Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 July 1891 — DOUBLE DICK AND JOE; OR The Poorhouse Waifs. [ARTICLE]

DOUBLE DICK AND JOE; OR The Poorhouse Waifs.

BY DAVID LOWRY.

■CHAPTER VI. SHOKT-EIVED JOTS. When Joe woke up the next morning the sun was shining across the floor: the pattern on the carpet looked brilliant; each beautiful, bright colors she had never seen an a floor. There was a prodigious noi9e outside. Chickens were cackling and cackling, cocks crowing, geese cackling, turkeys gobbling, men shouting and calling to each other. There was a sound indoors —a rattling of pans and sound of dishes and many feet moving. Joe sat bolt upright. Everything was so strange. She did not know where she was until she recalled her journey. She had slipped out of her bed, was slipping quietly into her clothes, when suddenly a head was thrust in the door. “Oh, you are up. Well, you'll find some things on the chair over there, and an apron. ” Then the head was withdrawn. The voice was Samantha's. It was sharp .and disagreeable. Joe did not like it. But she turned to the chair, where she found a brown stuff dress, a world too wide and much too long for her. The sleeves were 90 long they came down over her hands. When she was faily dm the dress she gave herself a shake. “Humph! I feel like —like a granny in this. I suproose I’ve got to wearit I’d rather have my old one—but here goes. ” She turned up the sleeves and put the apron on and tied it. Then she discovered it was wrong side out. She turned it, and wondered if she did not look like a woman. Then she walked down to the kitchen. “You axe here, are you?” said Mrs. Wonder. “Go out and bring in the pans the chicken feed was in. Wash them out —clean, mind; then wash the milk pails, and mind you scald them with hot water. Joe, who was very quick-witted, wondered how they could be scalded with cold water, but she obeyed tho orders promptly. Samantha observed her critically, then deliberately washed the feed pans and scalded the pails. “Now, maybe you can do it the next time. ” One or two of the farm hands were looking om. They were waiting for their breakfast, and Joe blushed for shame. The men ate breakfast first. Mr. Job Wonder was so busy he did not see Joe for a good while. Then he asked her abruptly: * “Well, how’d you sleep last night? Pooty good, I reckon. My wife’s beds ain’t ekalled in Acorn County; leastwise I never find none like ’em.”

“I slept very well, thank you,” said Joe with burning cheeks. When the men were gone, Mrs. wonder, Samantha, two girls that were here, there, everywhere, Joe thought, at once, and Joe sat down to the table. The breakfast was not as bountiful as the supper; but there was more on the table, and a greater variety, than Joe had ever beheld on Mr. Zeke Caper's private table, of which she had obtained many glimpses in passing his rooms. When breakfast was over, Joe, without being prompted, was helping to wash the dishes, when Mrs. Wonder told her to drive the cows down the lane into the meadow, and put the bars up after them. Joe went about her task like one who understood it. One little cow, a brindle, with crumpled horns refused to follow the others. She turned on Joe, and Joe retreated precipitately. Again and again Joe returned to the charsre, and the cow with the crumpled horns invariably drove her back. Finally, when she was a little frightened, she pickdd up a stone, threw it, hit the cow on the horn, and brindle about-faced and trotted into the meadow after her fellows. When Joe returned to the house, she was perspiring with her exertions. There was a curious twinkle in the other girls’ eyes, and even Mrs. Wonder seemed to be trying to keep her countenance. Samantha snorted out: “You let brindle get ahead of you. You’ve got to make the cows mind you if you'll m*ke your salt in the country, miss?” “What must I do now?” Joe asked Mrs. Wonder. Mrs. Wonder gave her numerous orders. They were so many that Joe thought it impossible to perform the duties in one day. But she obeyed her instructions to the best of her ability. Then, to her surprise, she found she had abundance of time. Availing herself of the opportunity, she stole out to* the barn where the chickens were hunting food. Then she ran down to the brook, and watched the ducks and geese playing in the p3nds made for them. Suddenly she remembered her banjo and accordion. To return to the house, get her treasures, and slip out the back way, and make a circle to the barn occupied less than fifteen minutes. “I can play here, and no one will hear me,” said Joe to herself gayly as she thummed the banjo, and hummed a song. Then she tried the wheezy old accordion by way of variety. When she satisfied herself she had found a hiding place for these treasures, she concealed them, and returned to the farm house, where Samantha contrived to find work for'her. She placed a pile of carpet-rags before her, instructed her how to sew them, and poor Joo was left a one with the rags. When Job Wonder entered the house in the middle of the afternoon, he found Joe lying with her head against her chair, fast asleep, her needle lying in her lap. Job called his wife “What makes you set her to sewing them rags!” “I didn’t do it ” “Where’s Samanthy?—Samanthy’s did it then. ” “What is it* now?” Samantha asked, coming in. “Job don't want the new girl to be killed with work, I reckon,” said Mrs. Wonder, scornfully. “’Tain’t that ezackly—only i want you to break her in easy like. She ain't used to steddy work. * “Well, she’ll learn it if she lives here,” responded Samantha tartly.

