LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2191, 4 March 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THAT QIEL, Mrs Sabra Gastra sat, knitting, in her parlor. It was not a modern parlor, with d<aped door?, ecru window curtains, embroidered screens and quaint china, but an old-fashioned parlor, with cumbrous mahogany and hair-cloth furniture, an open fireplace with brass andirons and cross-sticks, and window shades of stiff, green paper. But Mrs Gaston would havo been amazed if you had told her that there could be anything handsomer In parlor furnishing than orthodox haircloth.

To her it was unquestionably the correct thing, and she was never more satisfied than when her capable bands could find nothing more to do in the way of way of housework, and she brought her sewing in here and sit down.

She was a good woman, who meant to do her duty and be at peace with all the world, but to-day there was a oloud on her usually serene brow. ‘ fake boarders! ’ she murmured to her self, drawing out h-'r seam-needle and laying it thoughtfully across her lips, as she swayed back and forth in the low rocker. ‘I never did, and never thought I should, but perhaps I would like it for a little change. Brother Sen. writes that it’s a Mr Walcott, who is ont of health, and his wife, child, and daughter. That daughter is what I object to. I sympathise with sick and suffering people, and have always been called a master hand at doctoring up uiling folks with herbs and a few little comforting notions o’ mine. 1 don’t object to him. The wife isn’t a bit stack up, Ben. says, though they’re well-to-do people, and I’m fond of children. But a young lady, with her pert notions, making fun of everything that is old-fashioned and respectable, and with six tucked skirts and ruffled fixings in the wash every week- I never could abide. In fact, if it wasn't for that girl, I’d tako ’em.’ After awhile she rose and went through the house, looking nbservedly about her. ‘I s'pose it would look sort of pleasant to city folks, after the heat and dust of town ’ she said. ‘lf so, I don’t suppose it’s my duty lo keep it away from ’em.’ Tney were mostly low, wide rooms, exquisitely clean and comfortable, perfectly quiet and looking ont npon rich, green grass, rows of current bushes and low-houghed apple trees.

A fat cat and two white kittens filled the seat of a chintz covered rooking cha r ; a early brown dog lay on the wide, bine doorstone, winking sleepily at the dies ; a canary hang in the porch ; but, though there was a man’s straw hat in a big arm chair in the door-yard, Mrs Gaston was alone in the pleasant old farm house. ‘l’ll let Forest decide,’ she said at last.

Pretty soon a cheery whistle sprang up among the apple trees, and a young man, in his shirtsleeves, with a over his shoulder, came up idly between the rows of currant bushes.

‘Hay’s all made and in, mother. Tomorrow I’ll take hold of that transplanting.’ He had a handsome, brown face, a pair of frank blue eyes, a pleasant, cheery voice, and you could safely have sworn that he was his widowed mother’s idol.

4 Forest, you tell me what to do. Shall I take those city folks to board or not V Mrs Gaston spoke with emphasis. Forest laughed, showed a set of white teeth, and an engaging dimple in one bronzed cheek.

I Do just as you're a mind to, mother,’ proceeding to cool his heated head by drenching his curly hair with glittering cold water from the well at the door.

It dripped in showers upon the green grass. 4 1 think I would if it wasn’t for that girl, Forest. Girls are so full of airs—uity girls, I mean.’

‘Perhaps she won’t be very bad. Just bring me a towel—won’t yon. mother ?' ‘I thiok I’ll take ’em,’she said, after a moment, coming back with tbe towel. ‘Somehow it seems as if I'd better.’

‘Well, bo sure you get good help. They’ll make lots of work,’ remarked Forest, as he walked off.

As appeared, he was really indifferent in the matter. All the spring he had been planning to go to Nantasket during the coming month, and would soon bo gone. If his mother chose to receive these people and stay at home, instead of going on a visit to hla grandfather, on the adjacent farm, as previously arranged, he did not care. That evening came another letter from Brother Ben,

‘Dear Sabra—Told my friends you take them, and they are coming right alongr Try to nurse up the ’Squire; he’s very poorly. His wife is a good little soul, but she don t know anything about sickness. Handle’s a nice little boy, and you’ll like Amy. I’ll try and run out by and by; but business is very pressing this summer,’ * Well, I’ll have to bake, do up the window curtains, and put clean sheets and slips on the beds, then they may come any time,’ said Mrs Gaston, after a moment’s thought. * Like Amy ? That’s the daughter, I suppose. Likely. I actually dread that girl! I know! I’ve seen too many city young ladies.’

