The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1904-03-05
THE BACHELOR COUSIN.

The BACHELOR COUSIN.
Mandy, he's coming again this
year the same as before. About how
many years has Cousin Jim been
coming here to stay the SUMMER"
Twenty, counting the last stop
which was from May until Novem-
Der; really that makes twenty and a
half times your cousin Jim has visit
ed us. He began early and stayed
late the last time, you know. What
has Jim Fosdyke got to say this time,
Silas?"
''Same old thing, Mandy; same
old thing. Jim never changes his
tune; works on my feelings and tells
about how he longs to visit the old
hooks and corners of the farm once
more. Speaks in a fetching sort of
way about the old swimming hole
down under the willows; also grips
me tighter than burr about the fish
ing place below the mill dam, where
he once yanked out a four pound
pike with minnow hook. Jim's got
the same old gift of drawing folks to
him that he always had. Poor old
boy He has not changed bit since
he went to the city to build up for
tune. He's cut out for a bachelor
and will always go it alone to the end.
If he was married and was going to
bring along a naughty wife and lot
of fresh and saucy children I'd think
different about his coming here year
after year. The poor lonesome old
boy clings to the place if he has got
barrels of money; can't say as he
throws his wealth around when he
does come
''Only pays ordinary price for
board, that's all and no more. will
finds + any any Fault Wifi 6;fhiThgs he never
complains warm meals or cold, they
are all the same to Jim. He really
seems to enjoy plain fare the best,
and always tells me not to fuss with
fancy dishes. He crawls up the mar
row stairs to the little chamber with
out a murmur. Some rich old bach
elors who live most of the year in
toned hotels and fashionable
boarding-houses would find lots of
fault. He don't; he's common like
and easy to please just likes to take
off his coat and loaf around hangs
on the fence as though he was watch
ing the grass grow; loves to sit on
the stoop ii the evening like any poor
man listening to the tree toads and
frogs. Silas, your Cousin Jim has
never risen peg above you if he has
got barrels of money. Poor Jim, /
saw he was ailing when he was here
the last time. Perhaps that was the
reason why he came so early and stay
ed so late"
II didn't like to write and tell him
that crops look poor, and that we are
little pinched, and don't really don't
care for company this"
"Don't you do it, Silas; don't you
do it. Why, that would be cruel and
wrong; and it would break the poor
old bachelors heart. You are the
only one he has got left of the old
stock in these parts the rest are all
gone to the city. Silas, Cousin Jim
just pines for sight of your face, and
the old place where you and he were
boys together. 1t is like heaven
with him to get back here with you
and the dear old familiar things he
loves so much. Now you sit right
down and tell him we will be tickled
to see him again. Tell him the apple
trees are humping up against the win
dow of the little chamber /; tell him
that the grass is greener than ever,
that the SNOWFALL bush hangs heavy,
and that the roses were never so
sweet. You might tell him my last
churning was the best / ever turned
out since we got the new cows. Men
tion a word about my raised biscuits
and say little something about the
bees and the nice honey. 1t will
come like breath from the old sweet
home when poor Cousin Jim reads all
that. He will hardly be able to wait,
poor boy!'
X x X X X X X
1t was the same old homecoming,
only Cousin Jim hunched over little
more in the buggy as Silas drove
from the station through the shady
lanes of naples leading to the little
farmhouse ensconced among the ap-
pie trees at the further end.
During the short drive he said but
little, and when Silas asked him a
question he hesitated, faltered and
rubbed his chin before replying.
When Old Gray turned down the
lane where the robins were singing
and the squirrels chippering, trace
of the old light came back to the old
bachelors eyes and the faded, sunken
cheeks glowed little.
"Si," he murmured, laying his
thin hand upon the others knee, "let
me drive Old Gray home through the
lane
The lines hung listlessly from his
hands as the old mare walked slowly
along the familiar place toward the
house, where Mandy stood in the
doorway with a glad smile of well
come overspreading her kindly face
Then when the horse halted at the
block, he said, handing over the