The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1891-08-05
AUNT MEREDITH.

"That was the saddest mistake / ever
made"
From my lounge in the corner of Aunt
Meredith's room watch her with half
closed eyes as she draws her low chair
before the fire, and takes her knitting
from the work-basket at her side. She
is always busy, it seems to me, and when
think of it, we six are enough to make
work constant with her.
First, there is Uncle Clay, Aunt Mere
dith's brother, full of hobbies that re-
quire her constant attention.
'lt can only prove its worthlessness
before he mounts it, can save him
good deal of trouble" she says, when
new hobby is presented and often she
succeeds.
And there is Robert, just starting out
for himself under Aunt Mereditb's
special guidance. There is Frank,
another nephew, generous and impusive,
"a regular tinder-box in temper, with
May, his sister, always ready, in her
love for teasing, to put the match to the
tinder.box.
And there is Richard-happy, rollick-
ing Richard, of whom Aunt Meredith is
never quite sure until she has herself
tucked him in bed and sung him to
sleep.
Then here am /; a cripple, dependent
upon Aunt Meredith for every raw of sun
shine that has crept into my poor
manned existence since the day l opened
my eyes to the life which, but for her,
might indeed have proved a curse to me.
So there are six of us, all under her
care.
She thinks l am asleep, or else she
would not have spoken of that fatal
mistake which affected the current of so
many lives.
The freight plays upon her needles as
she patiently plies them. The blaze
rises higher, and forms, as she sits out.
lined against it, sort of halo about her
gray head.
She is thinking of the past, know,
and that "mistake," while she sits there
waiting.
Robert is doing some extra book-keep-
ing, and will not be in until ten o'clock.
May and Frank are busy with their les
sons in the sitting room. Uncle Clay
rode over to Richland to-day, and did
not return until late. Richard is asleep,
for l heard Aunt Meredith singing Crock
of Ages" in the boys room more than
half an hour before she went down to
give Uncle Clay his supper.
While she sits waiting for the last one
of the household to come in, l am lying
here thinking over that mistake she
made.
Indeed, often think of it. We Grip
Piles have so little else to do except to
study books and people, aud all these
tedious years have studied her until l
think know her great soul by heart.
And know all about that ''sad mis-
take, although she does not dream that
it is known to me. II were to tell her
that learned from her own lips to call
it ''mistake," am sure that she would
think the aflliction that has dwarfed and
tortured my body for almost forty years
has attacked my mind as well, for she
does not really look upon it as a blunder.
If she ever allows herself to think of
it as such, it is only when she is troubled
and tired, and her thoughts go crowding
back, to fasten themselves upon the
brightest spot in the past.
Such moments come TO the brayest
and best of us. But heard Aunt Mere
dith tell Uncle Clay only last night that
''there can be no blunders in Gods
plan;" and if she can stand up so
grandly amid the ruins of youths prom
ises and testify to the perfection of the
eternal plan, few indeed have the right
to sit in judgment on it.
feel the warm fears trickling down
my cheeks as l watch the figure in the
freight. l can remember the day when
this white.haired woman, knitting stock
ings in the chimney corner, was the mer-
riest girl in our village.
"And the handsomest one," people
said. "And the best one" John East
mau declared, when he asked her to be
his wife. "And the happiest one,
heard her tell herself when John was
gone, aud with him her pledge.
was a child then, but remember it.
am a child now, for that matter;
child in body, man in years; but l re-
member it all rs plainly as if it had
been yesterday. l think we crippled
ones have keener memories than those
who share the minds work with the
body.
Aunt Meredith was an orphan, aud
had been reared and cared for by my
mother, her only sister, and Uncle
George, her oldest brother.
The brother and sister tenderly dis
charged their duty toward her, and Aunt
Meredith, always conscientious, felt that
an immense debt was accumuatiug
against her; so that, when my dying
mother placed my hand in hers, and with
her last breath said, "As have dealt