The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1897-01-27

sion, but | can tell you what i have
heard you call her myself" said Mr..
Druitt quietly. And then he told me.
His tone was revelation to me.
Not that I'd called Witch anything
verse than ''little fool.n But real
lied what it must have sounded like to
the hearers, and to him, her father.
don't know how / looked, but felt
mean, cheap, worthless. Utterly so.
/ began TO stumble out apologies. He
waved his hand.
"All right" said he, "but you see
your language is at times forcible.n
He is a wise man, so he said no more.
He showed his wisdom therein, for /
went at once 10 see Witch in very
contrite frame of mind. was ready
to make mat of myself and let my
darling trample on me if it should so
pie9se her, or do any other extravagant
thing, su,a was the depth of my hu-
mility. Still as | jolrneyed Putney-
ward ] wondered as to who could have
stirred up the strife between US. Sud-
denly il flashed across my mind that
Witch had seated herself beside Aunt
Betsey Jane, and that Aunt Betsy
Jane was the godmother, and, therefore,
licensed TO Interfere. | am not going
to explain how Aunt Betsy Jane came
To be Witch's godmother, l am not a
lady novelist, and therefore don't think
it necessary to explain everything. 1t
has nothing to do with the story; be-
sides, was only 6 years old when she
was christened, and wasn't consulted
as to her sponsors. To be sure. 1t must
have been Aunt Betsy Jane who sug-
gested the letter.
When l arrived at the Cedars it was
about Il O'clock. If all went well
peace would reign between Witch and
myself in an hour. And if so, would
take her off to Richmond, get boat
from Messum's, row up the river, come
to another in a backwater | knew of
between Richmond and Hampton and
then make her name the day. But
things didn't go well; they went ex-
ceedingly bad instead. When Anne
liza (Amelia is the Druitt's housemaid)
opened the door, and 1 inquired for
Witch; she gravely said:
Miss Druitt is not well, sir, but I'll
tell her you're here"
Then she showed me into the dining
room. This was ominous, In the Dru-
tits menage it was customary TO see
people who came on business-dress-
makers, laundresses, servants seeking
places-in the diningrOOm before lunch.
Amelia left me and went up stairs.
rapidly diagnosed the situation, and
took out nay pocketbook and wrote,
my darling, ] shall wait in the old
boat at the end of the lawn iii you can
see me, b" and then | signed it John"
Amelia came back. "If you please,
sir, Miss Druitt does not feel equal to
seeing you to-day, but will write you
tonight"
Exactly" said /, quietly. "Can
you give me an envelope. Thanks.
Give that to Miss Druitt, please
The maid left the room und / went
into the garden. AT the bottom of the
garden ran the river; chained TO post
was an old boat. Ii was seldom used,
as the spot was not picturesque, but it
was secluded, hidden both from the
house and from the passing boats by
thick dropping willows. 1t was here
that Witch and / had come to the con-
clusion that we could not live without
each other | sat down in the boat,
feeling very wroth with Witch and
bitter against Aunt Betsy Jane.
would have given much to know if she
were in the house at that moment, /
thought out all had heard of the days
of her youth. | felt mean and spite
ful. i bethought me of an old incident
in her life wherein Aunt Betsy Jane
had sailed very near the wind and had
had narrow escape of social wreck.
ought to have forgotten it, but /
am not heroic. Both morally and
physically am commonplace. That
is to say, if Pm struck, | hit back, or
try to. Would you believe it? / sat in
that boat, except when | got up and
stretched myself, till O'Clock. 1t was
nearly dark, and when / heard the
clock strike L swore to myself that if
Witch did not appear before the CHM
ing of the quarter l would row the old
boat down to the bridge, give a boy
six-pence to bring il back again-and,
well, when Witch wanted me she
might send for me. That was all.
1t must have been very near the quar-
ter when | saw stealing down the gar
den, her head and shoulders wrapped up
ina white cloud, Witch. At least 1
wasn't. 1t was some one more kin
and less kind. Nevertheless, as the |
form drew near, peering about in the
dusk, sprang forward, caught her in
my arms and kissed her. She had no
breath with which to utter a sound. |
She could not but listen to my ardent |
far more arCent than | ever bestow-
ed on Witeh-expression OF affection.
'My darlingp' l went on, ''I know
you would never have made such lit |
tie fool of yourself if it hadn't been for
that malicious catamaran, Aunt Betsy |
Jane. The form within my arms strug- |
gled. / was holding her tightly or my !
face would have suffered. "But I'll tell |
you tale dear, about her. I'm the only |
living soul that knows; my old nurse is |
dead" You couldn't hear the form
breathe, SO still was it. | went on.
"Aunt Betsy Jane is 4j now,"-the !
form wriggled = "about twenty-five
years ago''-I could hear her heart beat. |
/ relented-'No Witch, will not tell
the story. You have come to me, and |
can afford to pity Aunt Betsy Jane.
She was badly used when she was
young, and can't bear to see people
happy now she is DID,"
The form muttered. / opened my
arms. ''Want to fetch something dear?
You shall. Only come back at once, or |
| shall feel like telling that old tale !
about Aunt Betsy Jane"
She scuttled off to the house, and in