The Cook County herald. [volume] (Grand Marais, Minn.) 1893-1909, 1896-02-01

AXS1 contributes some Of
INV his characteristic
" 9@V drawings. Mrs.
Dodd thus de-
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
goln' for milk and eggs, ma am, to the.
nall. Perhaps it 'u'd be your pleasure
to take the trip up the dixie" A mo-
ment later, and we were gliding across
the sunlit river. What could be better,
AFTER morning in a stuffy cabin, than
trip IN an open boat, and descent
upon an English farm house? One or
two skilful strokes of Mills oars sent
us sklmming from the brilliantly
Hghted river surface to the quiet of a
placid creek; it was like turning from
busy highroad into a lane. The
green waterway seemed to have cap
tured the secret Of perpetual twilight,
the day finding it's 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
a stout, substantial mansion mantled in
Ivy. 1t was Horning hail. Close to the
farm a girlish shape was seen leaning
over rustic stile. It was a
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
other genuineless models. "Is it milk or
cream?" was her strictly professional
question. Its milk, my lass, an eggs,
II you've got 'em fresh" Mills was
obviously entirely at his ease with the
rustic divinity. With 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 it that sud-
denly other equally fair and comely
shapes took their places beside her
that Maggie Tulliver, Hetty Sorrel, and
Tess of the D Urbervilles should also be
crossing that sun-1ooded 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
of cattle and droves of sheep moving
under the fresh sunlight yonder, 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 milking, and Mills visit
within the barn had come to an abrupt
end. We were about to depart when, in
an inspired moment, we ceased gazing
at live picture and dwelling on TRACE
dies to confront both in one. As we
turned toward the dixie stone building
rose up before us. It was as unexpected
building to meet in a remote country
farm as might have been, say the,
Tower of London or the New York
Produce Exchange. The structure was
hI1f ho
early-English traceries in it's regularly
spaced windows; and although it's porch
and belfry had long since disappeared,
it was as Enthusiastically chapel as il
rows of choristers were still informing
within it's vaulted roof, instead Of the
impatient stamping Of the beasts
stalled within it's walls.
cts barn, ma'am. A chapeI?a Yes
ma am; it was st. Benets chapel. But
it's been a barn since before ever I was
born"
The chapel proved to have been part
of the old abbey, and we soon sailed
past what was left of it. The marshes.
to the left was an unbroken plain.
Out of the tufts of grass there rose up,
suddenly the huge outlines of an I'M
calmly draining-mill, from the lower.
southern side of which blossomed
lovely gothic portal. Clearer and clear.
er became the shape and form of it; here.
and there within the portal were bits
of time-worn border traceries, tottering
canopies, and pile of shapeless capi-
tails and rib-vaultings. The bank along
the river showed faint traces of broken
bits of walls, of sunken towers and
ramparts, now but mounds Of turf.
For many turning and twisting in
and out among the river marshes were
the outlines of the mill and the abbey
portal to mark for us the brevity of
human grandeur.
. : = 5.E;f-