The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1939-04-06
CHAPTER III

ing down an open slope toward the
marshes and the river, there were
three houses, dissimilar and vet
alike. Dissimilar in their outward
aspect, yet alike In that to the most
casual passer-by it must have
seemed that fear dwelt in them all,
and secrecy, and other things be-
sides. Heavy shutters were at ev-
cry window, even though those shut
tiers were not always closed; heavy
hangings behind the lace curtains
next the glass; closed doors, CHM
neys that seldom wore friendly
plume Of smoke, a lawn never suf-
ficiently clipped and tended, and
lacking ameliorating shrubs or
flowers.
One of these houses was square
box almost exactly as high as it
was wide, of dull brown brick, with
a dull slate roof that was so fat
II threatened to crack under the
winters weight of snow: a square
box of brick house, with a wing
like the tail of dog that is sitting
down, extending for short distance
behind. Grass grew tall in the fish,
bone pattern of the brick walk that
led from the road to the front door.
And one of these houses was a
sprawling thing of wood, painted
that frugal brown which thrifty New
England folk so often and so I'M
fortunately prefer. Yet whoever
first designed this wooden house
must have CROPPED toward beauty,
even toward the pleasant ways of
living; because there were broad
verandas, there were peaks and val
leys in the roof. There were even
a few remaining traces of an or
namental border still discernible I'M
der the overhang at the gable ends.
The third house was of stone This
was the smallest of the three; and
its height was greater than either its
front or breadth. It had almost the
appearance of tower of stone;
and the. stone-work extended up
ward to the window-sills of the sec
ond floor. Above that there was
Stucco; and above the stucco and
the low attic windows, there was a
steep-pitched roof from which the
snow would slide of itself. But this
house, even though it was the small
est of the three, was distinguished
by one circumstance. There was
behind the house portable garage
of sheet metal; and from this ga
rage a drive led around one side
OF the house, making a sharp angle
at the rear corner to pass between
the house and tall pine tree there,
making another angle so as to pass
the front steps, and thus to the road.
And the garage gave evidence of
being used; the drive was free Of
grass, and there were some oil-spots
by the kitchen door as though car
often stopped there.
You might have thought these
houses, from their aspect, empty,
abandoned; yet people lived IN
them, and by an unchanging rou-
tine. Each Saturday night, as
part of this routine, they all for
gathered in the sitting-room of the
big frame house between the other
two, where old Denman Hurder
lived with his wife who had been
Ella Kenesaw, and with his daugh-
ter Kitty Leaford, and her daughter
June.
June Leaford sometimes wondered
whether other people existed as mo-
notonously as these folk she knew
best: her mother, and Grandpa and
Grandma Hurder; old Matthew
Bowdon and his wife next door in
one direction; Aunt EVE Tame, and
Uncle Justus, and Rab and Asa in
the other. This was the only world
she knew; world mile square,
with the three houses as the focus.
And these were the only folk she
knew-these kinfoIk and one other,
the man who lived IN the cabin by
the pond which was hidden in the
sunlit woods behind the house, and
who liked to have her call him Uncle
Jim.
She had first met this man one
day a good many years ago. As
she grew from babyhood to child
hood, Grandpa Hurder used to take
her for long walks about this mile
square tract of land that was the
Kenesaw domain; and later, when
she was old enough to adventure
abroad alone, she explored In all
directions. She liked to slip down
toward the river, moving secretly
among the young growth which was
recapturing the old pasture there;
and she discovered screened knoll
above the stream where she could
sit unseen and watch the bright
hued canoes slip softly by.
At other times she went to roam
house. Half mile below the crest
of Kenesaw Hill, the woods ended at
broad highway along which cars
passed all day long IN weaving
pattern to and fro. She knew the
springfield pond deep In the woods,
and sometimes she took off her
shoes and stockings to wade IN the
clear water there; or she would sit
very still on the rocky summit of
the knoll above the pond to watch
through the intervening branches of
the trees the cars go by.
Uncle Jim found her there one
day. She was at the time about ten
years old. He spoke to her, smiling
~, and asked her name; and she
told him what it was, and watched
with interest how the blood drained
out of his lips. Later she saw him
more than once again, and one day
she told her mother of these en-
counters.
Kitty Leaford was soft, queru-
lous woman. who lived resentfully