The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1903-10-01
SPANISH PEGGY
A STORY OF YOUNG ILLINOIS
Copyright. 1899, by Herbert 8. Stone 4 Co.

had its windows open to let in the
soft spring night air. At intervals a
chorus of bullfrogs came family across
the dark from where the Sangamon,
swelling with freshets, rose frothing
yeastily toward its brim. AS Peggy
hoped on her crutch around the
tavern she could see white fog float
ing over Rock creek in the valley, like
fairy linen spread to bleach by star
light. One Of Rutledge's deerhounds
loped up from the stable down the
slope to bay at her, and recognizing
the intruder, drew back at once with
greyhound's sensitive apology.
Near the east side of the house
stood log hand-mill, one end being
firmly planted in the ground, the other
followed by burning and scraping.
The pestle, hanging from long pole
weighted like well-sweep, was knot
of hard wood spiked with nails, and
had crossbar handle. In this prim-
tive mortar parched corn could be
readily pounded to meal A deerskin
was stretched and fastened snugly
the mill was in use, and litter out
when it stood idle. Peggy caught hold
of the sweep and lifted herself to
seat on the hand-mill. She could see,
through a deep embrasure of logs, the
Rutledge family at home. The tavern
windows were movable sashes, with
the tough oiled paper like transparent
ell In, 1oi Do NJ oR
a tree smouldered crimson without
fame in the white clay chimney.
Shicksh acks wife never allowed more
than one candle lighted in his house.
Mrs. Rutledge drew tallow tapers out
of candle molds and filled six
Lranched candelabrum of old English
silver 1t stood on a table surrounded
by the children at their tasks, and the
father, reading paper, brought in the
weekly mail. The younger girls were
sewing; Ann sat at the fax wheel.
THE Rutledge girls can't say I'm
tagging anybody now, because I'm not
tagging" breathed Peggy. But goody!
can watch them through the
window"
The most desirable thing in the
world was to be lovely. She looked at
Ann Rutledge, to whom hearts were
given on sight. An ungraceful move
ment seemed impossible to Ann. There
was no angle in the lines of her tall,
supple body. Her deep blue eyes some
times turned golden in moments of
J1nanncp}nnc hat r.
slider watched her, she lifted them
and smiled at darkness through the
open window. The passes of her
hands as she spun and the sweetness
of life expressed in her face brought
sob up Peggys throat.
"l'll never be like her." whispered
Peggy. I'm peg-legged Spaniard,
little for my age, and ugly | can't
spin. l cant sew. Sally says squaw
clothes are good enough for me. and
Shickshack has to cut them out, and
we piece them together as we'll as we
can. He's done 1t ever since we left
his people and have had no Indian
women to help us. l can't read like
Ann Rutledge does. If | could even
knit | could make stockings for Anty-
wine and Shickshack. They are the
only men in New Salem that have to
keep on wearing neips wrapped around
their ankles for stockings"
She set her teeth together so the
grating was audible. Someth ing
stirred behind her, like one Of the
hounds creeping near, but she paid no
attention to it. A blanket dropped over
her head.
Peggy fought 1t with both hands.
hearing the crutch that had laid across
Der knees roll to the ground. This
was the last sound she heard Scream
ing in the muffling folds, she felt her.
self dragged off the hand-mill and
carried away.