Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1895-01-14

you. Come in"
Stepping rather reluctantly into the
yard, 1 sat down on the floor of the
porch near Silas-for he did not offer
to get me q chair-and waited for him
to speak.
Gas boy" said Silas, in softer
tones than l had ever heard before,
"you had a grudge again me, as your
father had again mine, and your
grandpap again mine, and SO on away
back. 1t never showed much, that l
know Of, but the feelin' was there;
and yet we started even, for my folks
came from England as long ago as
yourn. [ know now how it all came
about. It's down in some old papers
in the desk that I've had man come
and go over. It's plain now why folks
never set store by the Crabtrees; but
it's all right, and soon the ground will
be cleared for something better than
Crabtrees to grow on"
"Why, what do you mean?" I asked,
purposely interrupting the old man,
thinking he might be merely working
off the effects of too frequent pota-
tions-a no uncommon occurrence.
Cant you wait till you find out? ?
I've had a man here, / say, who could
do the writin' and read the old papers.
That's enough for that. Now, it was
this way. Away back, the old Crab
tree of them days had notion of
thinkin' for himself, and, foolish-like,
sayin' what he thought. So the
Friends, as they call themselves, made
him write out why he did this and
said that, but it went for nothin', and
they turned him out O. meetin'. You'll
find the same in the meetin' records
as you will in there" And Silas
pointed his thumb over his shoulder,
towards the house. Even this slight
movement was made with some effort;
but it was evident that Silas had not
been drinking.
'Before all this Happened" the
old man continued, after long
pause, "the Crabtrees were all right.
Away back, they were looked at
for their shade and shape and sweet
smellin' blossoms and all that; but
after the racket, then it was only the
sour crab-apples that people could
see, and this worked again the young
folks and pulled 'em down. Perhaps
you don't see what I'm drivin' at,
but"
"Don't see!' I exclaimed: "Uncle
Silas, you're a poet, regular poet"
ga what?" Silas asked, with faint
attempt ut smiling. "You've called
me many name in your day, like all
the rest of 'em, but never that afore
this, that know"
81 mean to be supplementary, I
replied, but with some confusion, see
ing, as [ had often done before, what
mischief turks in ill-timed polysyl-
labl9s.
"Worse and worse, with your long
words; but let me do the talkin'. My
folks didn't clear out after the fuss, us
they ought "a done, but held on and
worked their way, as they'd right to
do. Perhaps it was bad thing they
didn't go to church when they stopped
goin' to meetin'; don't know; but
they lost headway, with the Quakers
again 'em. 1t soured, of course, the
first of the Crabtrees, and the later
ones got deal more gnarly and bit
ter, till it come down to me, with lit
tie more'n human shape; and now it's
the end of us. There's no Crabtrees
besides me, and | wanted to get things
iu shape, for there's some would like
the old cottage that amt goin' to get
4
more to tell you" And Silas looked
out towards the road and into the
woods upon its other side.
| kept my seat. | could not do
otherwise. The Silas of to-day was
not be whom / had known in years
past. Although there wGs no evidence
OF it in the old mans words, was con-
vinced he had reference to me as his
heir; but what of that? He might
change his mind dozen times, for he
was not SO very, very old-not much,
if any, over eighty and what, indeed,
had he to leave?
Many minutes passed, and then, rs
| made n slight movement, merely to
change my position, Silas spoke in the
same strangely softened voice. "Don't
go, don't go; there's one thing
more" He suddenly paused, and
stared, with n wild look, directly at
me. The silence was painful; his
strange appearance more so. In q
moment the truth flashed across me !;
he was dead.
was not surprised to learn, i'm
mediately after the funeral, that 1
had been left the sole legatee of the
man whose death l had witnessed;
but it was not an altogether pleasant
discovery. l had learned, too, that
it was my own ancestor who had been
most active in the senseless persecu-
tion, and it was with no pleasure that
[ recalled the past as l took formal
possession of the cottage and its con-
tents, entering the house for the first
time in my life. To cross the threshold
was to step backward into colonial
times. How true it is that it needs
at least Il century to mellow a house
and make it family comparable to
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