Just then wheels rumbled up and stopped at the door.

‘ Sakes alive! the stage! ' Yes, and out stepped a pale gentleman, with a little boy in his arms and two ladies.

Forest had gone ; Mrs Gaston stood alone In the doorway. l ls this Mrs Gaston ? We are the Walcotts. Your brother ’began the pale gentleman, breathlessly, putting down the little boy ‘Come right in,’ cried Mrs Gaston. ‘ You’re all tuckered out. lam glad to see yon all,’ though I wasn’t quite ready,’ she confessed, tippling the oats out of the chintz rocker, and placing it by the open window of the sitting-room of Mr Walcott.

It wasn’t exactly the conventional way of receiving boarders, but the tired people thought they never heard or seen anything more delightfnl. As for Mrs Gaston, she entirely forgot the objectionable * girl.’ She only saw four gentle and rather tired faces, and was immediately in her element, ministering to the needy. She took the hats and dusters, and brought a pitcher of sparkling water, and a slice of home made bread and batter for little Henderson, that made the little bey’s eyes shine.

‘Because supper isn’t ready, and children can’t wait when they are hungry,’ she said.

She then bustled away, and had a bountiful meal on the table In less than an hunr.

As soon as supper was over Mrs Gaston showed her boarder* in the parlor, and then went upstairs to spread the beds with fresh sheets and pillow cases. She was rather surprised to find at the end of the hall three formidable trunks, where the driver of the stage had deposited them, after conducting his passengers to the door. Suddenly the hall door opened, and Forest put in a laughing face. ‘ What’s these, mother ? Are these what the young lady keeps her war paint in ? By George ! ’ lifting the handle of one, ‘ there ain’t a man in the country could back them up those stairs.’ * I don’t know what’s to be dons, ’ said Mrs Gaston, helplessly. * Let them be for the present, Forest ’ This matter was easily adjusted by a suggestion from Mrs Wallcott. ‘ Well, mother, said Forest that evening, having just returned from the village, ‘ have you found the young lady very formidable ? X couldn’t get back to take a peep at her.’ 1 Bless ns, I couldn’t tell how she looks to save my life!’ replied Mrs Gastrn ; ‘l've been in such a stir ever since they came. But about those trunks, Forest. Mrs Walcott says the heaviest one is full of books, and can be left anywhere on the ground floor, The others wore lighter, and I got grandpa’s man to take them up To think of their lugging half a ton of books about with them 1 *

Forest’s bright face suddenly grew lutni nons.

‘ Perhaps the young lady wears green glasses, and is studying medicine ! ’ he langhed. Then, seriously, and rapping the table smartly with his knife handle, as ho ate a late supper, ‘ I’ll bet they are the right kind.’

‘Yes’said Mra Gaston, looking pleased, ‘ I forgot yon were fond of books, too,’ In spite of serious charges laid upon herself, Mrs Gaston slept past her usual hour, and rose in a hurry. Of course she was not yet provided with any domestic help, and had commenced her preparations for breakfast, somewhat hurried and worried, when

the kitchen door uwung open and a little fignre in a neat print dress and a large gingham apron entered the room, ' It seems that we came npon yon unexpectedly, Mrs Gaston, and you are unprovided with help,’ said Amy Walcott, ‘ao you must let me help you to get breakfast. lam used to all kinds of housework. What shall I do first 1'

•Well,' said Mrs Gaston, more amazed than she could show, * there’s everything to do—coffee to boil, biscuit to make, ham and eggs to fry, potatoes to put on, buckwheat ’

* I will make the biscuit,’ said Amy, rolling up her sleeves defdy, and exposing two pretty arms, ‘if you’ll please tell me where the flour and bating powder and pans are. .And then I’ll fry the eggs,’ she added, sifting flour handily. ‘I always make sour milk b : souit; perhaps you don’t know anything about these,’ sur-ges-od Mrs Gaston,

