Evening star., 1924-06-08


~ There is also stable.
Strong winds and hot suns have left
their marks on these buildings, and
any marks they bore of paint or
whitewash brush were long ago
erased.
About these venerable unprim
houses was a wagon whose wheels
must creak and wabble as they turn +;
stoves that having done their serv-
ice, had been cast off, and parts of old
bedsteads and chairs There were
heaps of wire, bits of rope and chain
and a baby carriage whose first owner
has grown to manhood or become a
mother. Tin cans without number
and without label, all brown with
rust, and a catalogue of other things
were strewn around for rain and
snow to fall on. One man might say
on coming to the place, "A junkman
lives here" and another man might
say, Here lives a collector OF an
tiques."
4 little rabbit hound challenged
The Rambler. but a few kind words
changed his bark from defiance to
apology. and then. givin.s a wag of
welcome to his TAIL he came forward
with some crouching and misgiving.
On being assured that no depreciation
was meant against his property. he
leaped and wriggled and gayly barked
a welcome. The crooked-legged, flop
cared little dog seemed to say with
his big brown eyes, "This place is not
SO grand as the mansions of some
neighbors, but it's my home"
a white cat came around the cor
ner of the stable to see what was
going on, and the little hound rushed
to her and yelped cordially. The cat
accepted the demonstration in good
spirit. but arched her back and
bushed her tail and said, stand off,
Bill. We are friends and eat off the
same platter and dream on the same
rag1 mat, but you must not get too
fSeSh before company"
A speckled hen came from a COOP
leading large spring family. AS
she presented her children there was
a proud cluck in her voice and a
proud glance in her eyes, as is the
case with mothers when they show
their babies. The old hen said:
That yellow, fluffy fellow with the
black wings is the living image of
his father. His grandfather took a
prize in the Washington poultry
show, and his great-grandfathe could
lick anything that wore wings. He
was killed in a duel with another
celebrated gamecock in the barn back
of the old tavern YOU have been writ
ing about My children are descended
from some of the oldest chicken fam
lilies of the District"
4 i x 4
THE RAMBLER. knocked at the
door of the cabin and waited
polite time for an answer. None.
Turning to the little hound. The
Rambler said: "All the folks at
church, And the little dog barked
Yes The strew of old cast-off
things about the place. the friendli-
ness of the little hound, the good
feeling between him and the white
cat and the socia bility of the speckled
hen told The Rambler that good,
kind-natured people lived there. Not
so thrifty, not so shifty as some
proud folk we know. but when the
trappings of the world are put off the
Great Spirit who holds planets in
their orbits and puts color in the
flowers may smile welcome to these
poor and humble people.
Later in the day and further down
the road The Rambler saw an old
man resting against fence, and then
this colloquium:
who lives on top of the hill where
the yellow beagle hound and all the
junk are?"
His name are George Washing
ton"
what does Uncle George do?"
well, he jes' jogs aroun' haulin
little an chopin wood a little and
doin' little plowin' and hucksterin'
TO livin'.''
Outside the sphere Of old stoves
and beds was the trace of a circular
walk. Here a cherry tree and there
a pear tree: here a lonely rosebush
and there a lilac bush, which. though
ready to bring forth as pretty things
as bloom, told a hard-luck story in
every leaf. Here on the hill crest,
with all Washington below. was once
4 joyous home. 1t was that of Joseph
WorthinGton-Joe Worthington, as
all the neighbors of 'quality' called
him, and "Col. Worthington" to
others. He was a man who had seen
much of the world and good society,
and he was a fellow of charm and
manner who spoke the English as a
gentleman. He wore his black slouch
hat in a way that suggested there
was a plume in it, and he had the
bearing of a man who might have
ciinked glasses with the best courtier
At the court of France. A. sweet
woman was his wife. and they had
two children-Nye and Sallie-whom
many Washington people knew.
Col. Joe lived in a good and roomy
old house, not far from this hilltop,
but in 1890 a syndicate-the Bliss
Havemeyer syndfcate-began buying
farms in that section and paying high
prices for the land. The syndicate
was going to make this a section of
rich mems villas. Col. Joe sold his
farm and built house on this hill
top, where the Rambler met the little