•Now, Samanthy, you -go alow. I’ve some say here, I reckon. ” “You wouldn’t then, if I was your wife. I’d not have any man meddlin’ in the house.” Job felt ill at ease. He was not quite sure he had done right bringing a girl home from the poorhonse. But he controlled himself and walked out. Poor Joe, who was wjde awake now (the conversation aroused her), from that moment disliked Samantha fully as much as Samantha disliked her. In time she began to feel more at home. At the end of a week she knew and called every farmhand by his name, knew the names of the horses and cows, and learned, like the others, to call Samantha “a crank. ” But she made many mortifying mistakes. Both the women forgot she had ao opportunities. Both expected quite as much of her as of any girl of a similar age familiar with farm life. Both indulged peculiar whims; both weih set in their ways. Samantha, to make herself more disagreeable, was stiff, precise, angular, exacting. She was a thorn in her brother's side. Mrs. Wonder, if left alone, would have sympathized more wjth her husband’s aims, and fey more in his ways and views of life. With the best intentions in the world, Samantha rendered her brother miserable at times. Job was well named. A more patient man did not live in Acorn County. He was looking over some papers one wet day, when Samantha suddenly burst in upon him. “Brother Job, I’ll not have that girl about here. " “Hoity toity!” exclaimed Job, rising suddenly. “What ye flustered for, Samanthy?” “I’m not flustered. You'd not be flustered if she was your hand. ” “There you go agin, now. Fussin’ — i ussin’ for a trifle. ” “What do you call a trifle, Job? I told you from the first you had no business bringin’ a girl from the poorhouse here. She’s unbiddable, too.” “You'd orter to—to make some ’lowanee for her. ” “Allowances! Job Wonder, you talk like a—a ” “Why don't you spit it out, Samanthy? An eejiot. Is that it?” “You’ve said it ” “What’s the gal done now?” “I told her to boil a quart of rice. ” “Well —go on. ” “I was busy—so was Maria. Well —I was busy over the bedding, and a good while afterward I called to Joe to put on some cabbage, as the othesagirls were helping Maria with the peas and things. She asked me what she'd put the cabbage in. I said to put it in the pot. She said the pot? were all full. ‘That can't be,’ says I. ‘Nothing to put the cabbage in?’ I called down. ‘No,’ says she; ‘everything’s full of rice.’ Now, Job, what do you think that ignorant creature did? Instead W putting on enough rice to make a quart, she deliberately measured out a whole quart of rice and put it in the pot! Of course the rice swelled, and swelled, and swelled! She got out all the pans and put it in them, and got out the other pot—and it swelled and swelled!” “There, there! Stop! You’ll kill me!” said Job, putting his hands to his sides as he laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. Samantha bounced out of the room, angry with him, with his wife, with everybody and everything. Poor Joo was laughed at by the women folks for a week. The next formal complaint was made by Mrs. Wonder. “Will you listen to me. Job? You must take that girl away. After all tho trouble I’ve been at to get my hair matched, didn’t Joe take my new switch, that cost me eighteen dollars, plait it, and make a whip out of it to chase the cat with. ” Job was consuming with inward laughter, but he did not dare to look at his wife. “The gal’s lively—full of ideas, that’s all. ” Another and greater grievance was poor Joe's tenacious hold upon her banjo and accordion. The farm-hands surprised her playing one day. If she had any spare time she hastened to the barn, and thummed her banjo and played the accordion.