‘ I guess I can manage thorn ; I've studied, chemistry a little/ replied Amy, ■studied chemistry to learn how to cook t Mrs Gaston looked bewildered, but c mmenced catting ham, atd then termed to go to the barn for fresh eggs * Let me go !’ cried Amy, clapping her pan of biscuits in the oven. ‘ I haven’t found any hen’s eggs since I was a little girl.’ And she ran away, ‘ns if she wastes years old,’ Mrs Gaston said afterward. ‘ Has your help come, mother ?’ ashed Forest, comiug in with a pail of water. ‘ There’s the nicest sort cf a little woman, out in the barn, hunting hen’s eggs.’ ‘ Why, Forest, it’s Mins Walcott 1 She made the coffee and biscuits—’

The door opened and Amy came in, her apron held up, her face, of dimpled snow and roses, smiling. 1 Splendid luck!’ she laughed. * I’ve found thirteen—just n baker’s dozen.’

Forest looked, and then and there fell in. love. He couldn’t help it, he told bis mother, if Amy Walcott had been the Queen cf England, ‘ I’ll fry them and lay the table, Mm Gaston, and then ran upstairs and dress Hendie/said Amy. ‘I. have the whole care of him, mamma’s health Is so poor and papa so needs her attention lately.’ Then: ‘You needn’t fry buckwheats for ua, Mrs Gaston ; there’ll be plenty of breakfast without. But I’ll put on a little of this oatmeal for papa, if yon please. He is very fond of it, and it isn't much trouble to cook any time, is it ’’ * Bless you 1 no, child ! And the breakfast’s ready like magic.’ The biscuits (made by chemistry, Mr* Gaston, avowed, with awe) turned out perfection ; and the oatmeal and creamy milk, famished vir Walcott was such a satisfactory breakfast that he seemed heartened up wonderfully at once. B fore dinner the stoat daughter of a neighbor came into Mrs Gaston’s kitchen and set her mind at rest as to the labor to be performed. She was able to make her boarders feel at homo and entirely comfortable, and in return they seemed to take pains to make themselves exquisitely agreeable. But it wai only the ordinary result of good breeding which made the Walcotts so agreeable to the Gastons—the constant unselfishness and gentle consideration of otherswhich never fails to please the most unrefined. But the Gastons were not unrefined. If Mrs Gaston occasionally made a grammatical error, it was due greatly to that habit of conversation with uneducated people about her.

Her son had a more than ordinary good education, and, with agricultural tastes, a passion for books. He had long exhausted the better part of the town library, and, like Oliver Twist, was hungry * for more.’ Mr Walcott gave his permission to use the trunkfnl of books he bad brought, as if they were his own, and sent Amy to display them to him ; while Mrs Walcott gave him her sympathy and admiration equally. * Such a splendid young Saxon !' said she laughing, to her husband. ‘ Just the one for Amy.’ It was certainly very suggestive of something of this kind that Forest gave up his sea shore trip, and read, and drove, and played chess with Miss Amy during all the long summer. As I have said, the Gastons were neither unrefined nor uneducated, but they did lack the liberal culture of art aud modern literature.

The Walcotts opened to them a delightful world, which did not end in Amy renovating the gloomy parlor with graceful drapery, art panels, statuettes, aid gem pictures. She grew as dear to Forest’s mother as to himself—indeed, she always declared she loved her first, and, when two years of loving conrnmtnated in marriage, Mrs Gaston had no prejudice against the alterations made in the old house at the suggestions of Forest’s wife.

She gave her preference to bamboo and velvet in the furbishing of ]the new parlors, and willingly consigned the black haircloth to a spare room, and with a porch here, a bay window there, and half hidden in roses, the old farm house is the most picturerque, as well as the happiest, of homes.

Long before he came to the wedding, Brother Ben, still deep in city trade, had written to inquire ‘how Sabra tiked the Walcotts.’

‘Exceedingly ! ’ she answered. ‘And that, girl has been the blessing of my life.’