The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1897-03-10
SELECTED STORY.
Knitting and Dreaming.

Knitting and dreaming 1 sat at my
window, while the daylight hours OF
the past week sped. IT'S an old trick
of mine, this daytime dreaming, and
long ere The years would have war
ranted it, as l remember, won for me
The sobriquet OF an uuinteresting old
maid" Many bright thought as
well as bright friend has been lost,
fear, by this habit of self.absorption.
"Nurs, where are you wandering
now2" has waktned me from many a
pleasant reverie over the dishpan; but
the patient, loving mother had few
word, OF fault-fnding for her eldest
daughter; and how much more l know
and appreciate her sweet torbearance
since | have been mother myself.
Whether time has In any degree
changed me or not--and there be peo-
ple who would haste TO assure you that
NY early ways were my present ways
/ fully subscribe TO the creed that one
cannot be an interesting companion on
earth and at the same time be dwelling
in " castles in the air." l don't really
suppose it could have been so, bat
have sometimes wondered if the pro-
i
but which failed to come, was not
poured into my unheeding ear in some
hour when l had risen to unusual
heights, and chagrined and mortified
at its reception, or rather no ,-recep-
ton, my lover went from me and
sought my more hum ble-minded neigh
Dor l know there came time when
he no longer strayed down our lane, and
my neighbor, not l, became Mrs.
Green.
| sat at my window knitting and
dreaming; busy fingers and busy brain;
and what of the product of this toilp
Living on the table before me are three
finished pairs of soft wool slippers, tied
with satin ribbons, for three dear ladies
/ love, whose feet are weary with more
than seventy or eighty years journey
ing over the uneven thoroughfare of
lie. Gray hair and bending forms only
draw me 10 them more tenderly, low
ingly. So often have they paused by
the way and "pitched their tents" to
bury their dead, that the faces that are
vanished, the voices that are hushed
for them, far outnumber those that re-
main. Time was when at every turn
in the road familiar face looked with
interest into their own, and stopped for
a little chat. How rare such meetings
now. A stranger just mods, or fits
past with no recognition. Remem-
brances are dearly priced, and know
when the parcels containing these slip
pers are opened, they will say "be-
tween smile and a tear" Nora did
not forget me; in her far away home
she remembers and loves me still"
sat at my window through the day
light hours, and dropped no stitch in
my knitting, or ever forgot to put
over my thread to widen; but knew
not whether the sun was shining or the
sky clouded; whether the children who
are wont to play on the sidewalk be-
fore my door came as usual or not; if
they did, they must have gone away
wondering why l failed to respond
to their mods and smiles, for the chill
dren and l have pleasant understand
ing.
Somehow these slippers have been
knitting have taken me out of my pres
ent life and surroundings away East,
to little village in Vermont; and
have been child myself again, playing
with the children of fifty years ago.
Tired and cross l have been Graded
and rested in my mothers arms, as
only mothers arms can cradle and
rest, and laid to sleep in the old-fash-
Toned trundle bed. Fanny and Will
liam, Albert and have been down to
the meadow brook fishing; stopping by
the way at the spring to slake our thirst
with draught of water the sweetest
kat
hunted the strawberries that love to
hide meath the tall waving grass, and the
old cry of I" Hi there, get off thatl" has
rung once more in our startled ears,
and our bare feet made no dallying I'M
til they brought us up, weary and pant
ing, in our own door yard. Ola Uncle
81 and Capt. Saml Ye are still fragrant
memories in the hearts that q main of
the children of fifty years ago in the
little village of W.
Tinted and softened by the lights
and shadows of the long vista of years
through which Hook, how full of beauty
and interest to me appears the picture
of my early days. Let me point out
some of it's outlines. Above bends
sky of softest blue, fiecked here and
there with clouds of feecy white;
silhouetted against it in the back
ground, stand the majestic hills, wear
ing now their crown of summer green,
and now decked with the gorgeous
glory of autumn; anon one mass of in
terlacing branches tipped with snow.
In the nearer distance rises a country
village with its church spires, its
school-house and tavern plainly visible;
and goo aa If IN odd IN ita pOmnlptpnpss
amidst cloud of dust and shouts of
school children, the old-fashioned stage
coach comes numbering up to the tav-
ern door. In the foreground stands a
plain, simple cottage with sloping roof;
in front lies a strip of soft green dotted
here and there with shrub or flowers;
then the dusty road, an old stone wall,
and stretching away from that the
loveliest of meadows where the cow
slips and violets bloom in early spring,