The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1893-09-02
AN OLD BACHELOR.

| l uOn IKE SlllS Sdiu L al mel
Upton. His housekeeper made no
answer.
In fact, added Mr.. Upton, l hate
'em.
Still Mrs. Martin did not reply.
But what can | do about il? he
resumed. If I'd had twenty four
hours notice, | would have gone
over to Cherry Mountain or across
to Dunham Fair, growled Mr.. Tip
ton; but here comes this letter, like
a streak OF lightning, to tell me the
girl will be here to night!
Mrs. Martin smiled little and
went on with her work, the picking
over of black beans to make coup;
for Farmer Upton was particular in
his eating, and although Hester, the
maid of all work, was skillful in the
use OF pots and pans, he never could
relish anything which was not OF
Mrs. Martins cooking.
suppose you'll have to get
room ready for her, said Mr.. Upton.
She'll have to stay all night in any
event. But l shall send her back
again tomorrow morning. don't
want niece to live with us. III
had wanted anything OF tie sort, |
could have asked for it | suppose.
Mr. Upton lived in pretty old
farm house, steep rooted and shad-
owed by monster buttonball boughs
a house where Tiptons innumerable
had been born and died, where
every stone wall had its associations
ard the very apple trees ard goose
berry bushes were declining into an
honorable Old age, with lichen COW
cred stems and crispy, dead boughs
breaking away with every wind. 1t
Is, perhaps, unnecessary to add that
he was an old bachelor, xas full of
whlms and caprices as ever old
bachelor was. Nobody, said the
neighbors, could get along with him
but Stella Martin; and she couldn't
if it had not been that she and
Thomas Upton had been boy and
girl together, and, somehow, were
used to each other, in the days before
Stella married that wild, reckless,
young Martin, who spent her money
and broke her heart in such short
order, and then shot himself in a
gambling saloon Such a merry,
laughing gypsy as she used to be,
and now
Why, cried the neighbors, she
don't speak to anybody!
1t was lovely old place. Holly
hooks clustered in the garden,
tangles of velvet red sweet williams
bordered the path, and bushes Of
dark southern wood hung over the
door steps. To Mr.. Upton it was
the dearest spot in the world. Mrs.
Marin used to bring the family
mending out into the porch, some
times, of summer evening, and
look wistfully at the red sunset shin.
ing through the trunks OF the cedar
trees. But whatever her impressions
might have been, she kept them to
herself.
If Mr.. Upton did not like the idea
of yourg girl visitor beneath the
ancient roof of Upton Hall, Phebe
Cresshill liked it still less.
You can send me out into the
wilderness as much as you like, said
Phebe, crying whole River Ganges
of tears into her trunk, as she threw
slippers, collars, cologne bottles and
work baskets, an incongruous mass,
into its depths; but | never never,
shall leave off caring for Harry Not
if you were to send me to Alaska
Child, said Mrs. Cresshill, sharply,
don't be goose? The engagement
is to be broken off, and there is ali
end to the whole thing!
Through her tears, Phebe could
but smile to herself. 1t was all very
well for mamma to talk, but mamma
did not know that the bakers boy
had carried, at the bottom of the
basket of rolls, a note to Harry
Havens, and Harry, knew that a:
we'll as she did herself that she wa.
going to a grabbed old uncle dowr
in New Hampshire, and that she
should always. al ways love him, NJ
matter what they said to her, OF
whittier th=y sent her.
And so, in the peaceful purple
attergloW Of the June evening, Phebt