I will explain here that these sole treasures were bequeathed to her by a poor wretch who died at Barnesvillo poorhouse—a man who in his time was a negro minstrel, but eould not stand prosperity He took to Joe from the j first, and when he found his fingers had not wholly lost their cunning he taught her as he sadly picked up and played upon the instruments that had made his name famous. Joe remembered—treasured up scraps of the songs he sang, and what she could not remember, she “pieced out,” woman-like, with her own composition. She made parts of tunes. Anything more laughable or whimsical than Joe’s performances on the banjo and accordion, wheezy, torn as it was, could scarcely be conceived. This was a sample of the extempore performances the farm hands enjoyed when they prevailed upon her to bring her banjo and accordion to the farmhouse, and play while they gathered around her in a wondering, admiring group. (With banjo accompanyment) Come day, go day. Lord send Sunday; Shake dat nigger out ob de grass, Or he’ll never see Monday, Never see—never see Monday. (With accordion—very dismal.) Opoor Lucy Ne-a-a-1, O poor Lucy Ne-a-a-1, If 1 had you by ray side How happy I wodld feel. (With banjo—rapid.) A little man came riding by, Says I, “Ole man, your hoss will die.” “Well, if he dies I'll tan his skin, ' An’ if he lives I’ll ride him agin.” (Very rapid): Camptown ladies sing dis song, Du da, du da; Camptown race-track five miles long, t>u da, du da; Went down dar wid pocket full ob tin, Du da, du da: Came back home wid hat smashed m, Du da, du da, da-a-a. Gwine to run all night, Gwine to run all day; I’ll bet my money on de bobtail hoss, Who'll bet on de bay-y-y? As Joe entertained the group beside the farm door, she “worked hard” to borrow Job’s language. Her feet, head and hands were in constant motion, showing, as Job Wonder said, a commendable resolution to “get there.” But Joe’s accomplishments were not limited to the banjo and accordion. She was nimble-footed, and remembering some of the “steps” the negro minstrel taught her, she would dance and play the accordion. This was a treat to the farm hands, who sympathized with the

