The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1893-11-22

one SCrapeu some DuIler from inc piece
of bread she was eating and remarked,
a. if thinking aloud (she had to think
very loud in order to make Samuel
hear): 1.-The old gather together; the
young scatter. Fathers gone, an
there's no tellin' when all he's shaved
am dug for all these years will be gone
too-scattered to the four winds of the
earthl'
She sighed, and, with her eyes fixed
prophetically, gazed on the wasteiul-
ness of the future. Samuel, the spend
thrift, stirred his tea. The death of
his father had turned certain specula-
tons of his into absolute knowledge.
He had lived in a quiet corner of the
world, where nature for the most part
took her course unmodihed by SEEM
ingly alien forces. Severe storms and
pestilence were unknown there. Death
was usually as The dropping of the scar
and yellow leaf. The blade, the ear,
the full corn in the ear and the harvest.
1t was thus that the monarchs of the
forest fell and the young saplings
stood. 1t was thus that his father had
died. 1t was thus that she would go at
last and he would be free. Evidently
she had not thought of this. He had
best remind her.
"Life's unsartain. All got to die
some time. Best TO be ready" be said,
in a cheerful tone.
This was the beginning of a long
struggle. Each occupied ground that
was impregDahle, and a retreat to their
fortresses ended most of their Skin
mishes for the time.
Thap Samua1 Glork ramindp1 hia
mother, scarcely ten years his senior,
that she was old, and must soon die,
and then he would wear his best clothes,
rent his farm and board in town, or
travel. Her only defense was: Yes,
Sam-u-el, but l hope to be able to lay
you away first. You know, Samuel,
you're def, and you'd be cheated out
of your eye-teeth. l hope to be spared
as long as you need me, Samuel"
And Samuel, who knew what this
kindness aud care meant, was not soft
ened. He knew it was true-his deaf
ness and the ability of the world to
cheat him. Dearer than himself was
his little property, which he so longed
to enjoy in his own way. He felt
powerless, yet impotently welded his
one weapon: GAN got to die. The old
die irst.' In his thought the flower
of youth was yet to bloom for him.
AS to the picket fence, it seemed to
Samuel that she had always wanted it.
Given q passion for flowers, a firm faith
in the economic value of chickens, and
no picket fence, the result is easily
imagined. Mary Clark's husband had
considered flowers a sinful waste of
land and labor. What were d~oor-yards
for, if not for the chicken? And Sam
uel felt that in order to be the man of
the house he must clothe himself as
with in the opinions of his
father. He could not remember the
summer when flowers had not doomed
around the door; and that they might
do so his youth had passed in a weary
ing chase after chickens. When he had
become old enough to go to the fields,
generations of brindle dogs had worn
out their lives in the same occupation.
Like his father. Samuel abhorred a
blossom that was not a harbinger of an
edible fruit. Apple blossoms were beau
tiful to him because of the apple to fol-
low. They were more beautiful after
the petals had fallen, revealing the
round green ball at their base which
dispelled the fear OF a barren pistil.
But he had grown accustomed TO the
flowers in the door-yard. He would
have missed them had they failed to
appear. He would have missed those
vigilant skirmishers, the chickens. had
they been limited to a space of their
own. He would have missed the per-
sistent reminders of his mother that
III that there fence was only built"
and his own unfailing antagonism.
Perhaps he would not have liked to
miss any of these things.
81 tell you what it is, Samuel Clark,
all / want is TO get you away long
enough, and I'll build that fence my.
SELF" she said at last, desperately.
No tellin' what may happen before
next spring." the old nan crowed, his
bleared eyes lighting. Perhaps you
won't be here by that time. Best be
ready. All got TO die, The old first"
"Well Samuel, if | die first, l don't
expect no picket fence. There won't
be any money to build it with, or any
farm to build it on inside a year. You
know yon're def, Samuel. They'll
cheat you out of everything you've got"
"Ill risk it! Yes! I'll risk it,"
NSiieu OaluuSI, Will ubusudl VIII. Dut
this time he had gone too far.
81 will have that fence, so there now,
Samuel Clark" aud that very afternoon
she drove to town and ordered the ma
terials. The next morning they came,
and a man to make of them a fence.
Samuel eyed the work sullenly. His
mother was silent but triumphant.
AS Mary Clark stood in the shade Of
her apple tree giving orders as to the
distance apart and depth of the post
holes, a figure emerged from the house,
and when she caught sight of it it was
jogging rapidly down the road. 1t was
a thin figure, not very tall. Its clothes
hung loosely about it. Its hat was
jammed down to its ears, and its gray
hair Haunted out beneath the rim.
Across its shoulders was a stout stick,
at the aft end of which dapgled a bun
die. She had gone too far also. Sam
uel was running away.
"Humph!" shifted Mary Clark; 81
bet that picket fence hem be back to
dinner"
But be was not. At three O'Clock