The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1894-12-12
SELECTED STORY,
Miss TimbrOOk's Opening,

Miss Cynthia Stone had, fguratively
speaking, stabbed her stout, gentle old
friend by remarking, oracularly, ain.
gratitude is the crying sin of the age"
The crying sin of the age was a NOV
able quantity with Miss Cynthia. Last
week, when the butchers boy had I'M
tentionally given the wrong change,
it had been dishonesty; and the week
before, when child had timidly walked
into the little millinery shop, and
begged few snippings of velvet for
her dolly, it had been boldness. On all
other occasions it was whatever hap
pened to cross Miss Cynthia's fixed
ideas of the fitness of things.
Miss Timbrook gave little sigh, and
returned to the bonnet she was trim
ming. AS she tried to fasten pink
rose in what she hoped was pertly cor.
rect fashion against some very green
bows, she said, with a great effort at
chez fulness:
"Pink an green is FL for the
queen"
Humph!" said Miss Cynthia, scorn-
fully.
Miss Cynthia was Miss Timbrook's
old-time friend, companion and assist
ant, and was the SPICE of her placid
life.
"Sybilla Tim, you amaze mep' de-
clared Miss Cynthia sternly. "Why
don't you show some spirit? Tell that
girl to pause before it's too late. Re-
mind her how you've brought her up,
and even high-schooled her there in
New York for three mortal years,
boarding her out afterward to high
priced woman on account of her being
one of them highty-tity milliners, so as
to have her pick up idees, and you all
the time hoping that when twas all
over she'd come back here and be the
prop of Your old age and build up the
business
Miss Cynthia stopped only long
enough to draw full breath and then
went on again:
"And its time twas built up. Look
al them bonnets, SJ bila Tim"
Miss Timbrook looked as she was
told, and beheld four bonnets perched
upon frames in the little shop window.
They dropped del, ctedly, and SCENE d
to shrink from the gaze of the passers
by. And we'll they might.
Miss Timbro quailed visibly at the
sight of her own handiwork.
huo" IL, Syhthy, eno eaiu dPoi-
ogetically. "They aren't just what
they ought to be. They're old-style,
like ourselves. And l know the trade
is failing. But dearly as love to fuss
with the ribbons and the artificials, I'll
shut up the shop before I'll say word
to hinder Ruthy from following her
own bent {"
Fudge!" said Miss Cynthia, sharply.
Sc She feels drawing-aiEt that what
the letter says?-to be an artist And
now that some of her pas kin has left
her legacy, she thinks that instead of
coming home for good, she'll just make
US little visit, and then 60 back 10
New York and study what she calls art.
She thinks its more uplifting than
making bonnets. Land! l don't like
making bonnets myself, but don't in.
tend being drawn away from my lot, led
duty by some thing that looks more al
Turing. She says it's an ope ming to a
higher lifel Fudgtl say"
"Speaking of openings" ventured
Miss Timbrook, timidly, there's that
Boston woman that's just set up fine
shop on Plum street. They tell me
she's sent out cards to announce her
spring millinery opening, and is going
to serve tea to folks; she really is. Sup
pose we have an opening, Cynthy?"
AT this rash suggestion, Miss Cynthia
burst out, " Are you crazy, Sybilla Tim?
And what, for the lands sake, would
you open?'
Giving scathing glance at the four
limp bonnets in the window and be-
slowing a final glare on her friend,
Miss Synthia flounced out of the room.
Miss Cynthia might storm and sco,d,
but she only used her temper to cloak
the sympathy and love which she was
ashamed to show. Ruthy's unexpe cted
assertion was bitter disappointment
to her, first on account of the sorrow of
her friend, Sybilla, and secondly on her
own account.
Bonnets to her did not represent any
form of the ideal, as they did to good
Miss Timbrook, but as she had said to
herself over and over again through the
long winter" Since it must be bonnets,
I'D like 'em TO be tasty, such as Ruth'll
know how to fix" And now Ruthy
wasn't comingl
When Miss Timbrook's niece really
did come for her little visit, it seemed
to the two old-fashioned, unsuccessful
women that all the world must stand
still and admire; as for them, the world
must truly stand still when she left
them.
What is it that is troubling Aunty
Tim?" asked Ruthy, the second night
aft er her arrival. Miss Timbrook had
retired, and Miss Cynthia had Ruthy all
to herself. She therefore snatched at
the opportunity of freeing her mind.
"You!" said Miss Cynthia, sole mnly.
"Sybilla Tins just counted on you for
comfort, to say nothing of helping with
the bonnets. And her spirit is broke
now she knows you amt to be de-
pended upon"
Why, how so2' asked Ruthy, as
tonished at this personal criticism.
How sol" echoed Miss Cynthia.
"You can see for yourself that the
business has all gone to pieces. Why,
the Kingsburys and the Lennoxes aud
the Fair6elds haven't ordered bonnet
from us for an age! Old Judge Peters
al - -. IL