girl, and who applauded her performances beyond their deserts. Unnecessary to add that her dancing was Joe’s crowning disgrace in Samantha’s eyes. “It was an abomination.* Samantha never could see what there was in Joe's “antics” to make her brother Job laugh. In all probability Joe’s life at the farm would have flowed on more evenly in time, but fate ordered that it was to be cut very short A young lady, bred in tho city, a relative of Job’s, visited the farmhouse In company with a young gentleman. A party was given in their honor to which many were invited. The company was so large that the dancing was confined to the clean swept barn floor. Foremost among those who helped to put the barn in order was Joe. She helped to bring in and arrange tho evergreens, and for once displayed good taste in Samantha’s judgment When the night came Joe was in her element Contrary to all expectations, all the festivities after the supper was disposed of centered at the barn. The old-fashioned games were begun, and progressed merrily there. Old-fashioned dances were revived there. Joe, attired in a new calico dress, with her hair done up for the first time (it was usually in a tangle of curls), was among the spectators for a time until the needs of the merrymakers compelled them to press Joe into the dance. She was enjoying herself as she had never dreamed of enjoyment, when suddenly Miss Barkley exclaimed: “I have lost my diamond ring." The dance was interrupted. Speculation was rife as to the manner in which it had been lost. Miss Barkley’s partner, a young farmer, suggested that the ring might have fallen between the boards composing the barn floor, which Job Wonder speedily demonstrated was impossible. Samantha, too, said if the ring was really lost somebody must know where it was. “Oh,” said the owner of tho ring, in visible distress, “say no more about it. ” “But it is my duty to speak,” said Samantha, looking at Joe. Poor .Joe blushed carnation. She thought bverv eye was upon her. “Don't say any more,” said Job, appealingly, to his sister. “I tell you tho ring is stolen, brother Job. 1 must speak. What did you do with Miss Barkley's ring, Joe?” Poor Joo looked at her accuser in amazement, then at the curious faces about her. Her own face was deadly pale now. She confronted Samantha with flashing eyes. “How dare you say I stole it?” “Do you deny you have it?” Samantha demanded angrily, looking down on her. “I don’t deny it. Why should I deny it any more than any other person here. Nobody else is denying it—why should I? You have no right to ask me if I saw the ring. ” “The impudence of her,” exclaimed Samantha. “I never did see such a bold, brassy creature. I will look in your pockets!” “O pray—pray don’t,?’ said the owner of the ring. But Samantha made a motion as if to execute her threat. “If you do, I’ll bite you,” said Joe. “You shall not search me. ” “Hear that. Brqther Job?” “Yes, I hear It. Yes, and you’re making very little of yourself, Samanthy,” said Job sharply. “She shan’t search me—l’ll die first!* Joe reiterated. She pushed those nearest her aside, and ran out of the barn, exclaiming: “She shan’t search me—l won’t stay to be called a thief!” “Stop, Joe,” said the farmer, running after her. “Stop! stop!” But Joe was running toward the road, running with a fleetness that laughed pursuit to scorn. Even while the farmer stood shouting to her to return, she disappeared in the darkness of the night. “O, do stop her—do!” said Miss Barkley; “I’ve found -my ring in a fold in my dress. ” “It’s too late—-too late, now,” said Job Wonder; “she’s gone. ” It was true. Although a dozen men ran hither and thither searching her, not a trace of poor Joe could be found anywhere near the farmhouse. Joo had vanished —vanished utterly, [to be continued.]

Matters like the telegraph, telephone and electric light only come when the world is ready for them. In 1808 Sir Humphrey Davy produced electric light, but two generations have had to pass away before it could be improved and brought into general use. Faraday’s discoveries made the application of electricity for this purpose not very difficult. Davy feared that the electric light would cost too ■ much to ever come into general use, and even within twenty years so high an authority as Tyndall spoke doubtfully of distributing such a light from house to house. Davy’s light was produced by a battery of two thousand voltaic cells, and was, of course, very costly. The incandescent light is quite a recent application of electricity. The improved dynamo has greatly reduced the cost of generating electricity, which has now become one of the world’s indispensable forces, and half a dozen able thinkers and investigators have made it possible for a hundred ingenious men to devise mechanism and make applications of electricity to lighting human habitations, and important improvements upon existing processes are still foreshawowed. Possibly the rarest fern in the United States is Asplenium ebenoides. It was first found as a solitary plant along the Schuylkill, near Philadelphia, forty years ago. About ten years ago a number were found by Miss Tutweiler at Huntsville, Ala. Recently S. L. Powell of Johns Hopkins University has found it in considerable abundance on Kulp’s Hill, a part of the famous battlefield of Gettysburg. It was growing with Camptosorus rhizophbyllus and Polypodium vulgare, the former its usual companion. A cablegram from London says that the metropolis is much exercised over “a dress-reform movement.” The new dress, it is said, “consists of brevity of skirt, duality of underdress, and shortness of upper drapery.” And this the London reformers call the “rational dress.” This is not new. We have seen this garb in its scanty abundance in Central America, and have heard that it was sometimes seen upon the stage in variety theaters.