Evening journal., 1905-04-07
CHAPTER \.

S away. AS Tor myself. I could
Ss never put my Heart in a hoe
handle or in any Ike tool Of TOLL They
made a blister upon my spirit as well
as upon my hands, l tried to find In
the sweat Of my brow thst exalted
pleasure Of which Mr.. Greeley had vi
sions Ia his comfortable retreat on
Printing House square But fortunate
~ had not his point Of view.
Hanging IN my library, where ] may
see it as j write. is the old sickle Of
Uncle Eb The hard hickory OF its
handle is worn thin by the grip OF his
hand II becomes a melancholy sym
Dol when 1 remember how also the
hickory had worn him thin and bent
him low and how Infinitely better than
al the harvesting Of the sickle was the
strength Of f.that man, diminishing as &c
wore the wood. ! cannot help smiling
when I look az the sickle and think OF
the soft hands and tender amplitude OF
Aff. Greeley.
The great editor had been a playmate
Of David Brewer when they were boys,
and his paper was read with much rev
erence in our home.
''How quick ye can plow a ten acre
lot with n pen" Uncle Eb used to say
when we had gone up to bed after
father had been reading aloud from his
Tribune.
Such was the power OF the press in
that country one had but to say OF any
doubtful thing, "Seen it in print" to
stop all argument II there were any
further doubt he had only TO say that
he had read il either in the Tribune or
the Bible and couldn't remember
which. Then Il was a mere question
Of veracity in the speaker Books and
other reading were carefully put away
for an improbable time OF leisure.
u might break my leg some time."
said David Brewer: "then they'll come
handy But the Tribune was read
carefully every week
have seen David Brewer stop and
look at me while 1 have been digging
potatoes with sober grin such as
came to him always after he had swap
ped "hosses' and got the worst OF IL.
Then he would show me again, with a
little impatence In his manner, how to
hold the handle and straddle the row.
He would watch me for a moment, turn
TO Uncle Eb, laugh hopelessly and say
"Thet ooy'll hey to be a minister. lie
can't work"
But for Elizabeth Brewer It might
have gone hard With me those days. My
mind was always on my books or my
last talk with jed Feary, and she shared
my confidence and fed my hopes and
shielded me as much as possible from
the heavy work. Hope had n better
head for mathematics than l and had
always helped me with my sums. but
had q better memory and an aptitude
in other things that kept me at the head
Of most OF my classes.
Best Of an at school / enjoyed the
compositions" l had many thoughts,
such as they were, and some facility of
expression. | doubt not for a child.
Many chronicles Of the countryside
came OF my pen sketches Of odd events
and characters there IN PARKWAY. These
were read to the assembled household.
Elizabeth Brewer would sit looking
grayely down at me as I stood by her
knees reading IN those days OF my
early boyhood. Uncle Eb listened with
his head turned curiously, as II his ear
were cooked for coons Sometimes he
and David Brewer would slap their
knees and laugh heartily. whereat my
foster mother would give them q quick
glance and shake her head. fo- abs
was always fearful of the day wher
she should see IN her children the brit
OF vanity and sought to put II on rs fai
as might be. Sometimes she would
cover her mouth 10 hide a smile and
when I had finished look warnlngly a
the rest and say II was good for 1T
tie boy. Her praise never went fur
ther and. indeed, all those people hatet
hattery as they did the devil ant
frowned upon conoeit She said tina
when the love OF nattery got hold o.
one he would lie TO gain It.
I can see this slender. blue eyed wo
man as l write. She is walking up an,
down beside her spinning wheel. car
hear the dreary buz.z-z-z OF the splndl,
as she feeds II with the feecy- ropes
That loud crescendo echoes in the still
house Of memory. I can hear her sing
ing as she steps forward and slows tn
wheel and swings the cradle with he
foot:
"On the other side Of Jordan.
In the sweet fields OF Eden.
Where the tree OF life Is blooming
There is rest Tor you"
She lays her hand 60 the spokes again
and the roar Of the spindle browns he
voice
An day, from the breakfast hour I
supper time, / have heard the disma
sound OF the spinning as she walkel
the floor. coutent To sing OF rest. bu
never takiug it.
Her home was almost a miracle o
neatness. She could work with d
peace Of mind until the house had bee
swept and busted. A fyspeck on IN
window was enough 10 cloud her day
She went to towE with David now an
then--not oftener than once a quartz,
and came back IN and exhausted. ]
she sat in store waiting for Davi
while be went TO mill OF smithy her d.
agination gave her no rest. That dii
abhorring mind OF he would begin I
clean the windows. and VIXEN that WI
finished 1t would sweep th~ floor an
Gust the counters. IN due course
would lower the big chandelier an
ta<e out all the lamps ana wash Il
chimneys with soap me- water and n
them till hey shone Then n Day