The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, April 7, 1901, Page 7

THE SUNDAY CALL Y S. E. KISER, r orgie’s Maw and Paw.” etc, e Dudley Bostwick's things merely as they ng in his farm jour- ttention was claimed ning the information fond of the music a bagpipe in the barnyard,” : “cows’ can be In- more milk than they would 1 they make less fuss about " are operated on in the = is a fact that has by sclence, and the ming when every well will have its corps of paid owns a profitable stance from the city, was to a Scotch clothing next day and found a piper who was out sald after he vhether nd of clothes a cow when replied tha w s of Connecticu, gin I x come , I won't come n i the Laird in “Tnil- b n happier days, before A COoN chronic. Now, the s r ed by the clotn- my was the only suit he pos- s inc to give it up was, rn prejudice. egs I'm thinkin’ Dudley explained, mebby if you left off that red petticoat the shawl, the cows ght 2 = tte It's all right, - without ‘em. y we'll see how it works. 1 g turns out proper, I'll prob- ire " you by the month. all right with a If stockin’s on?” costume was st results from t the farm dur- e next rnoon. when he was con- r sheds and barns by that h eman said, nod- ¥ were D ing “is some of this county. Of as well without L] right Do they e ar r in Scotland?” \ replied the piper, forgetting his over there.” w much sugar isins were re- ield the way to the piper was to ope- f clder the have the egs bare when th t00?” the one might with trou- aiming Un- was then ed. If th Sandy mself as he i he migt have been car- to the verybody abo e therefore d his nd her sister, Mrs. Wel- been peeping around cor- witk ermitting them- . Sandy remained »arrel because ad not open- e Pudley’s consort, with his bare legs ws there's women. 1 t put trousers on n’, thoug! 4 ; replied, “these n s centric one wa; or s hear of 'em . v essin’ peculiar, so m s is way of bein' a 5 approached while v g subject, and he ex- n Kk He must > otk have their people have, n't stop to discuss the he carr ting in the bacl n, with his the old man, pipin® than I do; ers wouldn’t inter- ¥in' I could lend you Mu a palr just as well as not.” Sardy grunted and began to pipe mourn- “Or we could let you have a sheet or a blanket, or something that would come further down petticoat, if than the that—" The piper emitted a blast that Uncle Dudle; terpreted as a sign of displeas- ure, and, returning to where the ladies were, he said: “We've got to let him have his own way about this thing. It's wrong to in- terfere in professional matters a body don’t understand, anyhow. I s'pose if we hire him steady w get used to it in time.” The piper continued to imbibe hard cider until milking time, when Uncle Dudiey found him leaning against the barnyard gate, laughing softly to himsel Tro cows were driven up from the pasture, and Pomeroy and the boys he help him got their pails read: r a “I want to milk one ‘em of Uncle Dudley said, “so I can see j effect the music has, Spot, there. Bhe’s always been a hard milker. 1If she gives down ; tc-night it'll be a sure sign that the plan works. We could still arrange about a blanket or a tablecioth or something to hide the red 1 guess I'll.take old petticoat,” he sald, rurning to Sand: ‘“4f you think it would be best. Hadn't veu better stay outside the fence? Mebbe the cows would rather have their first pipin’ not too cl who said the piper, or L. .8 show you that'll make you think of the bonnie hills far, far awa’ 11 ready, shouted Uncle dley, as he sat old Spot. “Go | horse b and 1ad been decently team down the ’ In and out among the cows, piaving for dear life, and occa~ sionally wheoping like an Ind In time about fort the e onds from the note was sounded thirty ing hither and thither, bei- . Uncle Dudley was kicked rtially disabled, but by vehind the pump he saved him- he two milking boys managed to get into the barn without suffering serious injuries, and Pomeroy rushed for the fence. ie dog barked, still Aunt Prisciila Weldon screamed nearly every- could think of at such short T 2, till Sandy piped and yelled, ntil & big brindle cow with horns that ere made for better things, crazed either the music or the piper firs: Ly both, rushed at him, with and her tail up. “““Look out!” yelled Pomeroy from behind the fence; but the warning was too late: The wailing ceased suddenly. The bag- pipe flew one way and the piper another. lie ianded on top of a small strawstack, where he remained, more scber than he had been for ye until they had driven the cows down the lane and rescued Uncle Dudley. Some parts of the pipes were found. “Dave,” sald the old man, when they had helped him into the house, “don’t ever go tryin’ to be a léader. The happiest peonie in the world are them that ain . never heard of for what they've done. When a man gets to bein’ great, the sad- dest days of his life commences. You'll find a lot in the books about the troubles of Caesar and Cromweil, but not much about any