The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1899-08-30
A SPRIG OF ROSEMARY
BY LULA scHAYER.

1t was at the corner of Blank street
and Broadway. An old woman was
standing on the curb looking uncer-
tainly about her-nOw at the endless
chain of street ears, now into the faces
of passers-by. She was a eountryfied
old woman, stout and plain, yet with
such all embracing human kindness as
to make it, for eyes that really see,
lovely to look upon.
1t was hot summer afternoon, and
she, too, was warmly clad in dark,
homely garments. Near her feet on
the curbstOne was large enamel cloth
strapped to it. On her left arm hung
a good-sized basket filled with growing
plants old fashioned things seldom
seen outside of farmhouse gardens.
With her right hand incased in a gray
cotton glove, she was tanning her heat
ed face with a corner of her black shawl.
Her pleasant gray eyes wandered from
face to face of the hurrying throng, as
if seeking sympathy, but few gave her
even q casual glance, and of those few
only now and then one gave her a sec
ond look Lit up with mOmentary euriOs-
ity or amusement. The woman vas so
obviously out Of plsee-as much so as
an apple tree or a elump Of cinnamon
roses would have been.
The guileless wistfulness Of her bright
old eyes pierced the hard crust Of world
illness and cOnventionality, and crept
into their hearts, and more than one
was moved to ask the stranger if she
needed help or information, but the lit
tie crevice closed quickly and they pass
ed on. Only the look remained impris-
oned in their bosoms, and they recalled
that day things they had not thought
of for many year.
The woman had arrived on a noon
train, expecting her nephew, William
Henry Farmer, to meet her at the sta
ton. She had waited long time for
him, then, thinking her letter had mis-
carried, she decided to go on to his
house up town. She had been there
before, and she knew how to reach it,
but she was timid about going alone.
William Henry was her only broth
er's child, and had grown upon farm.
He was smart boy, and had grown up
into smart man. He was prosper
GUS provision dealer in New York now,
married to a nice girl from his own
township, and living comfortably in
his own house out Harlem way.
Whenever there arose a domestic emer-
gency in his family-and they arose
with astonishing frequency-Aunt Alb
by came on to nurse William Henry's
wife. For that matter, they would
have liked to keep her with them all
the time; but Aunt Abby would not
leave her hOme-the home of her hum
ble farming ancestors for several gener-
ations. She was essentially Of the soil,
country woman in every fiber of her
being. The city was to her monster,
splendid, but full of terror, whose gilt
tering scales panied her eyes, whose in
cessant roar hurt her ears, accustomed
to the quiet fields and woods. Not for
worlds would she live in the city.
But she dearly loved William Henry,
and Lucilla and the children, and was
glad to come and stay with them dur
ing emergencies like the one pending.
Lucilla was a country girl, too, and
loved the old place, and when Aunt
Abby came in she always brought some
thing from her old horne. This time
it was some plants for Lucilla's win
dow garden, from the place where
William Henry's folks used to live.
She had left a good deal of soil about
the roots, aud that made the basket
very heavy. Her arm ached sorely,
but she would not set the basket down
for fear some one might tread on it, or
even steal it while she was not looking,
aud she kept a sharp eye also on the
black satehel. Aunt Abby read the
papers, and her opinion of New York
morals was not high.
She began TO feel very tired, and
wished William Henry had not missed
her, and wondered how she happened
to leave her palm-leaf fan on the train.
'I'm gettin' all bet up" she said TO
herself, wearily.
She had thought that she knew just
which kind of car TO take to get TO
her nephew's house, but they came
along so fast, and looked so much alike
that she was getting doubtful. And
she meant to be very cautious. She
was morally certain that, once on the
wrong car, her doom was sealed. There
was no knowing to what dreadful den
she might be lured, robbed and muir
dered, and no one would knOV " what be-
came of her. She had read of num-
bers Of people disappearing mysterious
ly that way. So she let car after car
pass until she could feel quite, quite
sure.
When she had been standing there
some time in the hot sun, handsome
coupe stopped near her, and an old
gentleman stepped oct He was very