The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1895-05-29
OUT OF THE POORHOUSE'
BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

Mary Miller came home frem the
factory upon that April evening with
a light, quick step.
The sky was all tranquil glow;
the frogs were croalling in the swamp;
the NAPLES were erimsoned with their
earliest banners of blossom; and as she
tripped along, Mary found a tuft of
vioIets half hidden under a drift OF
dead leaves-pale purple, scentless
blossoms.
"The first violcts always bring good
luck with them," she whispered to
herself, as she pinned them into the
bosom of her blue flannel gown.
Home was scarcely the ideal
realization of that poetic word TO this
factory girl. She and her mother lived
in the upper half Of a shabby, unpalnt-
ed wooden house, with the blacksmith's
scolding wife and seven riotous chill
dren down stairs, and one-half of a
trampled-down back yard by way of
garden, where nothing ever grew but
burdocks, nettles and Mrs. Mugs
long-legged fowls.
But Mrs. Miller, who had been a
school teachor once, and still retained
somewhat of the refinement OF her
early education, had the tea ready,
with n shaded lamp and bunch of
maple blossoms on the table ready for
Mary to come home.
'Good news, mother! the girl cried,
lightly. 'FThe Meadow Farm is to let!
Mother, we must take it,"
Mrs. Miller looked obviously at the
bright, eager face, with its bluegray
eyes and fringes of yellow hair.
.'Con we afford it, daughter" she
said slowly. "a whole house and 4
farm of forty-three acres"
at int such a very large house
mother" pleaded Mary, as she laid the
bunch of violets in her mothers lap
mot so many more rooms than we
have here. And we could keep two
cows. and could sell milk and butter
and spring chickens and eggs; and
am almost sure that VIII Davidge
would work the farm on shares. AND
ONLY think, mother, how delightful /
would be to have home all To our
selves. where we couldn't hear Mrs
Muggs boxing Bobby's ears, or Heller
shrieking with the toothache! And
little garden, mother, where we coul'
have peonies and hollyhocks, and al
those lovely old-fashioned flowers tina
YOUR soul delights in"'
Mrs. Miller's pale mild face soft
ened.
"It is now month since old Mr-
Dabney died" said Mary. "And the.
saw that her daughter in the city AM
her son out in California despise tn
old farm, with its one-story house ant
its old red barn. So it is to let. An
so cheap, too! Only a hundred am
fifty dollars year. Mother, we mus
take il, I'll leave the factory and tur
dairy maid. I've saved enough, yo
know, to buy the two cows ana some
real plymouth Rock fowls to begi
with, and oh, it will be such haE
piness! Say yes, mother-do say yes'
When Mary Miller pleaded like TIM
the gentle widow never knew how
refuse and the upshot of it was tha
they leased the old Dabney house, an
became co-sovereigns of the realm
Meadow Farm.
IL was their first night there. Ov'
head the young May moon shon
through veil of purple mist.
solitary owl hooted i'm the chestnl
wood back of the house, for Meade
Farm was situated on lonely moui
tain side where no one ever came e
cept on special business.
The Plymouth Rock chickens wei
safely shut up where foxes could n
reach them nor minks steal in to bie'
their young lives away, the cows
two fine young Alderneys-were che'
ing their cud back of the old red bar
and Mary Miller had flung handf
of cedar sticks on the hearth, whe
their scented blaze Illuminated the o
kitchen with leaping brightne
beautiful to see.
because it's just possible the hou'
may be damp" she said, latter beii
uninhabited so long. There, mothe
isn't that cheerful? And isn't II Ill
that our old rag carpet should chah
TO fit this floor so exactly" Win
satisfied downward glance. Ana
YOU see those tiger-lilies? | found 'he
down by the garden well-oh, sicn
{ red wilderness of them. Old MIS- L
!. bney set them out herself, they say.
; seems only yesterday" she aua