The county record. [volume] (Kingstree, S.C.) 1885-1975, 1905-05-11
A BRIARLEY HOLIDAY.
BY WlNlFRED KIRKLAND.

hands are still stained from these. ap,
pies and apples and apples! Right III
the midst of these. come the cucumber
pickles, and these you must keep close
picked for your life. or else the proper
finger length will be grown a hands
span in night.
The pile of dollars in the savings
bank grew larger and larger. A few
more busy summers and there would
be no mortgage, and Briarley farm
would would be theirs indeed. But, o
dear, TO stand in mid-AuguSt and look
back over summer. and see no vacant
spot into which you could possibly have
packed q holiday! To look ahead and
see nothing but pickles-green toma-
toes, red tomatoes, cauliflower, cab
bagApickles lasting on and on into
October,
Hannah Overton looked at her sum-
mer and made resolution: To herself
she said:
"She's young, and she'll still have
time"
To Lena she said, as they sat at the
tea table:
I'm going to borrow Hiram Hands
team, and drive over to Caleb Miller's
to see about those ounces. You can
manage the apples without me, can't
you? I'll weigh the sugar tonight.
After I've seen Caleb, III maybe 60 on
to Davidstown. I can't tell. I'll be
gone all day, perhaps. III take lunch
with me in case l don't get home for
dinner. You won't mind being left
alone, since you'll be busy"
"Oh, no. I'll have a chance to show
you how much can do in day all by
myself"
Il know that we'll enough already"
answered Hannah, with forced anima-
ton. She always did feel like sneak
in the presence of the fierce Briarley
energy.
The next morning early Hannah
drove away. She was composed enough
until she was out of sight of the house,
then the gypsy lights woke in her eyes.
For a short distance the road skirted
her property. Hannah looked at her
tidy fields with some resentment.
Its a pity woman can't have time
to enjoy her own farm" she muttered.
IL declare I'm going to have some time
off. if l do have to steal it from her"
with a glance back in the direction
of the house.
At that little word came q sudden
revulsion of feeling, for Hannah knew
that at that moment her one wish was
to have that same person sitting beside
her in the buggy, jogging along behind
the old ambling, amiable horse, with
a holiday before them.
Hannah did 90 to Caleb Miller's. but
no farther. She was honest in telling
Lena that she did not know what she
should do afterward. What she did do
was to turn round.
Left alone, Lena washed the break
fast things with hands that trembled.
She swept the speckless kitchen floor
in nervous haste. For just moment
she stood surveying the shining plates
of sugar on the table, the empty jelly
tumblers cleaning in the sun, the
bushel basket heaped with apples un-
der the table. Then she turned to the
range, where burned a clear, steady
fire, an excellent fire for jelly; and
after a moments hesitation she turned
Off the drafts.
She ran into the pantry and quickly
put up lunch for herself. She drew
the shades Of the kitchen windows,
took down her sunbonnet from its peg
and closed the door behind her. Out
side. she turned and addressed it:
Kitchen, I'm not coming back all
day. I'm going to play with my farm"
1t was lovely, lazy August morning;
baby clouds were floating in the blue
overhead, there was droninG Of bees
in the air, and warm summer odors
were breathing from the mignonette
bed ana the OrcnarQ.
II you had been a well-behaved and
prosaic hen on that farm, you would
have thought that Lena had gone mad.
but she was only playing. When she
was a little girl she had climbed the
orchard trees, and swung on the forked
branches; she had jumped from the
barn rafters down into the fragrant
hay; she had wandered, singing, up
and down the avenues Of cornstalks.
She did all of these things again. She
lay on her back under the orchard
trees, and again listened to find how
noisy the grass can be with all the
busy life that goes on down there.
So the morning went on. and pres
emily, incredibly soon it seemed to
Lena, a distant whistle in the village
of Shackleford booomed out the noon
hour.
Time for me to have my picnic"
cried Lena, jumping up. She would
have it-just where she used sometimes
to carry her suppers on that visit long
ago. She had quite forgotten that on
the first occasion it had been her cousin
Hannah who had showed her the spot.
You follow the stone wall. overgrown
With wild rose vines. You dip down
the hill out of sight of the house, of
the barn, and on you go until you reach
the clearest of little brooks running
the greenest of meadows.
The stream turns and twists in tor
tuous fashion, and all its turns are
outlined through the meadow by the