Republican news item. [volume] (Laport, Pa.) 1896-19??, 1899-10-19
A SPRIG OF ROSEMARY.
BY JULIA SCHAYER.

It 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 cars, now into the
faces OF the passers-by. She was q
countrified old woman, stout and
plain, yet with such goodness in her
face, such simplicity, such ALIEN
bracing human kindness, as to make
it, for eyes that really see, lovely to
look upon.
1t was hot summer afternoon, and
she was too warmly clad in dark,
,homely garments. Near her feet on
the curbstone was large enamel
stone satchel, with robust cotton
umbrella strapped to it. On her left
arm hung good.sized basket filed
with growing plants-old-fashioned
things seldom seen outside of farm
house gardens. With her right hand
incased in gray cotton glove, she
was tanning her heated face with a
corner of her black shawl. Her pleas
ant gray eyes wandered from face to
face of the hurrying throng, as if seek
ing sympathy, but few gave her even
a casual glance, and of those few only
now and then one gave her a second
look lit up with momentary curiosity
or amusement. The woman was SO
obviously out of place!-as much SO
as an apple tree or clump of cinnamon
roses would have been.
The guileless wistfulness of her
bright old eyes pierced the hard crust
of worldliness and conventionality
and crept into their hearts, and more
than one was moved to ask the strang-
er if she needed help or information,
but the little crevice closed quickly;
and they passed on. Only the look
remained imprisoned in their bosoms,
and they recalled that day things they
had not thought of for many year
The woman had arrived on noon
train, expecting her nephew, William
Henry Farmer, to meet her at the sta
tion. She had waited long time for
him; then, thinking her letter had
miscarried, she decided to go to his
house up town. She had been there
before and knew how to reach it, but
she was timid about going alone.
William Henry was her only
brothers child and had grown up on a
farm. He was smart boy and had
grown up into smart man. He was
a prosperous provision dealer in New
York now, married to nice girl from
his own township, and living comfort
ably in his own house out Harlem
way. Whenever there arose domes-
tic emergency in his iamily--and they
arose with astonishing frequency
Aunt Abby 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 humble farming ancestors for
several generations. She was essen
TALLY OF the soil. country woman in
every fiber of her being. The city
was to her monster, splendid, but
full of terror, whose glittering scales
panied her eyes, whose incessant
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 in emergencies like the one
pending. Lucilla was country girl,
too, and loved the old place, and when
Aunt Abby came in she always brought
with her something from her old home.
This time it was some plants for Lu-
cilla's window-garden from the place
where William Henry's folks used to
live. She had left good deal of soil
about the roots, and 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 steal it when she was not
looking, and she kept sharp eye
also on the black satchel. 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 het 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.
She was morally certain that, once on
the wrong car, her doom was sealed.
There was re knowing to what dread
full den she might be lured. robbed and
murdered, and no one would ever
know what became of her. She had
read of numbers of people disappear
ing mysteriously that way. So she
let car after car pass until she could
feel quite, quite sure.
When she hal been standing there
some time in the hot sun handsome
coupe stopped near her, and an old
gentleman stepped out. He was q
fine looking old gentleman indeed,
clean-shaven, rosy and somewha,
pompous. His hair was silver white,
and 80 were the heavy brows under