Middletown transcript., 1907-07-13
T0 THE MEMORY or
SILAS JEFFERDS
BY SOPHIE eWETT

Patty was taking 10 tne
clothes from the line. Her
cheeks were even pinker than
the last of the apple blossoms
over her head; there was snatch
of song upon her lips, and she
walked as if she owned the earth.
Patty had had great satisfac-
tion that day. She had accom-
plished something that would
give great satisfaction to another
Ito Rob, who she could see,
was getting pretty well discour-
aged with the uphill pull that
life had been since their father
died.
Rob had a different kind of
pride from hers; he was humilia--
ted their fathers memory should
lack the usual outward form of
respect, while she would have
been quite content to have his
only monument the great yellow
rosebush that their grandfather
had carried to the cemetery from
their own garden.
Tomorrow would be Memorial
Day and what Rob desired
would be done. The man
from whom she had bought
the stone had promised to have
it set in time.
Rob had been fishing with Tom
Hinckley. He was at home, now,
for she could hear boys voices
on the other side of the great
wood pile. She hoped that the
stone was not already set, or, at
least, that Rob had not seen it.
when he came down the Blue
Hill road. She did not wish to
have the edge taken off to NOR
rows surprise.
Many a self.sacrifice had that
monument cost; many a night of
work upon the rugs that the sum-
mer visitors bought readily be-
cause they looked almost as if
they were antique; patient
care and cosseting of spindling
chicks and turkeys; and care
worn brows over the egg-and-
preserve account. What Patty
Jefferds couldn t do wasn't worth
doing-so they said in Cherry
field; but Patty declared that she
had only domestic faculty. She
was not clever like Rob who was
almost the equal of the "lightning
calculator" who had given show
at the town hall, and he could |
puzzle the schoolnaster with an
arithmetical problem.
She was not clever but always |
to do ones best with what comes
to hand is to- be like Princess
Fairy-Fingers in the old story;
there's magic in it. So it had
been achieved, although they
owned nothing but their little
house and garden and had to live
on what they earned.
There was a fine string of
perch on the kitchen table, and
Patty proceeded to cook them
for supper.
The late May day was
warm, the doors were open, and
she could still hear the hum of
voices from behind the wood pile.
She always felt vaguely distrust
full of Tom Hinckley, perhaps be-
cause, as a small boy, Tom had
always preferred playing truant
to going to school. He was going
now; he turned and called back
in a low tone, that was still so dis
tinct that it reached Patty's ears,
We must be astir early; to NOR
row will be Memorial Day.
Patty wondered, half absently,
why Tom Hinckley had spoken
in that low and impressive tone.
Of course, everyone would be
early astir or Memorial Day.
Rob was silent and downcast
at the supper table. Patty
thought that perhaps Uncle
Aaron had been unusually exact
ing she wished that he would not
keep Rob at such hard manual
labor in the mill, but she had a
strong hope that he would event
ually do well by him.
There was only a faint streak
of yellow to herald the beautiful
May morning when Rob stole
softly downstairs. Patty was
still asleep. He had taken his
fathers old grip from the attic
and filled it with his clothes and :
he had left note on the table in
his room. He had partly hidden
it under mat because it gave !
him such pang TO think of
Patty standing there reading it.
He MIXED old Buttercup and
L