Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1905-08-25


something most appealing In her appear
ance; you felt anew that she was one OF
| those unhappy persons from whom every
| year has taken something away; whether
! 1t was her own fault or other people s.
the fact remained that nearly everything
| pleasant had gone. She sat by the win
| dow watching the rain and sleet come
down into the empty street. There were
| some bright little children bobbing and
| smiling and reckoning from n window
! opposite, but she did not see them.
1t s too late now; l shouldn't see the
people come In, anyway" Miss Peet said
| ruefully. Il believe I'll take off my
things. l should think somebody might
have remembered to call for me; I can't
| walk and run the risk of getting cold
again, but nobody thinks Of me now"
and she leaned forward to give last look
/ up the street
There was an old white horse Just turn
ing the corner and her heart really beat
little faster with sudden hope; then she
| drew back. 1T may be somebody coming
| to see me- she thought, but I'm sure
| they'd take poor me to the funeral IL ]
told the circumstances"
Hardly five minutes afterwards Miss
Peet was safe in the cab and only dis
| turbed because the man did not drive
| faster. The pavements were growing icy
| now and the horse slipped, while the
driver did not seem to know how to help
him to keep his feet. Luckily, they had
not far to go. What made Mary Dart
mouth send such a miserable old horse
and cab as ths!' grumbled our friend as
she settled the limp bows of her bonnet.
| providence does sometimes provide for
u.s." she handsomely acknowledged a
moment later when she was well on her
way and had time to remember how
great her disappointment would have
been but for this accident Of a friend S
thought.
The line Of waiting carriages seemed
to darken all the gloomy street. Miss
Peet was helped out of the cab and well
sheltered under a large umbrella on her
way up the steps, and the cabman drove
away to take his place behind the more
comfortable turnouts. Everything was
cold and forlorn, dripping and icy end
cherries. The coachmen were we'll wrap
ped: their backs looked round enough
| under their mackintoshes, but nobody
liked the weather and the poor horses
were badly off. Two or three men at a
time left the line and drove discreetly to
the corner and back. They spoke to one
another from box to box, and appeared
to be on friendly and even intimate terms
The cabman who came last was a stran-
ger among them and belonged, at any
rate, to q far lower grade OF the business
than the private coachmen who were his
neighbors
Half an hour went by, and the CONVEX
sation became more and more frank, and
50 distinctly audible that the undertaker's
man on the hearse waved rebuking
hand.
Nobody can't hear us in the house
with this storm a-pelung down." said
one Of the most comfortable-lo looking and
loudest-complaining men. They'll not
be out for another hour, l dessay, and
keep us freezing. 1 don't want to be up
all night over my team" (The delays
of those who ride in carriages often seem
foolishly unnecessary and thoughtless to
those who drive them)
He was an awful kind-hearted, nice
old gentleman anyway" said the next
coachman, a very large old man. Il
knew him most forty year ago, when
first went to be helper to Mr.. Duncan next
door-long before was ever on a carriage
box. l used to bring round his ridin
horse and Mr.. Duncan's together; our
stables was next door to each other on
Chestnut street. Many's the quarter he's
give me, and quarters was quarters then.
l come near going TO him for a helper
when Mr.. Duncan died, but one o. the
sons kept me on, and give me the place
as coachman after year or two 1 was
there twenty-five years and I'm with
Walliss goin' on twelve"
Must be stupid" said the next man.
For me, ! like a change. Hoses an
you gettin' old and fat together an doin'
the same bloomin' things over and over
oh, land! l go off in summer, anyway,
and 1 make winter shift to New York
every two-three year"
Have to take a trick o. livery work in
between; up all night with them big
parties worst season o. the year." observed
a neighbor, scornfully. He had been so
indiscreet as to wear a bearskin cap, and
it looked like matched roof fringed Win
icicles. which now and then broke off AMI
slipped inside his collar
Know that missionary on the cab, back
there?" inquired a coachman who was
stirring his horses again.
He amt no edicated cabman; he come
a few days ago to that stand O. old Dunn
phys-Dumphy's laid up with a lung
fever" said the big man, who seemed to
be In receipt of every particular. He
looks natural to me; he used to live some
where's out in Broadwood. I think. but l
can't place him"
Looks as If he were down on his luck;
handles his reins as II he was fast to
fish," said the other. That's been a
plaugy good horse he's trying to drive;
die game he will, too; drop down dead ms
harness Messenger colt, old Mr. Haines
on Hill street gave an awful price for
when he was young; no style, but passed
everything on the road and KEEP it up all
day. Lord! II l was rich I'd build a nice
ospltl Tor them game old horses, right
out in the country in snug place where
they'd have good feed all summer and be
out O. the wind come winter. I'd pay
lot o. old chaps like us, that's gettin' old
for regular work and knowed how to use
'em we'll; top wages they should have to
tend 'em up like cossets!
There was a sound of approval from all
the carriages within hearing
II know that fellowl" exclaimed the
big coachman moment afterward. Hes
a man l want to see, too. I've got to
start my team; I'll go and speak to him."
and he drove slowly to the end OF the
procession and halted next the poor white
horse.
your name Fallon?'
Yes, 1t is" said the cabby, half rising
on his box. He was soaked through, and
his face was all lilac and yellow with cold.
The rain-water dripped from his clothes;
he had put both the poor blankets over
the horse.
Keep your sittingl" said the pompous
private coachman, with mock insolence
that betokened warm good fellowship.
you used to live out at old Mrs. Doug
lass place at Broadwood; you used to be
a gardner out there, didn't you? an went
out West after solid-gold job?"
IAN So" acknowledged the cabby;
worst thing ever 1 done, too"
'Sportin any?" asked the elder man,
frankly.
mo, sir!" was the sorrowful answer.
Hard luck done it, broke my arm all