Lewiston teller. [volume] (Lewiston, North Idaho) 1878-1900, 1895-12-25

Dodd thus ue-
scribes one attrac- |
tive scene: Presently voice |
sounded from below the deck |
ratings. Mills was calling up |
ward from the seat OF the jolly boat
which he was holding alongside. I'm
goin' for milk and eggs ma'am. TO the
hall. Perhaps it 'u'd be your pleasure
to take the trip up the dixie" mo-
ment later, and We were gliding across
the sunlit river. What could be better,
after morning in stuffy cabin, than a
trip in an open boat, and n descent
upon an English farm house? One or
two skilful strokes OF Mills oars sent
us Swimming from the brilliantly
lighted river surface to the quiet Of
placid creek; it was like turning from
busy highroad into lane. The
green waterway seemed to have cap
tured the secret Of perpetual twilight.
the day finding its way only through
the dense arch woven by the osiers and
willow boughs.
Presently stood forth through the
glistening tree trunks the fair facade OF
stout, substantial mansion mantled in
Ivy. 1t was Horning hall. Close to the
farm girlish shape was seen leaning
over rustic stile. 1t was
traditional pose in which to
discover feminine rusticity: but
the living loneliness of the girls fair
face. and the soft. animal wonder in
her hazel eyes, made one oblivious of all
~ n ,;,,, l.,
cream?' was her strictly professional
question. IT'S milk. my lass, an eggs,
if you've got 'em fresh" Mills was
obviously entirely at his ease with the
rustic divinity. With a long. sailor-like
lurch forward he took his place beside
the girl. leaving us to follow. An the
guv'nor. how is he? An your aunt, an
the stOck?" we heard him say as the
two bent their steps toward the back OF
the farmhouse. Mills took his way to
the barn while the girl seized our own
| moment of indecision to grasp the milk
jug and cross the courtyard. AS We
stood watching her, noting her young,
| fresh, loneliness, why was ii that sud
denly other equally fair and comely
SNuPNS toof tIClI pidttS DSSiut iva
! that Maggie Tulliver. Hetty Sorrel, and
! Tess of the D Urbervilles should also be
! crossing that sun-fooded courtyard.
| trailing before our eyes the memory of
their tragic fate? The peace. the per-
feet stiffness of the farmhouse en-
! closure, the wet and dewy earth shin
ing through the tree boughs, the herds
| nf oattln IF cham q
under the fresh sunlight yondCr, the
! very drone of the bees in the bushes
had brought wildly to mind those i'm.
mortal types of women whose histories
seem forever interviewer with such
| homely notes as the pouring OF milk
into tin cans and the rhythmic thud OF
the churn.
The farm maiden meanwhile had
filled our milk Jug and Mills visi:
within the barn had come to an abrup;
end. We were about to depart when, il
an inspired moment. we ceased gazing
at live picture and dwelling on trage-
dies to confront both in one. AS W.
turned toward the dixie n stone building
rose up before us. 1t was as unexpected
| building to meet in a remote country
farm as might have been, say, The
Tower of London or the New Yorl
Produce Exchange. The structure wa.
sturdily buttressed it had beautfu
early English traceries in its regular,
spaced windows; and although its porci
and belfry had long since disappeared
1t was as unmistakabiy Il chapel as I!
rows of choristers were still intonins
within it's vaulted roof. instead of III.
impatient stamping OF the beast.
stalled within it's walls.
Its barn, ma am. A chapel? Yes
ma am: it was st. Benet's chapel Blu
it's been q barn since before ever wa
born"
The chapel proved TO have been par
of the old abbey, and we soon sailed
past what was left of il. The marshe.
to the left was an unbroken plain
Out of the tufts of grass there rose III
suddenly the huge outlines OF an un
calmly draining mill. from the lower
southern side of which blossomed
lovely gothic portal. Clearer and clear
err became the shape and form OF il: her,
and there within the portal were bit
of time-worn border traceries. totterin,
canopies. and a pile of shapeless CAPT
tails and rib-vaultings. The bank alon:
the river showed faint traces of broker
bits of walls. Of sunken towers an;
ramparts. now but mounds of turf.
For many turning and twisting I,
and out among the river marshes wer
the outlines of the mill and the able
portal to mark for us the brevity o
human grandeur.