Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931, 1908-04-22

needle spread golden flakes above tn.
levels. In and out of the buckwheat
patches. over meadow and swale, and
flying like bullets for the hive when
they were loaded with their burden o.:
sweets.
White clover" the old man would
say, as he would taste critically bit
of pale yellow honeycomb. Spanish
needle" would be his next exclama-
ton. as he dipped into another box.
Then his eyes would light up and he
would become enthusiastic. Spanish
needle. That's the best. White
clover? Oh! Yes, good: very good!
The Eastwood honey, too. All good.
But the needle there you get the nec-
tar, there you have the sunlight and
the color, there you reach the flavor.
NIGHTS wahr? 1 wish my bees made
nothing but the spanish needle"
1t was a dreamy spot, the old log
cabin, half crumbling to decay, the
drone of bees lulling the winds to
murmur, the summer sunshine drift
ing in flakes to the grass. The old
Uhlan had lost all trace of accent,
so long had he been in this country
and no one knew or guessed how he
had come SO far from the scenes of his
former days. Sometimes he could be
located sitting on the little porch of
his cabin, smoking a long-stemmed
and silver-mounted pipe, and at other
times he would be seen wandering
about in the orchard, working with
his bees.
They never harmed him. If a
swarm lighted on his head as he went
bareheaded and with long locks fly
ing in the wind, he stood still and
they finally went off to some nearby
branch or tree trunk. Just so long
as the flowers lasted, the bees bore
him homeward great stores of honey,
and when the cold winds came and
they housed for the winter, he would
be seen making preparations for their
siege and his own, and the sound of
his ak, clear, crisp in the frosty air,
went echoing over the hills.
And at night, from a window in the
log stronghold, the signal fire of his
lonely lamp lit up the darkened spaces
in the woods, where the little screech
owls made merry in the dead watches
of the night, and the shadows
bivouacked till daybreak.
Among the women, Aunt Sally"
Sercomb was a marked individual.
She was county historian, county re-
corder of deaths and births, weather
prophet, maker and repository of all
sorts of cooking recipes, gatherer of
herbs and roots for every ailment un-
der the sun, always on the go from
morning till night, and a natural Mrs.
Malaprop, rarely getting her words
correct, but just near enough to give
you an idea of what she meant.
Aunt Sally" said Mrs. McGaffey,
chow long ought to leave these
plants on the stove before take them
off to drain?"
"Aunt Sally removed her clay pipe
and replied: LET 'em stay tell they
simrer; allus low to see 'em shipper
in afore I git 'em away from the
fire.
On another occasion a neighbor was
taken very i'll and there was great
difference of opinion as to the cause
of her ailment, and what the trouble
really was. Even the doctors did not
agree, and as for the rest of the peo-
pie, relatives and acquaintance, they
were entirely at loss as to what
was the difficulty.
Certain strange pains in the head
and. face had been set down by one
of the sufferers physicians to neu-
ralgia. He had told Aunt Sally" of
this, but she was somewhat incredu-
lous. Another doctor had diagnosed
the case, and from his examination of
the patients throat and lungs, and his
tracing of certain pains to the bron-
chial tubes, was convinced that the
trouble was bronchitis. Aunt Sally
was duly informed of his decision, but
she was not yet satisfied.
Finally third medical expert called
to see the victim, and he disagreed
with both of the others, thereby justi
flying Aunt Sally's" opinion. This
physician came to the conclusion that
the ailment was directly due to a
blood disorder, and gave it out that
the patient was suffering from scrof-
ula. The day after he had been at the
patients bedside Aunt Sally" cane
over.
"Have they found out what's the
matter with Mrs. Morgan, Aunt
Sally" was my first question after she
had lit her pipe with match 1 hand.
ed her.
I "Well," said aunt Sally" settling
back comfortably in the old hickory
rocking chair for friendly smoke,
some says it's the 'nessurallagy,' and
| some says it's the brown creeturs,
but says it's 'scuffalo.'
ERNEST M'GAFFEY.
HOME LIFE OF THE JAPANESE.
Marrying for Love Comparatively Un'
known in That Country.