Delaware gazette and state journal. (Wilmington, Del.) 1883-1902, 1894-01-18
GRANDMA HULL And
THE HEATHER.
"raies of Ten traveller" s.rl.r
ny Edgar T.. waheman.


lay like d delicious dream upon the land
when certain carly November night
came upon Maple Valley among the
gray New England bills, and with /. all
the storm-swept bitterness of winter.
II brought on a bad night early; a wild
= night without, but within the great farm
houses OF the valley Il also brought that
blessed warmth and glow which no
storms save those Of misfortune and sor-
row can chill or change, and those dear
old New England suppers with their
melodious kettle-songs, their wealth of
shining pewter, their spotless table cloths
and their hosts of pickering candles;
those pleasant, olden, year-round glow.
worms within the gentle murk and dark
Of ample farmside homes.
AT their evening meal, in the wide,
low living-room OF Maple Hill farm.
house, sat "Grandma Hull" her two re-
naming fatherless children, 4years- old
Mary and 10-years-old Dick, and her
servant Jane, whose husband, old Josh
Tooker, was still busy about the chores
and in housing the shivering dumb
brutes from the furious storm. As the
mistress of the farmhouse pushed her
chair away from the table, the light
from the fireplace revealed the sorrow.
sharpened outlines of plain, motherly
face. White-haired from love labor and
love loss, she was still scarcely middle
aged woman who had come TO be called
"Grandma" Hull by the valley folk OPP
probriously at first and finally from uni
versal habit, through herstubborn kind
illness and generosity to all suffering
waits cast by the tide Of misfortune on
the rocky beach of Maple valley charity.
shed better tend ter keepin' Maple
Hill outer debit" was the remark of one
member of the Turnover Club at the
odorous village store.
"lts jess sech silly critters as keeps
Maple Valley full O. passels err yaga
bones" struck up another.
slim Hulpd shrink up till his grave
clothes wuz loose at sech COINS on, if
he cud know on 'em;" vouchsafed
another
Even the parson walled from the
village pulpit "There are those in this
very northumberland may they be
forgiven who waste their substance
upon goddess scoffers, when millions Of
heather souls are hungering for the
mama of the wordr Whereupon all
the village congregation groaned at the
obdurate iuiquity of Grandma Hull in
in the old house on Maple Hill.
Whenever Grandma Hull was struck
in her untoward heart by particularly
cruel shaft Of this nature, she merely
clapped her sunbonnet on her head,
took her Bible in her hand, started for
the little family burying ground beside
Maple Hill grove, where the gypsies
came and camped once or twice each
year; sat there among the little head
stones beside her parents, her childrens'
and her dead husbands, Jim Hull's,
graves for little time; when she always
returned home calm and cheerful to saw
to Jane and Josh, as she had said scores
OF times before, that when Jim died he
had told her, nearly the last thing he
said, to be "kinder easy and fair to them
as hadn't had much show" and that,
neighbors or no neighbors, little kind
moss to the heather right under our own
noses seemed to be about the right sort
of religion for Cynthy Hull, widow,
better known as "Grandma Hull" as
long as she could keep the dear old
home together.
Suddenly old Josh J'ooker, tin lantern
in hand, burst into the room like half
shattered snowman, and quickly latch
ing the door gave premonitory
"S-s-s-sh ~
Setting down his lantern, he shook
himself into recognizable shape by the
fireplace, and blurted out,
Jane Tooker, git right outer this set
tin'-room Bring the children. He's
comm seed him wrastlin' in the snow
along the lane, and jess slid in ahead on
i'm. Cuss him p And without another
word, he jerked his lantern from the
floor, jerked himself into the kitchen
among the hired men and slammed the
door behind him.
Then Jane Tooker rose up She
marched Mary and Dick authoritatiyely
before her into the kitchen, and pausing
an instant at the door Just as muffled
footsteps were heard on the snow
banked porch, remarked portentiously,
'tYes; its him Grammer Hull, its sly
Silas. Sunthn's goin"to happen. Sunthn'
allus does happen arter that pesky old
miser comesl" with which she snapped
the door behind her, as Squire Slater,
the self-madegreat man of Maple Valley
village, in response to Grandma Hulls |
in nowiset cheerful answer I'd his in. |
sistiye knockings, was hurled into the |
was glad for little to be rid Of him,
iaJess passing, Cynthy. Been hayin' a |
hard day, chasin' gypsies outer the !
valley. Poorhouse full enough now.
Tough night, amt it2 Thought mebbv |
you'd be glad to see me minnit. sRe-
memberln' tn wilder an fatherless' is a |
divine injunction, Cynthy; an bein' in
the law, allus mind injunctions r.
L.. L.
tween his peaked shoulders and he was |
SO stoutly muffled, that the smart |
chuckle which followed seemed to come |
from some pocket of his great-coat
rather than from his hairy throat.
Eye amt changed yer mind yit,
Cynthy~
He waited a little, but got never a
word from Grandma Hull who now sat |
rocking and looking calmly into the
fireplace with an impassive face.
Nor We're gittin' on in years, |
Cynthy, Lemme see. Its nigh onto |
fifteen year now-afore Jim's time-ye |
know. Pm gittin' richer ev'ry year
and you aintl'
A close listener might have heard |
another low chuckle from one of 1.-The
great-coat pockets.
though night, amt itH Well, guess
I'll pull out. Prayer-meetin' night, an
I've got to see young JEFF Dean yit.
He's chasin' away them gypsies, too. We
ought'nt to let 'em camp in the grove,
Cynthy. Makes talk. Course l hush ii |
up, down, to the village. Course you
need money. But don't keep dom
things that make talk; Cynthy. Its bad.
Makes trouble. Friends fall off; solid
frfanIa Malaa ,Aonn,t tt~ht.u