Democratic Sentinel, Volume 2, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 August 1878 — LOVE AND TURNIPS. [ARTICLE]

LOVE AND TURNIPS.

His name was John Goodwin Emerson, and liis works and ways were these : Tending a pegging machine in a New England shoe shop, and thinking much of Patience Lovering, the primaryschool teacher. When the fi-o'clock whistle brought welcome release from the weary clatter of the pegging machine, he betook himself to the society of Patience or books. That is, Patience would not always receive him, and then lie read books in a species of mad fury. Patience Lovering seemed in some manner above him. He knew this, and had wisely thought to raise himself to her level. Finally the time came when the word that was in his heart came out, and, upon a suitable occasion, ho told her that he loved her, and had hoped to make her his wife. The result was peculiar and most unhappy. This modern maiden met love’s advance with a kind of iron-clad com-mon-sense, and bluntly told him his income was insufficient. Her own earnings were enough for her support, and a little more. She lived in comfort, and had some leisure, to say nothing of an occasional taste of the drama and music. As his wife she would have none of these, besides many household cares aud that sort of thing. Did she not love him ? She looked at him with a sad smile, and said, “ I will not say whether I love you or not • perhaps— perlmps not.” Seeing that he was greatly cast down, she added, playfully, “Ain I not worth winning ? Whv do you not try ?” J “ What can I do ?” said he, bitterly. I am only a mechanic. ” She made no reply for a moment, and then she said, slowly, “That is nothing —I mean it is nothing against you. The point is that you must be more. It is not for me to say what or how. You are a man. I make no promise, but you may win me—if you can.” VY ith this she turned away quickly and walked on alone before him, leaving lum standing in the middle of the rural lane where they had been walking. He saw her put up her hands before her iace, but whether it was in shame or griel be could not tell. It was both shame that she had beenforcea to speak so plainly, and grief that—but, really her griof was so mingled with other sentimeuts that it was part sorrow and part hope. The young man gazed after her till o had disappeared, and then he turned do to the stone wall that bound the ane, and looked out over the wide exause of a very fine turnip field. There were millions of turnips in majestic r ows, rank beyond rank, their plumelike leaves waving as an army with baunors* Of these 10,000 one alone atraoied bis attention. It was a mighty iwnip, fair to see, and of goodly size nd shap«. It was the king turnip of ho field, and the disconsolate lover tudied it with interest. It is a curious fact that sometimes, when the mind is suffering from a great hock or sudden revulsion of feeling he most trival things absorb the attenlon. It is as if the will was too weary to trouble itself about the directing of the mind, and any chance object absorbed the whole attention. The young man considered this superior turnip with profound interest. Why was it so mighty while nil its million brothers were no more than ordinary turnips ? Traces of an old eompost heap near by seemed to explain the turnip’s glorious proportions. At once his mind skipped nimbly to the future. If this turnip so goodly m Bliape and size, were selected for seed, would not its seed retain something of its noble proportions ? If the fittest were made to survive, would not a superior race begin ? Having considered these deep and morngntous questions for some time the young man turned away and went home, feeling much better. Such is the effect of labor, particularly mental labor, on sorrow. The next day they both reBurned tbeir labors in school and shop and none guessed that aught had passed between them. Months passed away, and already the winter was far spent. She taught the infant mind and he tended the pegging machine, and it seemed as if all were lost between them. Wait! The spring sun a ie idy mounts the sky, though the wind blows and the hi jw flies. It was the loth of February when the young man went to the Bavings bank and drew out some money. Ho remembered the days when he had saved these dollars for another purpose, and now it was all over and ho might as well spend the money in another direction. Before night he had purchased two hot bed sashes, a load ot stablo manure and a few boards. 1' rom these he constructed a hot bed, such as he had seen gardeners make for early lettuce. Two days after, he found a chance hour when the wind was lulled, and he opened the hot-bed. The soil was soft and warm, like a bit of spring land in the midst of snow. Taking a paper from his pocket, he began to sow a quantity of seeds—white turnip. Now it happened that the yard where tic worked was next the street, at the side of the house where he lived with i -i er ‘ He was aware, after a while, that some one had stopped in the way and was looking over the fence at him. Little caring who it might be he went on with his labor. Presently there was a little cough—a highly sufrgestive cough, full of curiosity and

