The Republican journal., 1916-11-30
: A Home Letter.

November we are in winter. The ground
is covered with snow and it is very good
sleighing. The air is full of the jingle
of sleigh bells, and there is nothing in
the landscape to indicate that it is No
vember instead of January. The morn
ing paper says that this is the earliest
winter that Maine has known for forty
years. Yes; it was just about forty
years ago that two little red mittened
maids started out with brooms in their
hands, some time before Thanksgiving,
ito sweep the snow from the surface of
the frog pond, SO that it might not in
terfere with their skating. 1t was a
! great undertaking, but they loved to
skate, and the snow had come too early,
just as it has done this year. They
worked hard and long and accomplished
their task. Late in the afternoon the
shining surface of the frog pond lay
| ready for the ring of skates and the
gathering OF the merry young people,
with whom in those days skating was as
popular as it is with the young people of
today. Strange to relate, however, no.
body came. The two Industrious little
; maids had the frog pond all to them
selves. The frog pond had been out
grown. 1t had always been large enough
before, but this year the march of pro-
gress had begun. The Red Bridge stream
| H. L !
never ventured upon its enticing surface
| In all their lives. This year it was diff
| ferent. Every (which meant all the
! big boys and girls as we'll as the little
ones-had gone to the Red Bridge stream,
| and there was nothing to do but to fol-
low the crowd. Oh, but it was glorious
skating! So different from the old frog
pond that the two could not be mention
ed IN the same breath. Once there, the
lost labor was forgotten-and even the
old frog pond itself. 1t is only after all
again, a dream frog pond, alive with
red-mittened lads and lassies, and merry
shouts and ringing laughter. No. do not
be afraid, little maid of the red mittens.
am not calling any names. After all
it may not have been forty years ago |
that you and l swept the snow away
from the ice. Newspapers are not al
ways reliable they say.
| have been at home nearly three |
weeks, dear Journal, and the time has |
passed so rapidly that it seems more like
three days. Some of the Stoughton peo- /
pie who read my last letter to you, writ !
ten from that place, said that it was
"too bad,'' but not one of them could
deny that it was true; and when few
days later ''Ike. proprietor of a restau-
rant next door to the office, died sudden
ly of what his SHOCKED neighbors said
was delirium tremens; and when soon
after that man came to my window,
and having mistaken the door, asked me
in a confidential tone for can order of
whiskey," my case against Stoughton
was materially strengthened. Especial
ly as was not allowed to forget this lat
ter event. The men in the real estate
office, which was in the same room, over
heard the conversation and considered it
one on me. Murder will out" they
said. "You come here preaching tenn
perance to US, but nobody has ever come
to US trying to buy whiskey," etc.
Another man came to my window one
day and asked if / could tell him what
Walters wife sisters husbands name
was; but as was stranger in Slough
ton and did not even know what Wal
ters name was, the rest was out Of the
question. Miss Ferguson, manager of the
office, returned Saturday morning from
her vacation in New Brunswick, and
without regret l turned the office over
to her and stepped out into the October
sunshine, free from the thralldom of
dots and dashes. Over at Norwood and
Canton and Sharon on Saturday and Sun
day enjoyed being a visitor, entertain
ed by young Gideon and his mother, and
also had the feeling that l was on the
way hoiIlC. oulludy evening lOOh tAC
train into Boston, on the chance of get
ting the 10 p. m. train for Portland, but
found it had been taken off; stayed over
night at the Quincy house, and took the
8 a. m. train Monday morning, arriving
home Monday night.
1t seems to me that home never look
ed any more homelike than it does COM
ing to it from Stoughton. At this sea-
son of the year, when Dame Nature is
cleaning house, sweeping out the cob
webs and getting ready for old King
Winter to move in, the air of an old
home seems to be more than ever full of |
memories. Old forgotten stories and
anecdotes come drifting through ones !
head, stay awhile, then sink back into
oblivion. 1t may be some witching in
rHEMUMS AS BIG