fun they ever had, I wish you'd write a letter to the foel editor of that farm paper tellin’ him to step my subscrivtion right awav.” Copyright, 191, by the AURETTA was my third cousin on my mother’s side. She was a real pretty girl,, one cof the prettiest girls that ever lived, I don’t care where, but she was very prim. As T remember her, Lauretta was about the primmest girl T éver saw. All the village girls were modest and well behaved, but Lauretta went z step béyond everybody: she wouldn't do this and she wouldn’t do that, and she didn’t act fairly natural about beaus. When Lauretta was 18 years old she had never let a young man go ational Press Agenc: home with her, and T can see her face now when her sister Louisa told her how John Mitchell had seen her home from meeting and kissed her good-night. Louisa (S " married John Mitchell afterward, but that didn’t ms any Qifference Louts h a dre thing!" said Lauretta, and she tolored up as if John Mitchell had kissed her instead of Louisa. Louisa didn't like it very well. “Yes, I did, and I am going to marry John it he asks me; and I can’t see as I've done anything very dreadful,” said she. “I don't see how you could, Louisa,’® sald Lauretta, and she still had that shocked kind of look. and her face and neck were red. Lauretta had the softest, finest skin, and colored red as a rose in a minute, and her blue eyes would widen and grow round. I can see them now. “You are too particular to live,” said Louisa. She told me afterward that she didn’t belleve Lauretta was like other girls. “I've seen her coming out of meet- irg actually hanging on mother’'s arm, for fear somebody would ask to go home with her,” said Louisa. Louisa kad,al- ways a great many admirers, and did not resort to subterfuges to keep themeat bav. “Edward Acéams would be glad to go home with her. 1 guess.” I said. “He's just dying to,” replied Loulsa. “T can see him hanging around every Sun- day night after meeting, but he can’t go home with Lauretta unless he goes with mother, too. I never saw a girl like Lauretta. ¥ don’t belleve she ever will get married. She won't give anybody a chance.” 1 felt sort of sorry for Edward Adams, because he was a good ¢ and real in- timate with Joseph the man I married three. ye afterward. Joseph used to tell me about how Edward felt “I never saw a man £o used up as he is over Lauretta,” said he; “‘but she won't look at him.” “She won't look at anybody more,” said I. “No, that's scme comfort,” Joseph; ont what is it, what has she got against Edward?” “1'm sure I don't know,” said I. T told Joseph I would try to talk to Lau- retta, and see if I could find out what the trouble was: and so I did, but I didn't make out h. I got a sort of idea that perhaps s E was prim as we had al ys thought, as because she didn't real believe any young man wanted her, or loved her as much as her mother did, but I wasn't sure that 1 was right. * Well, time went on, and Louisa and I were both married, though Lauretta was else, any older. She lived with her mother, and clung to her just as-tightly as ever.. Ed- ward Adams_wasn't married _either, though he had paid attention to several. He acted as if he had given up Lauretta Lauretta was 28 years old when the nev school teacher came to Ferrisville. She was a beauty, and no mistake. I don’t know that She was any prettier than Lauretta; but you could see her further, and she came from the city, and knew how to dress. Edward fram the first acted devoted to her. He was on the school committee, and so had a good ex- cuse to visit her school often; and he used to walk home with her from meeting, and take her sleigh riding, and Mrs. Lansing, the woman where she boarded, said he called on her real often. Folks began to think it would be a match. That was the winter when Lauretta’s mother died, and she was left all alone. Louisa couldn’t come to live with he because her hus- band had his business Morristown, and couldn't leav uretta, though she herself, couldn't af- ttled down to live pitiful, she was ford to hire alone, and it did s r I such a timid little thing. always ] For a little while I used to go over and stay all night with her; but, of course, I couldn’t keep up always. I said to Jo- seph that it was such a pity that she and Edward hadn’t got married, but he said he guessed he’d got o . that the new school teacher suited him pretty well. “I don’t kno said I “T always thought Edward Adams wasn't one to shift about very easilv from one to the other; and Mrs. Lansing says he hasn't been to call on the teacher quite so often lately. I know he didn’t go home with her from meeting last Sunday night. and I saw him looking at Laurefta. I don’t believe but he has a good deal of feeling for her, left alone the she 1s.” “More feeling than she would have for him, I guess.”” said Joseph, rather grimly. He was a little inclined to be severe on Lauretta; he had always thought so much of Edward. “I guess Edward is pretty well suited with the school