm.
How the Spirit Moved Cynthia.
PART ONE.

| had said to friend: 81 want to go
to a rivera river in the mountains
and / want to see new faces. want to
be with people who won't expect any
thing in return for amusing me, with
simple folk, who have simple ideas, or
none at all; for find the society of
perfect fool is the most acceptable to
me just now"
"You need hardly leave your native
city to seek that commodity" my friend
answered.
eyes, but the city fools catch the
cant of the day, and / am so weary of
it ALL"
CT know Just what you mean, just
what you want, and just where to send
you to get it," my friend answered.
''I will give you the address of farm
house in the Virginia mountains, where
l was fishing last summer. The people
there will take you in if you say l sent
you, and l think it will meet all your
requirements. / should certainly risk
it il were you"
And risk it l did-not without some
misgivings.
The family proper was small; the old
farmer himself, Reuben Grey-a man
of more than eighty years-his wife
Mary, and their adopted daughter
Cynthia.
Then came-equally a part of the
household-Sam, an old negro slave,
born on the same day as his master.
But the center and flower of the
whole place was Cynthia.
Her mother had been Shakeress,
who. alone in the world, had somehow
wandered into the circle of kindness
surrounding Reuben Grey. He had
taken her and her child, first to his
hearth, and then to his heart. l do not
know which was the more large and
warm.
The mother had not lived long to en-
Joy either, and her dying wish was that
her child should be brought up in the
faith of her forefathers. This the pious
Presbyterian couple, who took the poor
little waif as their own, had honestly
striven to accomplish.
Cynthia was now eighteen years old,
and she had been sent to the Quaker
settlement regularly every Saturday
night, to receive religious instruction
from the good " Friends " until Mon
day mornings duties drew her back to
the farm.
She was almost too sedate and prim,
sometimes. She talked little, but what
she said was in voice so round and
sweet that l loved to listen to it, even
when she was only counting over the
eggs for market.
She always used the attractive
"thee" of her people, and there was
about her an intense, though soft, re-
serve, which kept me doubly interested
in her.
Next in my favor stood Sam-Sam,
with bunch of rags for coat, one eye
in his head, one tooth in his mouth,
and perfectly white goatee growing
out of one side of his chin with a
crookedness which was irresistible.
Such was the homestead, and so it
the strawberry-p of a rundown
Virginia farm, listening to the grumbles
of old Sam, who, unconscious of my
presence, was picking berries for my
supper.
coin, say; had'en' bin fer his dern
foolishness, l bin a-settin' in Massa's
quarters dis day a-doin nothin'. Ole
as l is, an pickin' berries in dis hot
sum- Cuss Abe Lincoln!"
"Oh, Uncle Sam!" l cried.
"Lord Dress yer, chile, yer dus scere
me to def. Honey, dom never speak to
Sam suddint from benin. I'se a
tremblin' all over"
"What makes you so cross to-day"
I asked
"Mis'ry, chile; misty all down dis
side, and shootin' cross here, an up de
oder side"
He exemplifed on his spare person
with his thin hand.
Ode berry-lines, dey pears to git
longer and longer" he sighed, plain
lively.
took pity on him.
'I'll help you pick, if you will promise
not to swear at President Lincoln any
more"
Uncle Sam possessed, with the rest
of his race, a talent for skipping the
disagreeable with a calm adroitness
which any woman of the world might
have envied.
Yes, honey" he said, coaxingly.
Yes, help pore ole Sam a mite-how's
your pretty map"
"Quite WE'LL" / answered. "And
how is your niece? Do you think her
husband has really deserted her? 1
was sorry to hear of her being in
trouble"
"Wel, not to say 'zactly in trouble,
Miss Katrine. Yer see, Ozella, she
amt no fool. Eff niger don wan
her, she dom wan dat niger. She
amt cryin' none; nav, indeed; She.
studyin' bout Ozella, an der amt nc
time ter cry. l amt sayin' dom cry
eff you's got plenty O. money, like you
is, but cryin' an starvn' is sompir
else. Nav, indeed, honey; be tough
wild de times, says; and Ozella, sht
feels jes' like me. Oar somebody call
ing of yer now"
There was handkerchief wavinl
from a window of the house, which
knew meant that my mother was wait
ing for me to take her walking. / lief
the berry-patch and walked SLOWLY
towards the house, looking with
dreamy endowment, as | did SO, at tn