The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1893-02-04

fur spell. And little Hezekiah
would go quietly away, with his
malicned treasure held carefully
under his arm, to be met OH his
re urn With sweet wotds and gin
girbread man for supper, by re-
morseful Aunt Rachel.
1t was not observed that he
returned from one Of these assisted
emigrations without the fiddle; nor
at first that they never heard its
Objectionable tones any more.
When the child was questioned and
joked on this fact, he laughed raer-
rily, seemed greatly tickled, and
with sly and knowing looks, said,
It's where any of you don't know.
You couldn't find it if you'd hunt a
week!
But not long after this Mr.. Fouty,
or old Michael Fouty, as | always
heard him called, with Tom and
young Mike, we're cutting timber;
little Hezekiah trotting UNDECIDED at
their heels as he moved from tree to
tree, or stopped to peer into the
grasses for tiny blossoms, talk to a
cricket, or lie with his ear on the
ground and hear it whisper, while
they chopped. And it was so that
he lay, unseen by the men, when a
big hickory fell little contrary,
with one limb right upon him. They
saw the little face, and heard his one
small cry, too late; and when with
desperate strength, they raised the
limb, he was quite dead.
Poor Aunt Rachel was never Just
the same after that. After her first
terrible outburst, when the still little
body was carried home to her, she
never "took on" much. But she,
who had always been so chcery and
heartsome, SO full of wonderful
instructions and good advice, had
often about her now an air of silent
childlike questioning, of rebuked
wistfulness, that was very pitful. And
she could not bear to stay in the
house alone the long days. The
dye pot, that teeming cauldron from
which her skill, like the witches
magic, could conjure such wonder
full shades and colors, was often
empty and clean. The loom, where
she used to we've such famous jeans,
linsey woolseys, and, above all, such
smooth, beautiful, and rainbow
striped ragcarpet, stood idle and
quiet. Aunt Rachel was away with
Michael and the boys in the fields,
sitting III some shady spot, darning
or knitting in hand, maybe, while
they dug, or hoed, or reaped. Or
better still she helped to gather and
burn the brush when they cleared
the land. Then she would seem
quite like her old self again, and
make much ado over collecting the
leaves, roots, and blossoms which
she never used.
One day they we're cutting fire.
wood to sell, over on the creek
where the wood was mostly older
and not valuable for timber, when
they came upon lovely little spot,
sort Of grassy cove or bay iii a
turn OF the stream, just like little
parlor, all walled in with tall trees,
carpeted with grass, sweet with BIOS
SONS, with the birds singing on one
side, and the water talking to itself
on the other, on its way to TIE
Mahoning. 1t had its mossy seat,
too, and was exactly the audience
chamber of some elhn king, or the
bower Of some shy wood spirit, had
they but known it.
On this seat Rachel and young
Michael sat, he holding the skein OF
yarn for her to wind, while old
Michael and Tom chopped down
the big hollow hickory. When the
tree came down with a long, loud,
rafting crash, something dark and
slender was seen, sticking up in the
middle of the hollow trunk. They
all drew near curiously as Tom
reached it out; then the others looked
helpless apprehensive sympathy at
Aunt Rachel, who caught it in her
trembling hands and held it clasped
in her arms, moaning and sobbing
over it wildly and piteously, crying
out that she had not been good to
him, that she had no need to scold
him and drive him out.
1t was the poor little fiddle.
This, then, was the child's sane
tuary. This pretty spot was where
he used to come and enjoy his COO
ings and twitterings and plpings
unchecked. And here was his
secure hiding place for the precious
fiddle.
Aunt Rachel laid the little forlorn
neglected pet of some dead boyish
master, answering every touch of
her hands with small plaintive
sounds, away in the chest upon the
treasured jackets and trowsers, the
Sunday cap and handkerchief, and
all the poor hoard of childish belong
ings.
The next we heard the Foutys
had moved to Arkansas.