The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1893-12-27
new YEARS STORY.
Marget.--A New Year Memory.

time in our home since Marget died.
Marget was our servant; her real name,
of course, was Margaret, but she abbre.
waited it in such fashion and we did
likewise. st. Margaret she is to us
now; placed above all others in our
household calendar, for she suffered
loves crucial test in laying down her
life for our sakes.
Pll tell you the story if you care to
hear it, but my words will be simple
and few. When a man feels most he
can say least, and the thought of that
New Years eve brings a queer, shaky
feeling in my throat. Marget had only
lived with us a year. Where my wife
picked her up | neither knew nor
asked. There was a confidence be-
tween them that none other in the
house shared; and though | surmised
that one woman strong in her purity
was holding helping hands to one whose
feet had TIPPED, had confidence in
my wife's judgment and made no in
quiries. Marget was young woman,
though prematurely aged in appear
ance; over twenty-five years of age per-
haps, but hardly touching the third de-
cade. She had plain, strong features,
hair of a nondescript color and gray
eyes, small but bright, chunky figure,
and hands whose SHAPE illness rough
household labor seemed unable to spoil.
Marget is proud of her hands"
the children would say, and she smiled
without coutladicting them. With the
adults of the household she was always
grave, meeting the kindest advances
al Wi h 70 oh he,
was always charming; quick, bright,
tender and full of quaint little droller-
it's of speech and action that revealed
the naturally merry ra'ure beneath.
My wife and would pause frequently
in our convt rsation to listen to her
whimsical utterances as she moved
about her kitchen with the children
DIGGING her footsteps. Sonnet times we
heard a little laugh, pathetic in its
brevity, when the perpetual why" of
childhood taxed her inventive genius.
She was rarely at loss for some half
witty, halffanciful response to such
questionings, and it seemed as though
her keen sense Of humor found its only
outlet thus.
She was happiest with the children
around her. In their absence her face
resumed its melancholy and her words
were few. She had been with US only
yea, have said, and yet we trusted
her fully. She was devoted to my wife
and tender to all the children, but her
best love WIS given to little Jack, our
two year-old baby. Even on her bust
est days she managed to keep him in
sight, pausing as he passed to and fro
to touch caressingly the boys dark
curls, or catch the chubby hand and
hold it to her lips, while his lightest cry
would bring her to his side, sure COM
forter. She made no open display of
her preference; in fact, seemed rather
to avoid any reference to it; but it was
as my wife remarked, When Marget
looks at Jack her face grows beaut-
full"
1t was five years ago to day, and we
were living at the time in queer old
octegon house, the pal sonage of the
little Methodist chapel quartz of
mile away. 1t was a roughcast build
ing, great rambling, oddly planned
place, with rooms big and little, whose
gle, save right argyle. The children
reveled in it, especially in the tiny tri-
angular rooms cut from the larger apart
ments. To them the house suggested
endless games of "puss- he-corner";
to me it was geometric nightmare, in
which walls, ceilings and floors kept
carnival. l often wondered what in.
duced the quiet little body of people,
with their small, unpretentious church,
to purchase such a great ghostly place
for parsonage, and one day ventured
to question my head deacon concerning
the matter.
eve bought it dead cheap, an
there's good deal of it for the money.
The man that built il was leetle
fetched in the head. When he died we
made the first offer an got the place, as
his wife was member in good an reg
lar standin'."
So he answered, and, having had
some experience in the peculiarities of
country churches, accepted the expla-
nation and questioned no further. 1t
was charming place in summer time,
with its lawn and lovely oldfashioned
garden, where fragrance ran riot and
fruit trees hung sweet and mellow.
But when cold winds presaged winters
approach We were glad to double. sash
doors and windows, TO close up half of
the many cornered rooms and make a
nest for ourselves in the sunny southern
portion. The winter had set in unusu-
ally early that year. Throughout
December the sleighing had been con
slant. The river that skirted our little
town was bound in icy fastness. For
three days after Christmas the snow
fell thickly, softly, steadily, transform
ing the ugliest bits of architecture into
marble graces, and heaping the high
rail fences into ridges of velvet white
ness. In the silence and seclusion We
seemed buried town of olden time
with colonnaded marble, freshly I'M
earthed to the light of modern day.
But at length the heavy snow clouds
were rifted and scattered by the north
wind, and season of keen icy cold fol-
lowed.
The last day of the year had come
and we found it necessary TO break our
comfortable bonds of warmth and ease
and Christmas che er in order TO accom-
plish some shopping, for we kept open
Vaar1o dau anA bo