Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1901-07-16

u 10 the rlgnt, past the oiu
t-.-.-.-.-.i Quaker meeting house,
and, to the left, through
the worldly aud iniquitous village call
ed into existence only year before by
the coming of the new railroad.
This little cluster Of houses, mush-
room growth of unpainted boards, In
cluded, besides q blacksmith shop and
general store, both welcome enough In
their way, a tavern conducted on wide
open principles under the name OF
Lowden's Halfway House, which had
speedily brought the locality into gen.
eral disrepute. No one had discovered
toward what goal 1t marked the half
way point, unless 1t was that goal Of
torment which is the ending Of every
career Of Incorporate profigacy.
In the dining room, which served like
wise as sitting room, the deacon was
carefully cleaning stray scraps of WIS.,
dom from the columns of the Michigan
Agriculturist, the silence of the house
disturbed only by the loud ticking Of
the farm clock on the shelf In the cor
ner and the busy click of the knitting
needles in the deft fingers of Mrs.
Birdsell. 1t was characteristic Of the
deacon that he always postponed his
study of The Agriculturist until after
the harvest, when the information he
might gain was sure to be Of least
value to him.
Presently the clock tolled the hour
of 8, lingering long, it seemed, upon
the final stroke. Deacon Birdsell
started suddenly.
Mother" he said, don't you know
It's gettin pretty late"
Mrs. Birdsell paused in surprise and
dropped the half finished sock In her
lap.
"Eight and after, an it's high time
folks was abed," said the deacon. "Did
you shut down the back window an
bolt the kitchen door? An Joel-of
course Joel's in"
As IL in answer to the deacon's ques-
ton, the Quavering, uncertain notes OF
song sifted through the ceiling from
the chamber above.
"Shv' Mrs. Birdsell said, holding up
her finger In warning.
The song from the chamber above
gradually became more distinct until q
word could be understood here and
there in Its uncertain rhythm. 1t bore
distant resemblance to one Of the pop
ular songs Of the day heard with great
frequency in the neighboring town, but
Justly abhorred for its worldly insinua-
tions in the peaceful Quaker church
neighborhood.
"William," exclaimed Mrs. Birdsell In
trembling voice, "somethin must be
done right away. It's gettin just awful
It's been weighin on my mind until
sometimes get that nervous"
The deacon gathered his shaggy gray
brows and stroked his angular unshav-
en- chin in silence for q moment. II
hate to think 1t Of JOEL" he observed
thoughtfully, "but 1 guess it must be
true. Have you been noticin anything
else lately, Martha?" The deacon sell
dom addressed his wife by her given
name except on occasions Of great So
lemnity.
Anything! Good land alive" Mrs.
Birdsell swept her hands around her
head as If she was warding off a swarm
of impending evil. "It's gettin worser
an worser every day." she exclaimed,
with great earnestness, IAN the worst
part Of it all is he's gettin that brazen
about ito think, too, William, that
he's your own brotherw The song be-
gan again in the chamber above, this
time accompanied by the unmistakable
sound of shutting feet.
v"Just listen to that now," she went
on, with mournful emphasis. II guess
you can hear it for yourself!'
"Yes, mother, you're right" pro-
nounced the deacon reflectively, slowly
nodding his head in the affirmative.