Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1895-01-11

St1rreQ, ana, eAcepb tue plaiuUlFc uo1c
of some far-off bird, I could hear only
my own footballs. The trees and fields
and shaded winding lane were as 1
had seen them last, when darkness
shut them in, but now, in the early
morning, it seemed as if the sun had
brought sad tidings. 1t has always
appeared to me that August days are
days for retrospection, and that the
mind is supersensitive at such time.
1t takes notice of those things which
in the hurry and clatter of June are
overlooked. This is no mere whlm,
and on this occasion the effect was to
convince me that something unusual
had happened or was about to occur.
It is not an uncommon experience.
Premonitions are too frequent to be
lightly treated as mere condolences.
1t was this clearly premonitory action
that made the world seem to me COM
pletely at rest. There are matter-of-
fact folks who would testify remark,
Dyspepsia there are people of ex-
cellent intentions who persistently
blunder.
had heard of an oaken chest, with
huge brass clamps, and to-day set
out to find it. There was not a
wagon to be seen when I turned
from the lane into the township road,
and SO I had the dusty highwayt to my
self, furthering of my fancy. Even
more lonely was the wood-road into
which I turned, and of late it had
been so little used, it was as much the
meeting-ground of bird-life as of hu-
manity. Everywhere it was shaded
by cedars of great age or by elms un-
der which the moss had grown since
colonial days. Along this ancient way
the rambler has little to remind him of
the changes wrought in the passing
century. What few houses are passed
in the coursei of long walk are old
time structures, and more than one
has been abandoned. The reason was
plain; the land is poor, and whatever
inducements were held out to the orig
inal settlers had not been continued
to the fifth and sixth generations.
Still, not all the tract had reverted to
forest. A little garden-plot about
each of the cottages that were occu-
pied was still held back, by spade and
hoe, from the encroachments of wild
growth, and in the last cottage to be
reached, surrounded by every feature
of an old-fashioned garden, lived Silas
Crabtree. AS child I had feared
him, and now both disliked and ad-
mired him; why-as is so often the
case--I could not tell.
The man and his house we're not un-
like. The cottage was O long, low
building, one and half stories high.
A window on each side OF the door
barely showed beneath the projecting
roof of a narrow porch extending the
full length of the front. There was q
single step from the porch to the
ground. From the roof projected two
squat dormer windows. The shingles
were darkened by long exposure, and
patches of moss grew about the caves.
Silas was like this. The windows and
door and long low steps recalled his
eyes, nose and mouth, overtopped by
low projecting brows and unkempt
hair, that were well represented by
the cottage roof with its moss and
dormers. So far the house and its
solitary inmate; but the open well
with its long sweep, the clump of Ii
lacs, the spreading beech with initials
cut long years ago-these were
poem.
While the day was yet young,
passed by, and Silas was sitting OIL
the porch. The quiet of this montf
of day-dreams was unbroken. Th'
r"tbird hoped about the grass, but
was mute; song-sparrow was perchet
on the topmost twig of dead ounce
bush, but did not sing; troop O
crows was passing overhead in perfect
silence. Feeling more strongly thar
ever the moodiness of the morning,
strove to break the spell by shouting
with unnecessary emphasis: 'Good
morning, Uncle Silas." With o sud
den start the old man looked up ant
stared wildly about him. Straight
way the catbird chirped, the sparrow
sang, and from over the tree-topl
came the welcome cawing Of the crows
Even black cat came from the houss
and rubbed its arched back agains
Silas.s knees. The spell was broken
and the old man growled flor he eonl'
not talk as other men): sim gia'
1 Z