Tazewell Republican. [volume] (Tazewell, Va.) 1892-1919, 1899-08-31
w Observation-Disclosures
! Miss Senthrilla'S Button Box E
\ BY Annie Hamilton DOnneII.
SIT HERE'S poetry in everybody's
S1S9TSTS AZ az az AZ az SffSSaSTS

Must be blank verse, goou deaI OF
it," muttered The Irrepressible over his
Greek Grammar. Nobody minded the
irrepressible's mutterings.
"I'm not so sure about thu every
body my DEAR" mildly put in the
baby's mother. Now, there's ny Dick
where's Dicks poetry? He's the
matter-of-factest boy!"
The little woman buried her chin in
the baby's fluff of corn-silk hair and let
her eyes wander out and away, over
fields and walls, to the dim column Of
Lone Pine looming family against the
sky. Her eyes were laughing. 1t was
under Lone Pine her Dick had woocd
and there had been such a beautiful
chance for his poetry" to reveal itself!
She let her chin slide gently over the
corn-silk hill till her lips were opposite
the baby's ear.
There wasn't line of poetry in it,
baby-not line" she whispered, in
strictest confidence. ut was all in
prose"
where's Dicks poetry?" demanded
baby's mother again, regarding Diana
challengingly. The girl turned on her
elbow among the soft couch pillows and
pointed one finger at the baby.
There" she said, calmly.
"Oh!" murmured the baby's mother
in sudden collapse. For she remem-
bered certain little scenes between the
two-the baby and Dick-and was fain
TO confess there was poetry in them.
"But there's old Uncle Ansel Nyc-
he's going by this minute" she cried,
coming to the surface again undis-
mayed; where's Uncle Ansel's poetry,
Diana Scammon?"
Diana got to her feet and ran lightly
to the window. Uncle Ansel was just
numbering by in his rafting wagon.
She took hasty survey of his shabby
old figure, and turned back into the
room in triumph. She had caught a
glimpse of u sprig of wild rose.
"Oh, that?" the baby's mother said,
looking over her shoulder. Uncle An
sells always picking up flowers. Well,
ye-es, suppose so. l suppose you'd call
that poetry"
shouldn't call it in his soul, though.
It's in his buttonhole," muttered the ir-
rSpressible.
YES, that's poetry" Diana nodded.
II told you so. Everybody has some
somewhere. 1t doesn't always show as
plainly right on the surface as Uncle
Ansers. That was just a streak Of good
luck for me. But it's always there,
somewhere. Show me the soul that
hasn't any!"
The little woman whose title of honor
was the babys mother ran over her list
Of acquaintance rapidly and brought
up Miss Senthrilla. Oh, yes, Miss Sen
thrilla.
Certainly, my DEAR the baby's
mother said, cheerfully. I'll show you
Miss Senthrilla. Bob, do you think you
could take care OF this blessed baby
awhile, and not let him dabblc his feet
in the water pitcher, as you did before
or play with single nails-or eat lu-
cifer matches?"
"Or dig Greek roots-or let me,
cither?" finished The Irrepressible,
gloomily. "Oh, certainly, certainly
most happy to oblige you, my dear sis
ter. Pitch the little chap over here
hold on, give us Inert"
"And, Bob, you know the back stairs
and the front stairs-and the cellar
stairs"
Il know everything" The Irrepres-
sible said, calmly.
"Then I'll go to see Miss Senthrilla
with Diana. It's only little way, and I
want 10 prove there's one person in the
world, anyhow, without line of poetry
in her. Not line! Miss Senthrilla's
prose from top to toe. That poor, dear
woman never had romance as big as a
butternut in her life. I've known her
ever since I was knee-high, and my an
cestors knew her before me. She's
dear, but she's written in prose"
Miss Senthrilla? Oh, the tall,
straight woman with magnificent gray
hair? And lives next to the parson-
age?" Diana queried, thoughtfully.
Why, l know her now, this minute.
don't need any introducing. I've met
her twice since came. You stay with
blessed baby and keep him from shin
cling himself, or getting drowned in
the water pitcher, and I'll go and find
Miss Senthrilla's poetry all by myself.
I'd rather go alone, begging your par
lon, and she asked me to go. When 1
ONE back"
Just fetch home line or two with
YOU, will you? I'd love to scan it" The
Irrepressible murmured, low.
Misc Senthrilla was killing flies. It
was not promising omen. Diana could
see her lean, imposing figure, poised
warily, through the open windows, and
the resonant thumps Of the folded
newspaper in her hand assailed the
girls ear forebodingly. There was so
little poetry in the sound!
But it's there-somewhere," she
thought, stubbornly.
Miss Senthrilla answered the knock
with prompt cordiality.
"Well, I'm glad to see youl" she cried,
in her clear, strong. voice. For min
ute Diana wondered if the poetry was
not in Miss Senthrilla's voice.
You'll come right into the sitting
room, won't you? That's where axe
my friends to- The parlor's fol book
agents and the tax collector. I've been
kinIlg fies-most likely you heard me.
It's my knitting worl1-and that's some
more of IL"
She pointed to some bags and boxes
on the table near her sewing chai'
IF you'll sit down here opposite me in
this chair, I'll sit down and-knit! You
won't mind my being busy? shouldn't
be Senthrilla West if l wasn't"
I'D rather you would be busy" Di-
ana said, promptly. She sank in the
| b;o choir's deDths with O little sigh of