Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1896-02-01

locked up:H
But last night he stayed out, an then come
to the shed door a-cryin', an l got up to
let him in. 1 kind o dazed, wakin'
up sc sudden, an forgot to bolt the door
again. I'd just got back into bed when L
thought of it, an started right out to faSten
I'D the door 1 expect 1 ketched my foot
on that braided rug, for fell all in heap.
An here 1 be. An guess my hips broke"
she finished, dolefuHy.
The neighDor looked about him for an
idea of comfort Twas mercy you was
carryin' taller candle instd o one O.
them kerrysene lamps"
Yes. / spose 1 might have been burnt
up an the house, too-an' 1 do know but
'txould have been just as WE'LL rejoined
Miss Drusilla, who did not care to have
the silver lining of such a new and dismal
. cloud turned forcibly out for her inspection.
i. So it was that Miss Drusilla Brockway,
who had always been the most active and
Independent woman in the township, be-
came bedridden and helpless. Tor time,
the neighbors took turns in caring for her;
for though she was little loved she was
respected on account of her virtues, which
were genuine, if grabbed. By and by chart
ty cooled with custom; people began to
think that they had none too much time
for their own affairs; and finally it was
suggested to her that she ought to have
housemate. Because there can't nobody,
however glad an willin, tend out all the
time, an you ought to hev woman right
where you can call on her, night or day."
Mrs. Dunn told her.
Miss Drusilla took kindly enough from
this good friend what she would have
scorned and resented from another. Il
guess you're right, Mis- Dunn. I'm a tur-
rible trouble to folks, an l can't expect
but what they will gredge what they do for
me. Blood's thicker than water, an I'm
goin' to write to some relations of mine to
come i don't expect they will, but can't
do no more'n ask EN- to-
So, with unused and stiff penmanship,
Miss Drusilla wrote letter to her nephew,
Holman Brockway, in Massachusetts,, in
r-fri n 1rrirH oilyyt to live
In her house, which would be his after her
death She possessed a farm, mostly run
out. A man could improve the land. She
thought it would pay him to come.
This letter was a total surprise to the
nephew; his aunt had quarreled with his
father when Holman was boy; each had
gone his own way, with dull and grim ILL
will on the sisters part, with indifference
on that of the brother. Holman Brockway
cared nothing for mis- fathers old feud; he
was willing to accommodate his aunt and
to take hold of the farm run to waste.
There was another reason which weighed
a little with him; his daughter, Corinna,
during recent visit to the city near which
was the village where Miss Drusilla lived,
had become engaged to young man there.
The lovers wrote to each other daily.
81 guess, Corinny, we shall have to move
down to Maine, to save postage stamps,
the father said, good-humoredly.
With that jest the matter settled.
They gave up the rented house, and went
to live with Aunt Drusilla. The farm show
ed promise; the land had long lain idle;
but Holman Brockway found 1t to have a
soil mixed of sand and decomposed peat,
which would grow big vegetables. Miss
- Drusiila had cultivated small patch,
enough for her own use, which she re-
1uctantly praised as having done we'll
as other folks gardens, furs / know
Holmans wife thought the house rather
irconvenient, but it was sunny and had a
pleasant outlook. Corinna was happy be-
cause 1t was not long walk to the ferry
which connected the village with the city;
and 1T is certain that Herbert Jennison
spent his substance on riotous Communication
tickets. At the landing he sometimes
found Corinna waiting for him, and they
enjoyed the stroll up the hill to the house
which stood on the crest, bristling with
= rocks and bushes. Corinna's parents liked
the young man; he was clean and honest
eager to learn and to make his way in the
world.
1t all smooth sailing until Aunt Dru-
eflla blew up q gale. She was a formi-
dable power as she lay In her bed In the
ground floor room which she reserved for
herself. This was intended by the builder
OF the house for an office; Miss Drusilla g
father had been a lawyer. 1t was a one
story room, projecting from the southern
side Of the house. Nothing fiourished there
but few stalks of gaunt and hoary null
lein; even in June the heritage yellowed-
somebody had said that Squire Brock
ways law was so dry that 1t made hay OF
the grass. Near the side window stood a
birch tree: it had grown up impeded by a
sharp splinter of granite that its roots
were quite out of the ground, clasping the
rock Ike skeleton arms This tree in its
tattered shroud Of white bark leaned to-
ward the window as II to peer in. From the
other, the front window Miss Drusilla peer
ed out: nothing that passed along the roaG
could escape her notice. Neither did any
thing that took place in the house. ''Youl
aunt has got an extra sense, more thar
the rest of the people," Sarah BrockwaJ
told her husband. She heard every step
every fall of crockery; she shifted every
overbaked loaf. every scorched kettle hold
er. She would have all things go on in he
own way, which was that of her parent
before her-curious sparings and pariEgs
unwieldy stores of vegetables kept in TIL
cellar, to be constantly culled over, or els
breed diseases. certain yellow and whit
striped pitcher was devoted to yeast, whicl
she called "emptiDs' and would have home
made, with much pains and with potatoes