dashed with pique. He looked up. It was Patience Lovering. “ What are you doing?” “ Sowing the seeds of good fortune,” said he, gravely. “ Dear me 1 how interesting ! Have yon any of that kind of seed to spare ?” “No. But yon shall have the whole crop.” “Ah ! thanks. You are very kind. I hope it will bear * some an hundredfold, some two hundredfold. * ” He stood up and looked at her, with a new light kindling in his eyes. “ I hope it will be a thousandfold, if yon will accept it.” This disjointed speech he uttered with ill-suppressed eagerness, and she observed it and blushed. Nothing more passed between them, save a few commonplaces, and then she moved on, and he finished his work with renewed hope and courage. Weeks grew to months, and still he tended the pegging machine, and slowly added to his savings in the bank. With all this, be was not patient. He had not Patience, and yet she daily walked before him. Thus was he doubly sorrowful, for he had neither the woman nor the virtue. He cast about in many ways to see whereby he might better himself. Moreover, he read books, and thns, while he knew it not, he grew in mental stature. Meanwhile the turnips grew. They sprung np quickly in the gentle heat of the frame, and, acting on the advice of a gardener in the neighborhood, and such books on horticulture as he could find, he transplanted the tiny plants to small flower-pots. As they grew he removed them to still larger and larger pots. When the spring came he hired a few rod of ground outside the town, and in Jun~ removed the turnips from the pots to the open ground. He gave each turnip three square feet of space, and he digged about each plant and enriched it to the utmost. The result was as he had expected. In Angnst he had some 100 or more most mighty turnips. The like had never been seen in all the land. Envious passers-by looked over the fence and remarked that “them roots would eat bad; too big and corky, you know.” To all of Which the young man said not a word. In all this Patience Lovering took no interest. She could not understand it, and she had belied her name. She had become weary of waiting. Instead of leaving hi? pegging machine and starting out in the world to make his fortune, after the maimer of the various knights of whom she had read, he went to that dull shop every day—and cultivated turnips. The truth is, she was blind. She saw not the cords of duty that bound the young man to his pegging machine, that his widowed mother might live in decent comfort. With the summer came her vacation, and she went away to the sea-shore for a little pleasure trip. It was her first journey away from home, and it is small wonder that she met and was dazzled by a creature of seemingly fairer shape. He made love to her, and—poor little goose !—she accepted him without even asking whereby he earned the wherewithal to be clothed in such gorgeous apparel. There is a trace of the eccentric in every' mind, and the wise virgin who counseled her poor lover accepted a rich one without a question. She returned to her native shoe town with a diamond ring, and announced that she would teach school but one year more. It was admitted on every hand that the like of these turnips had never been seen before. A single turnip was sufficient for a family of six for two days—half a turnip at a meal. Moreover, they “ate very well,” as reported by the editor of the local “weekly.” The turnips grew to the sere and yellow leaf, and then they were carefully gathered and stored for the winter in the cellar of Mrs. Emerson’s house.

Suddenly there appeared in the town a creature new to the experience of the sober inhabitants. The younger feminine populace declared that it was “Patience Lovering’s beau. ” So it seemed to the cultivator of turnips as he came home from the shoe shop and met Patience on_the man’s arm in broad daylight. tie bowed to her as they passed, but she only replied with a distant nod. The young man stood for a moment gazing after them, and then he hastened home and put on his best suit as if to go out. No, he would not. She would not listen to bis warning; she would probably resent it. There was nothing to do but to suffer in silence, and to be as patient as he might. Then came another surprise. Patience Lovering, the wise and sensible schoolteacher, suddenly resigned her school, was married at the minister’s house, and went away before the village had time to say a word. After that the tongues wagged nimbly, but the young man minded his pegging machine, and kept his thoughts to himself. Again the advancing sun warned of spring, and the gardeners got ready their frames. The young man selected from his monster turnips a number of the best, planted each in a large flowerpot, and put them in a new hot-bed. Lay by day he watched them grow, tending them with minute c :re and persistent nursing. They rewarded him abundantly, and by April showed signs of throwing up flower-stalks. Patience Lovering disappeared utterly. It was said she had gone to Boston, but some said it was New York or London. Yet one remembered and knew, because he still loved her; but he held his peace—for grief. At last it came—the harvest of seeds. He had now seeds of the monster turnips. By every means possible he kept some of the turnips back late into the summer as samples of the variety. He called it the “Good Friend Turnip,” with a touch of sentiment, and he took pams to make it known that he had seed of this superior variety of turnip for sale. He raised a new crop in the same manner as before, and at the horticultural exhibition he exhibited the “ Good Friend,” greatly to the astonishment of the rural mind. The like of these turnips had never been seen, and every farmer for miles around was in want of the seed. A certain seed-dealer came anxiously to the house one evening, and asked the price of the whole lot of seed—about half a pint. The young man suddenly changed his tactics, and said there would be no seeds of the “Good Friend” for sale till another year. The result was that every one was more eager to purchase, and the young man took orders for the next crop of seeds, at the rate of 20 cents for a single seed. The snow covered all the land and blocked the railroads in every direction. It was past 9 o’clock when the last train came in from the city, four hours late. The passengers straggled sleepily out of the snow-covered cars, and stood shivering in the desolate station, fearing to-venture into the deserted streets of the town. The tall shoe shops stood grim and white in the night, their many windows, dull like glazed eyes, staring out on the night and storm. “All out, John?” said the stationmaster to a brakeman who had passed through the train. “No; there’s a woman asleep here. What shall I do with her ?” “Rout her out. We can’t stay here all night.” The brakeman did his duty as kindly as he knew, and the woman took up her child, wrapped it in a faded shawl and stumbled out of the car, and orept along the platform to the street door. The station-master stood by the door keys in hand, as if to lock up. The woman paused a moment at the entrance of the deserted snow-covered street, and asked if there was a cheap boarding-place near by, The ©an knew

