Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1892-04-29

symphony of olive and green in the
late fall. Here and there the sunken
boulder stood soldiery, golden rod, or
berry bushes clothed now in scarlet and
gold. At intervals in the long slope
stood solitary trees, where fluttering,
brittle leaves fell in the gentle, chill air.
In summer. time she remembered we'll the
haymakers rested in the shade, and
the jug with ginger water she made for
the men was kept there to be cool.
She seemed as she sat there to re-
member everything. The house was all
right, she w:s sure of that; the key was
under the kitchen door mat, the fire was
out in the stove and the cat locked in
the barn.
She held her work hardened hand to
her side, painting little, for it was a
good bit of a walk across the meadow,
and she was eighty years old on her last
birthday. The cows feeding looked
homelike and pleasant.
"Goodbye, critters" she said aloud;
''meny's the time I've druv' ye home an
MIXED ye, an alius let We eat by the
way, nor never hurried ye as the boys
done"
With a farewell glance she went on
again, smoothing as she walked the
scattered locks of gray hair falling under
the pumpkin hood and keeping her
black scant gown out of the reach of the
briars. Across another field, then
through leafy lane where the wood
was hauled in winter, then out through
gap in stump fence, with its great
branching arms like petrified octopus,
to the dusty high road.
Not soul in sight in the coming twi-
light. John, the children and the scold-
ing wife who made her so unhappy,
would not be home for an hour yet, for
East Mills was II long drive.
Down the steep hill went the brave
little figure, followed by an old shadow
of itself in the waning light, and by the
tiny stones that rolled so swiftly they
passed her often and made her look be-
hind with start to see if a pursuer was
coming.
They'd put me in the asylum, sure,
she muttered wildly as she trudged
along.
At the foot of the hill she sat down
upon an old log and waited for the
train.
Across the road, guarded by a big
sign, "Look out for the engine" ran
two parallel iron rails that were to be
her road when the big monster should
come painting around the curve.
At last the dull rumble sounded, a
shrill whistle, and she hurried to the
track, waving her shawl as a signal.
This, in the conductors vernacular,
was a crossroads station, where he was
used to watch for people waving articles
frantieally. The train stopped and the
passenger was taken aboard. He noticed
she was bright eyed old lady, very neat
and precise.
"IIow furl" he asked.
.'liostin."
"Git there in the mornin'," he said, +,
kindly, waiting for the money, as she
opened queer little retieule, where,
under her knitting, wrapped in clean
cotton handkerchief, was her purse with
her savings of long years-the little
sums Sam had sent her when he first be
gan to prosper in the West, aud some
money she had earned herself by knitting
aud berry picking.
A. q cross road, as they went swiftly
ON, she saw the old soFTel horse, the
Tattling wagon aud John aud his family
driving homewsfd She drew hack
with little cry, fearing he might sec
her aud stop the train, bat they " ut on
90 last that could not be, aud tae old
horse logged into the woods, and John
never thought his old Aunt Hannah, his
charge ior twenty long years, Was raa
ming away,
Al liostoa kindly conductor bought
hsF through ticket iur Denver,
"lta long ioafney iuf al old lady
Ike sou, he said
"has Ia psags o. ny ags, she said