Abilene weekly reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1888-1935, 1893-08-03
A STORY OF THE SEA.
AS Told by Crazy Nell TO Sum-
mer-Day Visitor.

inspect this typical New England fish
ing village, with its queer, rambling
streets, Its ancient houses, its old
wharfs, once the scene Of activity, now
silent and deserted" etc.
! stood at the end Of the landing
place and looked down the long street
with the walk on one side and the har-
Dor on the other, then turned 10 watch
the crowd rush past TO take the town
by storm, staring in at the windows Of
the houses, overrunning the quiet little
graveyard, intruding everywhere; in
fact, doing everything that rude, van
dal excursionists do the world over.
"Desecrators" 1 thought, "how shall
! avoid your Here take what sup
pose TO be an out-of-the-way trip TO an
out-of-the-way place to get q little rest,
and, II possible, new ideas, but instead
Of quiet boat and leisurely sail, you,
the great uncouth, overlooking with
animal spirits and lunch baskets, are
before me, yea, your crumbs are upon
me, and the marks of your children's
clammy hands and the sound of their
anguished sobs are even yet mine"
After which elegant apostrophe 1
desperately struck into a struggling
side street, aud in few short moments,
to my establishment, they were left far
behind.
stopped and looked about.
Behind me the town lay, a narrow
fringe Of gray, colorless houses
bordering the inner harbor. Here
and there a thin penciled column of
smoke rose straight up as from n fire
To-. al att a,,I hnt
Before me stretch of binding
yellow sand, sparkling with glints OF
amethyst and pearl from the dis
integratcd sea shells which formed
part of the drift that lay heaped up in
odd, monstrous, angular dunes, tufted
with occasional punches of vivid green
wire grass a veritable sea serpent's
lair; domain of desolation.
Beyond, a sea SO calm, SO translucent
that the horizon line is lost, melted
away into the sky.
A monotonous droning filed the ear,
reminding one of the cicadas OF Prov
ence. From some shipyard came the
dull-measured stroke of caulker's
hammer, sounding like the tapping Of a
woodpcckcr; again the ''peepl peepw
of a sand bird; these are the only evil
dcnces of life. The spell of sleep is
over everything, and stand looking
unconsciously right ahead till the sud
| den noise Of the excursion boat blow
ing off steam arouses me, and | see
low cottage, the last on the lane, sur
rounded by a meager yard fenced with
| driftwood held together by pieces of
rigging.
Before the door is a pretentious porch
or arbor constructed of the gray, bleach
| ing ribs of whale. An enterprising
morning-glory vine Is endeavoring TO
envelop and clothe its ghastlincss, but
II protrudes and stands out from the
fiabby, sun-killcd wreaths like Il whited
sepulcher. A cobble-stone walk edged
with pink conch shells completes the
drcary ensemble.
lam about TO turn back to the town,
for It is not very pleasant padding about
in the shifting sands under the broiling
sun, when | see n little crouched-up
figure sitting on block Of wood in the
shadow Of an old dory, and so much the
color of the surroundings as to be al
most unnoticed.
II is woman, gray and bent with
years, looking fixedly at Inc with queer,
canny eyes, her lips moving as she
counts the stitches of the knitting in
her hands.
push open the gate on its rope hinges
and enter. asking politely for drink
of water Never stopping she mods
toward the we'll. | help myself and
then sit down near her, remarking
"rhis is beautiful day"
"Sun draw water in the mornin'
Sailors take warnin',"
she answers, never taking her eyes of
me. II was SO unexpected ! started
but rallying said;
"Well, nice fresh breeze wouldn'
hurt u.s."
In sad, monotonous tone, she re
piled:
"When winds blow fresh across the main
And mist scuds up from the lea,
There's apt to be some rain
And choppy sou'east sea"
well, WELL" laughed, pleasantly
though ! didn't feel a mite that way
you're quite a rhymster, mother; go
verses for all kinds of weather"
The laugh seemed to please the oil
sybil for an instant, then the small eye
grew sad again and she said, noddin
toward the village;
"Stayin' below2"
mo, just came down and going RICH
back"
"Then nobody sent you here2" lear
, ing forward.
mo; just strayed this way to avoi
: the crowd. Why do you ask?"
"They send people here to bother INT
They say I'm crazy, crazy Nell, yo
know; ever hear tell Of her2'
mo; but tell me, mother, how d
you live in this wilderness2'
IAN the day knit stoclsin's an mi
an lots of nippers for the fishermen
wear when they're fishin'. They're NJ
all bad They give me food and thinI
for them, sometimes little tea; b'
it's a poor life, lad, poor an sorrow
full life for old crazy Nell, with only HI
thoughts and the seas means for cor
pany; an death passes me, that on
longs TO go, and takes the young a.
strong, that wants TO live; but the da
is nigh at hand now; soon l will sec II
Malcolm, my bonny boy, my husband
gone, lad, gone, gone, and only marie
one day; think of II, me all alon
alone for forty weary winters and for
wearier summers, waitin' TO die an |
to him. Do you think he has forgiv'
me?"
Suppose you tell me your story"
said, gently, rather touched by h
plaintiveness