of none, save the hotel np in the town, and then he moved the door as if to urge her ont into the street She took the hint and went ont, and instantly the door closed behind her, and she was alone in the streets of her native town. She tried to recall the houses and streets, bnt could make nothing familiar, so greatly had everything changed. She walked on for some time, little heeding or caring, so long as she went on and on from the terror behind. She passed several streets, and she saw a light, and, going toward it, found it was a warehouse, where the clerks were still busy late into the night. By the aid of the street lamps she made ont the figure of a golden turnip, with this legend beneath it- “ The Good Friend.”

Suddenly the door opened, and some one came out and started to walk briskly up the street. It seemed as if her knees gave way beneath her, and she sank down in the snow. “ My good woman, it is late to be ont. Why ao yon not go home ? Ah ! pardon me. Perhaps yon are ill ?” He took a match from his pocket, and when it blazed up he held it close to her face. She tried to hide her face with her arm, bnt he gently drew it away. Suddenly there was a loud call, and—that was all she remembered, till some time after she was awaked to sense and feeling by warmth and light. She was upon a bed, and an elderly gentleman stood over her with a bottle and spoon in his hand. “Take a little of the wine, madam, and we’ll soon have you all right.” Seeing that her eyes wandered, he added: “ Never fear; lam the doctor. The child is safe.” She sat up on the bed, and looked round the room. “ This is not the hospital ?” “No; something better. Drink this, and you will soon feel stronger.” She drank the wine, and then lay back on the pillow and tried to recall her scattered thoughts. On the wall was a lithograph of a number of turnips—absurd and monster turnips, fit for the feeding of a mighty family. Beside this were pictures of other vegetables, and all of inordinate proportions. Suddenly she laughed, and then the tears came. It was all so strange and so wildly improbable. There were footsteps in the room, and she listened eagerly. A shadow fell on the bed, and some one stood before her. “ Patience.” She was startled, and turned away in mingled shame and grief. It was true; it was his house, his home, and— Ah ! there was another near—a woman. ‘ ‘ Patience, do you not know me ?” What could she do or say? Her mouth was parched, and the sobs choked her speech. She did nothing, till at last he took her hand, and then her. thin fingers tightened round his as if seeking help, protection, forgiveness —everything. But that woman—who was she ? “Mother, she knows me. Please leave her to me.” Her fingers tightened closer on his, and there was a movement of the arm as if to draw him nearer. He came nearer, till at last her head was pillowed on his arm. For a moment she lay thus in silence, while the tears flowed. At last she said, slowly: “Can you forgive me, John?” ‘ * Forgive you ? Yes, and more. Now that I have you safe, you shall never more leave me. ” “But, John, he—” “ He is dead. . He was killed in some street brawl yesterday. It is in all the evening papers.” She neither cried nor in any manner noticed this, save to say, sadly: “I am glad. He—he was not a good man. I loved him once ; but it is better so.” Then lie found words to say all that had been in his heart these years. She heard it all in happy silence, and then she said, with a faint trace of her old manner, “How came you so rich, John? You are well off. I see it plainly.” “ Turnip 3, mv love, only turnips. The house of ‘Emerson Sc Co., Seed Growers and Dealers,’ is founded on turnips. You shall have a quarter section of a Good Friend Turnip for dinner as soon as you are able to come down.”— Harptr's Bazar.