Year: 1877

Miss Wings kitchen was prim and
clean as broom, soap and soft water
could make it; and Miss Wing sat in it,
rigid and warlike, before the blackest of
stoves, her feet planted firmly on a
square of rag carpet.


There was never an atom of dust, or
even a skinner or tin spoon out of
place In that kitchen; for, in all the wide
world, there was no one OF thing that
dared to enter without special permis-
sion, excepting few stray sunbeams,
and even they crept in and shimmered on
the geraniums in the window as if they
hardly dared.


1t was Thanksgiving eve, and the faint
odor of cranberry tarts and pumpkin
pies crept out from the pantry, and gave
a sort of festal fragrance to the room,
which might have led stranger to be-
Heve that Miss Wing meant to celebrate,
and had been preparing for guests. It
would have been difficult for her to tell
you for whom, however, as all her near
est relations lay up on the hillside. and.
driven by her own stern will, "lovers
and friends had departed far from her."


The only person living who was at all
connected with her was a poor, country
minister, with John Rogers sort of a
family, whose life was constant strug-
gle to cover the body and satisfy the
hunger of the ten healthy, growing chill
dren. We cannot wonder that he some
times thought of Cousin Selina's age and
nice little fortune, that "would go to
some one" Neither can we wonder
that, in a fit of desperation, he wrote
and asked her to take his oldest daugh-
ter for the winter.


Let the girl come," said Miss Wing.
" I'll make her useful" So useful, in
deed, that Milly Thorne never went to
bed at night without seeing ropes of
dried apples that she had strung, and
acres of tallow candles she had dipped,
swimming before her tired eyes.


But all things have an end, and patient
little Milly Thorne, worn out with hard
work, and despairing of ever finding in
Miss Wing that proverbial soft spot
which is in every ones heart, packed
her little sachel and went back over the
hills to the crowded house, the tired
mother and the many children, where
there was dearth of everything but love.
So Miss Wing threw away q golden
opportunity of crowning her old age
with love and happiness.


/ think it must have been from force
of habit that she had cooked her most
golden pumpkin and stuffed her fattest
pullet for solitary Thanksgiving feast.
For 1t was very Gel tain she would bid no
one to share it with her, and still more
certain that no cne would come unbid-
den. For she set her face like a flint
against visits from grown-up people,
and With every child in the village she
was at open war The meeker ones
among them would run if they saw her
coming, and not even the bravest dare
ask her for a flower, while the lawless
and ungoverned ones invented ways to
torment her.


One little colored boy, especially,
whom the children called Caterpillar,
was the plague of her existence. His
chief amusement was to perch himself
upon her white gate post, his rags fut-
tering in the wind, the battered crown
of an old straw hat clinging to his
woolly head, and, playing an imaginary
banjo, sing to an admiring dusky audi
ence collected ON the sidewalk


"Ten little darkies stannin' in q line,


At first Miss Wing affected calm in
difference which she was far from feel
ing. But when it grew to be regular
entertainment 1t was more than she
could endure. So one day, when Cater
pillar had Just commenced his second
StanZa-


/" Nine little darkies sitting on a gate,


One OBJ 'em tumbled off an dar only eight
she mode an unexpected assault upon
him with a broomstick, tumbled him
over on the sidewalk and srmmarily dis
persed his audience. Nothing daunted,
however, Caterpillar picked himself up,
shook the hostile dust from his garments,
and, retreatlng to distance, sang:


Ole Nam Wing,


Ugly ole ting;


Crack you ober de skull boys,


Just COZ You wanter sing.


This act of Miss Wings was taken as
an open declaration of war, and peace
and quietness were over for her.


The most mysterious things happened
to her garden. Tomatoes, that hung
ripe and red upon their stems at night,
vanished before morning. The onion
bed looked as if an army had marched
through it. Melons and green corn
walked away together, and the grape
vines hung their heads as if mourning
the treasures of which they were de-
spoiled.


But those were not the greatest an
noyances. Every night her door-bell
rang, moved by some mysterious power.
1t was of no use to wait IN the hall, open
/ xI,, Al IT,