teacher,” h sald again; “and she’s handsome as a pic- ture, a sight prettier than Lauretta.” “I’ don’t: know,” said I, “and I don't know about her being handsomer. You men always think if a girl has blazing red cheeks her beauty is settled. Lauretta is more delicate-looking. but it seems to me_she is much prettier.” “Not according to my way of think- ing,” said Joseph. Joseph is a good man, but he never trusts one woman’s opinion of another’s beauty. Tt was some three months after Lauret- ta’s mother died, and the poor girl had lived alone through one of the hardest winters we had ever known—snowstorm after snowstorm, and bitter cold—and she did have a lonesome time of it. I went in there all I could. but much of the time it was too bad for me to wa T lived half a mile away, and we didn’t keep a horse, and it was before the electric cars were put in. poor Lauretta got along some- she never complained, she was al- ways just as sweet and meek and gentle; but she grew thin and there was a sad little droop at the corners of her mouth and r biue ¢S seemed to be always i past _you, igh she was pret- Black was very becoming e never ed to me ju me things unexplaine was a_beau day v ‘we had The air was re, the snow had gone except ere and there, the tree teld it to me when morn noticed me dow er kitches sweet fragrace house, and the couid not imagin was: | w she opened the sittip r w [here, on the table, ot of Easter lilies. The »n the tabl : g. and the pot the whole room a the whole ing d at it, She did not know for a ivinute. Then she indow was open—the w table—and she reasoned ody must ve opened of lilles inside. Then hed upon her that Ed- showed me the flowers h that Sunday. and had to D and she stood in. the doorw: me, 't you come in jus 1 she; “there’s house. od time I, the min and she led pointed > beautifu! lilles. T many blossoms of buds, and “Why, who thirg ik nt them? I found t morning,” said Laureita. “Why, who “Who do you asked Lao- retta. We looked at each other. then I began dward Adams’ sn't require a and Lau- I saw that 1 worry, dear child,” said I, 1 her preity light hair. Lau- ider than I. but she always ger. d to hurry out and catch up with Joseph, but when I saw Lauretta i the church a little later I had never seen her look so long black veil swept back air hair, and her face was as delicate a lily,” with just such clear curves, and she moved with such a shy grace that pecple turned to look at her— 1d T didn’t wonder. To my mipd the school teacher, in a new Easter hat all covered with roses, was _tawdry beside her, and I once caught Edward Adams Jooking at Lauretta, and I had my own ©pinion. It s such a beautiful Sunday, full moonlight, that Joseph and I went to meeting in the evening, and Lauretta was there. “When meeting was over I expected that ‘she would do what she had ays done whenever she had hap- pened to be at evening meeting sgince her mother died—edge up to me and cling to me going out, as she used to do to her mother; but that night she did not. I looked around for her, and never was so astonished in my life. I could not believ it was Lauretta. She was actually mc ing in that gentle, imperceptible, gliding fashion of hers, close to Edward Adams d she actually moved on ahead of the ool _teacher. The school cher’s s brushed Lauretta's black veil, they so close together. Then I 'hea Good evering, Mr. Adam. ord, and I could not be- my ears. And I could not believe eyes when the school teacher passed walking very fast with Mrs. Lansing; ned out afferward that she had been to somebody Boston all the Lauretta say of her own ac liev timey and never told: and Lauretta fol- lowd behind us, leaning on Edward Adams’ arm. I locked around and nudged Joseph to look. “Good Lord!” said he, so loudly that T w afraid that they would hear him, and I had to hush him up. Well, A all o and L were married in mer. Lauretta let her house and went to live in Edward’s. But that isn't the strange part of it all. L tta did not much to Edward about the pot of ilies for some little time: she had a sort of feeling since he had brought them so y, as she suppc that there was red abc that she wouid him 11 she did was o and he said yes, as well he never were such lilies. But when had a and buds d and di she wonde: at to do with the plant, so she said something to Edward about it. She thanked him for sending it, and ked if it would not be best for him to take it back to his greenhouse and keep it over anoth: year. Then it tran: pired that Edward had never sent that pot of Easter lilie t he had none like it; t e pot 5 had ever had nt until th: They n pot of lilie keep the plan er. He q abe it where that tdward tried to lied before the = ed the florist none >m knew any- about i ne >w, and no one ever will know. We can surmifs and auestion, but we shall never know. But No there is no doubt that those lilles have sweetened Law s whole life, for sha would never have married Edward Adams had not some one set them on her table, L