Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1893-06-10
J E S s. N @ n E Y .


From the New York Evening Post.
We came to Milltop when the trees were Just
beginning to thicken at the tips of their twigs
The little runways that slid down the hills car
ried q faint line of growth along their edges, o.
If tidy nature had turned over green hem OF
earth to keep them within bounds. The pre-
caution seemed needless, though in touch with
the general economic plan. Elsewhere the
grass lay discouragingly dead and trodden.
without a suggestion of what was to come
After a few days the sharp edge OF the air
was blunted, and, as the sap rose and rioted
along the patient tree trunks, it set the dry
bark thinking, and sweled the millions OF Leaf
buds till they showed misty reds and browns
and pale yellovs against the cold blue of the
sky. One evening warm rain fell; the angel
on the meeting house steeple veered and blew
his long trumpet toward the south. and, when
the sun shone at next midday, the trees of the
fields clapped their hands.
Now the contagion of growth had seized them
every one; and this May morning, as we
strolled along in the dew after our 6 O'Clock
breakfast, spelling our shoes and trailing our
flannel gowns, we saw that the pappoose buds
had dropped great hanging shea.hs and let out
soft pale-grcen baby leaves that were ready to
shift for themselves with the rashness of youth.
The naples were bright atop, the horse chest
nuts held up great bouquets Of fringed white
and green. Everywhere grew yellow butter
| cups. Red sorrel in the fields, red columbi ne
| in crevices of the rocks: the DID, barren earth
had indeed broken forth into singing and these
were her first quiverIng chords. Painted cup
was gay In the meadows, Jack-in- the-pulpit was
ready for his sermon. and the swamp was one
| fog of leaves.
Coming suddenly upon a story-and- a half
| house at a turn in the road, we stopped to ad-
mire the vines that clambered up by the brown
picket fence. and hung themselves over when
they could no longer climb. There we're bitter
sweet from the woods and wild clemstis;
and tangled with this transphnted growth were
sweet peas and nasturtiums, reaching foolish
tendriis nowhere. or clinging to spears Of grass
that bent to every breadth of wind.
| Come right along in-right along in" said
Uncle Arad, planting his stout staff in our
direction. "Shell be proper glad to see you"
But at this time" we objected.
Land! what time do We s'pose it is3 We get
our breakfast long O. the robins; an they don't
| waste none o the dew time. reckon. Why.
Aunt Tishy she got her bakin' done an hour
ago, an hes jest ben up garrett for a passed. O.
| rags. She'll be tickled enough to hev you two
come in an help her sort colors. Rag mats, y
| know"
We needed no other invitation. The COOL
| fireplace, where two sticks were making bright
embers. was the main room Of the house. Be-
sides this its roof covered tiny. shut-up par
| Tor, bed room on one side the chimney and
| a large pantry and milk room the other.
| The window that looked toward the meeting
house was brilliant with scarlet geraniums, that
| love the sunniness and moisture of a kitchen.
| A tabby cat curled on the hearth gave a honey
look to the somewhat bare room. We had been
| frequent visitors at the house since our coming
To II
was no more disturbing to the cat than to Aunt
| Tishy.
| Uncle Arad sat down before the fire with his
hat on, and leaned both hands on bis staff.
| ''She was a school teacher some years back, A."
he began, IAN what she don't know how to
Uncle Arabs pride in his wife's attain
| ments came to no conclusion.
my other Miss Ridge" he added, ''sent the
little uns to school to her when she want
more'n fifteen; now, was yep
sixteen that spring Ann died." said Aunt
| Tishy, cutting strips Of red flannel, which we
begged to sew together and roll into balls.
| Ann come nix to the boy" said Uncle Arad
| meditatively. ''Samwell, then Ann, then
Thurzy, then Almiry. All of 'em went afore
their ma Seems 8 though twas some other
| world them days. An now they're gone where
the streets is paved with gold an money can't
do EN- mite o good. An here Jess hes up
an left me all his prop'ty. Curtis. 1t kind o.
tires me to think ont. Can't take it with me,
as they say, when I've got to ie' go my hold
sionares. an wouldn't be drop in the buckit
! to them
The old man got up. heavy with thought
and sat down on the doorsilL
lis terrible responsibility" said Aunt
| Tishy, taking up the burden where he dropped
| 1t. sometimes l think-and then again let
| it alone. But it does seeui-doesn't it?-as il
| when we've got through with it we ought to fix
it so as some OF our sort could have the use of
| it. l never believed in missionarying SO much
as some. Ii man has call to go amongst
the heather, I'm not going to put blocks in his
| way. But when he expects a woman and little
children to live there with him, and bear the
brunt of it. and keeps the blessing to himself
| why. it gets me right up in arms. Let him self
| sacrifice if he wants to. l like to see man
that can. But don't know. I've thought and
| thought"
There was long pause The cat rose and
stretched herself, and tried her claws on her
| mistress apron.
"There. Tidy. I knew you'd do it," she
said mildly as the red and black strips slid to
| the floor. ''See what mess you've made No.
| you know can't have you In my lap. Don't
| you see had my strips all sorted?'
The cat listened with bored air, turned
resignedly away and jumped for her masters
| shoulder.
| That's Tidy all over?" said Aunt Tishy.
making q deeper lap for her balls. "lf won't
| have her she goes straight to him. She thinks
| she's had her own way, now. But about that
| money. wish could have a sort OF leading
| OF Providence. such some folks have.
| think and think till it seems as if coudn't.
You wonder if there isn't some Of nay folks
| needing it. you say. Well. yes. I'm free to tell
| you. plenty of them. But there's one of his
sort that do feel drawing toward. He's his
sister s-well there. you don't know. But he
had one sister, Samiry. and she didn't do well
| marrying. That is, in one way"
''Smirymus WINS her name." put in Uncle
| Arad. "'Twan't Scriptur', but it b'longed to
| some o. them countries
''All his folks and hers set against it," con-
| tinued Aunt Tlshy, "but she would have him,
| and she did. He was a wild, harum-scarum
sort of boy, mighty fond Of his book. though
But he was different. He was made different,
/ say, and the old folks didn't know how to get
| along with him any more than il he d been a
| live scarecrow. He full of his tricks and
| they didn't have any too much patience Folks
| didn't have. very often. in those days. There
was everything to do and not much to
do with, and they couldn't put up with
| fooling. Young folks had to walk straight
| IL boy had got to mans size he
| must toe the mark take a birching. And
Abner couldn't. always would stand up for
| him. / said then. and say it now, it was q
shame to whip boy for laughing on o Sun
| day. He was pretty boy, too. There wasn't
one IN school set more store by than him
always ready to get pail of water recess time,