The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1895-07-13
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UNCLE HIRAM'S MONEY.

road. AS you passed up the trim walk
your eye rested upon a blaze of old-fash
toned flowers. Hollyhocks, four oclocks,
honeysuckle ran riot over the house, each
striking for the mastery. If you passed
round to the plot in the rear, you would
see a little garden laid out most artistic
ally.
Uncle Hiram prided himself on his gar
den. His strawberries were always the
finest, his lettuce the crispest, and his
pumpkins the most golden that grew. The
minister's Thanksgiving pies were always
made from Uncle Hirams pumpkins. His
garden was his chief delight and pastime
In it was a balm for the greatest trial of
his life, namely, Aunt Sarah. She was a
little woman, with a plump figure and
swapping BLACK eyes. In her youth she
had been quite a beauty. Uncle Hiram
had been her slave since the days when he
used to accompany her to the picnics and
husking bees of the neighboIhood. They
had been married for thirty.ive years now,
but Aunt Sarah's eyes had lost none of
their brightness. and her tongue grew
sharper from constant use.
Poor Uncle Hiram was miserable man.
Easy going and good natured. he listened
to her scolding without word. He never
''sassed back, as he called it. The orly
thing that proSpered from the whole pro.
ceeding was the garden. No wonder the
weeds We're not permitted to grow in il.
Uncle Hiram always worked off his irrit
able feeling in that little plot of ground.
1t was his refuge and retreat, when Aunt
Sarah made it uncomfortable in the house.
Why in the world she should scold so
much nobody could understand. Uncle
Hiram was the kindest and best of them
Her basket always stood full of kindlngs
The wood box was never empty, and she
never knew what it was to come down into
a cold kitchen. A bright fire always
greeted her cheerily. Yet scold she did,
and that continually.
She was notable housewife, however
He floor was "white enough to eat off of, y
the neighbors used to say. Her bread and
cakes were delicious and nobody could
equal her in making apple butter Uncle
Hiram never suffered from poor cooking
however great his other ills were; but she
gave him no peace. She thought great
deal of him in her way, and when he was
sick nursed him tenderly; but no sooner
was he on the road to recovery than the old
scolding recommended.
They had three children, but they were
all married and settled in homes of their
own. Susan, the youngest, and the only
daughter, lived in the adjoining village ten
miles away. The two sons, John and
Lewis, were in business for themselves in
the city.
Both good boys Uncle Hiram would
always say, 'and kind to us; but seem as
though Susan was the highest"
There was no question but Susan was her
fathers favorite, and right valiantly did
she defend him against the onslaughts of
her mothers tongue; but Aunt Sarah,
when fairly started, could be no more
slipped than the wind
''Let her be! Let her ben' Uncle
Hiram would interpose mildly. 81 guess
you can stand it if can, SUSIE
But now Susan was married, and Uncle
Hiram had no one to defend him.
This lucllless afternoon of which | write
he had resolved to gather some plums. How
pretty the little cottage looked, with the
afternoon sun shining on it, The apple
trees hung heavy with their rosy fruit, and
the flowers looked as gorgeous as if no
Jack Frost luked in the background wait
ing to nip their full grown beauty. The
trees were beginning to put on their brill
liant colors before the chill winds of autumn
deprived them Of their foliage. Uncle
Hiram gave quiet sigh of satisfaction as
he gazed around upon his domain. How
happy he could be if only
Hiram called out Aunt Sarah in her
sharp voice. BE We ever gon' to git
started OF all the slow goin lazy, poky
old men | ever saw, you certainly take the
cake. Here you be, leanin' on that old
gate, loolin' round at goodness knows
what, and the sun gittin lower every mint.
l suppose you think them plums will walk
right off the bushes and come to we, don't
YEP"
Uncle Hiram made no reply. His only
safety lay in flight, so hastily putting the
buckets in the buggy, he drove off.
Hiram called Aunt Sarah, the last
thing, "be careful of my buggy"
Uncle Hiram groaned that buggy was
the bane of his life. John had made his
mother present of it on one of his visits
home. 1t certainly was IA fine buggy, but
he had been badgered to death ever since.
When he and Aunt Sarah drove out to
gether, she watched the road as cat
watches mouse, and if he happened to
hit stone, woe betide him! If it creaked,
she scolded him again; this afternoon Uncle
Hiram was quite content to drive alone.
The rich beauty and quiet peacefulness
of the hour soothed his spirits, and he
began to enjoy himself. Uncle Hiram was