The evening Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1918-1920, 1919-03-08
t came one day carly in Indian

/. ld-iC C41e Gay carly IN indian
summer.
There IS ever an atmosphere OF
beautiful tragedy connected with a
county { ct;o-.-wi,h ne breaking up
OF (. home &c. has existed over many
years. VIII gambling pulse and
bagatellc, the sanctity of a home is
sna~Acd ard the thousand little fur
nlsntngs which give each human hab-
i.a-ic4. al individuality different from
anJ ot.l4r are scattered to the winds
! of heG3.-cA. l-crc is q drama the city
never sees and cannot know.
/ The day comes for the auction.
l,ooms that through the vicissitudes
! Of the years have meant the only
Alsatia on earth for tired souls, the
only place for them to retreat when
u other places on earth have dis
appointed or failed them or held no
further interest for them, are entered
rudely and attacked with barbaric
spoilation. The outraged household
spills the pathetically shabby con-
tents into the yard before the door.
Strangers or morbidly curious neigh
hors gather around. An auctioneer
who mounts his box with conversa-
ton which he mistakeably imagines
is funny, and the "sale" begins.
The Sale!
There are chairs which have creak-
cd by green birch fires in many feath-
cry twilights while woman's voice
! crooned lullabye that soothed deep
in the dark. There are tables with
toy-scarred limbs who have supported
uncertain fumbling baby steps, on
which many meal has been served
that has meant only a heartache in
after years to those who were pri
vileged for just a little while to
~ather amid familiar faces around
that board. There are bedsteads
/ there helpless little lives walled their
tiny terrors in their newborn nights
end where the pillow for them then
was the softest thing in all this uni
verse-a mothers arm. And on
those same beds, tired souls have
/ laid them down, and breathed a sigh,
end known the peace of God which
/ passes human understanding. There
are pictures which have hung on
| homely walls so long, seen so many
( gala times, SO many hours of anguish
so many hours of nunbing sorrow
that they are misty of map and glass
] with memory And there are count
/ less little worthless trinkets, each
! one standing for a milestone in some
life, that have remained to see the
! giver or the gifted reach the final
Milestone of them all and lie in
! dreamless slumber underneath it.
! Cheap and tawdry and worthless
the things" appear as they are lifted
before the unfeeling thoughtless
crowd Of strangers and disposed of
=, for pittance. A lot of junk! And
/ yet pitifully hard-earned money bit
! by bit bought that crazy collection
/ OF pots and pans and jars and ket-
ties. The blood of a woman's fng
(, e-s lies upon those balled up counter
panes and articles of bedding and up
on those doilies and spreads and cur
tains and is woven in those old rag
rugs. 1t was a great moment back
in une years, for that home, when
some of these tables and chairs and
parlor sets and stoves and carpets
were purchased. Labors of love, pos
sessions of lifetime, all that remains
to show for the generation-long
struggle of man and woman, are
going going going GOMEZ
and when the auction is over and
strangely piled wagons have depart
ed and the crowd has dispersed and
the auctioneer been paid off and de-
parted also, when the yard is cleared
excepting for the clutter, many is
the relative, the official, the execu-
tor, who has locked the doors and
gone away from the betrayed and
Quilted home with the money in his
pocket burning like the silver in the
palm of Judas on the evening of the
day he sold his Lord.
Jack found the girl on that night
: of the Wheeler sale down in the
lower orchard. She had no other
place to go. She had climbed up on
!, the hoary, gnarled old arm of the
russet-apple tree, the only one in the
|