Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 June 1894 — Letting the Old Homestead. [ARTICLE]

Letting the Old Homestead.

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES. “I dunno’s I’ve any objection to let you hev the old place,” said Simeon Lilton, as he stood leaning on his hoe. '“Me and Elvira were calculatin’ to go to Hebron and live with our married daughter. When folks gets to be old like us, a fortyacre farm’s most too big to handle. But I don’t deny that I hate to leave it wuss than the toothache.” Down under the hill the young leaves of the maples were breaking out into a cloud of green mist, the aspens shook their woolly tassels, and a little brook, half hidden by tangled briers, made a merry gurgle on its way to Linden Lake. ‘‘Hebron’s a nice place,” meditatively remarked Simeon, as he flung a clod at a marauding crow perched on the nearest tree, “but ’tain’t like the open country as me and Elvira has always been used to.” “Then I may become your tenant?” said Philip Pindar, taking out his note-book. “At fifteen dollars a month, for a year certain, with the refusal for a longer term in case you do not yourself wish to return.” my terms,” succinctly ipoke the old farmer, wiping his eathery forbad pith a spotted cotton handkerchief. “I looked at the house yesterday,” added Pinder, “and with a few alterations—” “I don’t calculate to pay for no alterations,” shrewdly spoke up old Simeon. “At my expense, of course,” said Pindar. “Dunno’s I’ve any objection to that.” “With a few trifling alterations,” went on Pinder, “it can be adapted to my needs. It’s a pretty place—a very pretty place!”

“I s’pose you’ll be pullin’ down the old well-sweep and cuttin’ away the apple trees ? ” said Lilton, un-1 easily. “Folks is so finicky.” “By no means. The well-sweep is worth ten dollars a year to me in picturesqu|ness. No money would induce me to pull it down. But I shall certainly lay w'ater pipes and drain tiles through the orchard, and make whatever improvements are lecessary. Here’s the rent for the Irst month to bind the bargain, and he paper will be ready for your signature as soon as I take possession.” “I don’t want no papers,” said Lilton.” I’m one of them as their word is as good as their bond any day in the week 1” “Business is business!” good-hu-moredly spoke Mr. Pindar, as he repocketed his leather wallet and strolled away toward the railway station, while old Simeon renewed his labors with the hoe and rake. “There shan’t no city feller have it to say as Sim Lilton left the farm in bad condition,” said he.

Consequently, he was very tired when, after liberal ablutions in the wood-shed and a severe toweling of his old gray head, he came in to answer the noonday summons of the dinner hour. “Well, Elviry,” said he, beginning on the corned beef and cabbage, “I’ve done a good stroke o’ business this mornin’.” Mrs. Lilton looked into the teapot, clapped the lid down and set it on the tray ready to pour the refreshing beverage. “Well,” said she, in a brisk, birdlike way that she had, “es you’ve beat me in that line, you’ve done pretty well, that’s all I’ve got to say!” “Hain’t sold the old chist o’ draws, hev ye?” queried Lilton, with his knife, well laden with greasy cabbage, on the way to his mouth. “Better’n that!” said Mrs. Lilton, exultantly. “ I’ve let the place!” “What!” “I’ve—let—the—place !”reiterated the old woman, with great distinctness and some asperity, “To a very nice young lady with two little sisters, as is thinking of growing roses and carnations for a New York florist, And here’s the first month’s rent, so there shan’t be no backin’ out of the bargain on either side,” laying down a clean ten-dollar note and a gold half-eagle on the table beside her. Simeon Lilton jumped from his chair and cast down his knife and fork in a sort of desperation. “Well, I am beat!” shouted he. “I’ve let the place, too, to a young feller from New York. And here’s my first month’s rent—fifteen dollars !” “What’s his name?” said Elvira. “I’m blessed if I know! What’s hers?” “It’s a Miss—or a Mrs. Dailey—or Bailey—or some sich—l can't jes’ recolleck which.” “Elviry,” gasped the old man, “you are the biggest fool out I”

“No wuss’n yourself,” retorted his wife. “Thar never was no business goin’,” said Lilton, with slow emphasis, “but what a woman would be sartin to get her finger into.” “Simeon,” said his wife, “ain't you and me been tryin’ our level best to get this ’ere farm let, so we can get to Hebron?” Lilton gloomily nodded. “Who says we hain’t?” “And I’ve let it.” “So’ve I!” “What time did your feller give you the month's rent?” “The clock in the glove factory I was jest a-strikin’ ’leven.” “An’ 'twas 'leven to a second by J the hall clock here when Miss —Miss —what’s her name? signed this paper!” gtoaned Mrs. Lilton. “Simeon, what be we to do ? They can’t Uiang nor fine us, nor nothin,’can | they, for lettin’ the farm to .two people at once ? ” “X—no ,1 don’t believe they can do that,” hesitated Simeon. “But it’s blamed awkward, that’s what it is.” “Couldn’t we write to him there’s been a mistake?” wistfully questioned Mrs. Lilton. “Where be we towrite to ?” “It’s just like a man,” satirically observed the old woman, “to manage things after that looseended fashion!” “I don’t know as you’ve done much better.” growled Simeon. “Well, well, Elviry, don’t fret. Let them folks as has hired the place do the frettin’ now. P’raps they’ll find some way outen the tangle. It don’t make no difference to me. Whichever of ’em backs out. I’ll refund the money. Ther’ shan’t no one say that Simeon Lilton ain’t done the square thing by ’em. “But day arter to-morrow’s the first o’ May!” screamed the old woman.

“Well, what then? I can’t set the almanac back, ken I? There’ll be jest time to pack our trunks, so fur’s I see, My man, he hired the pony, an’ Old Crumple-horn, too.” “So did Miss—Miss Ralley, or Whalley, or whatever it was!” Simeon chuckled. “It’s kind o’ queer, ain’t it?” said he. “I only hope,” croaked his wife, “that we ain’t rendered ourselves amenable to the law.” “Get out!” said Simeon. “Women don’t know nothin’ about law.” The first of May was an ideal spring day, and before the sun had mounted above the eastern crest of old Blue Mountain, the furniture van stood before the Lilton farmhouse, and two little girls danced merrily around, picking golden dandelions out of the of the door yard and lisEo the whistle of the bluebirds, while a pretty young girl in black superintended the unloading of chairs and bird bojees cl books an 4 carefully strapped trunks. ~ At the stile that guarded the entrance to the woods, the children met a tall young man carrying a valise and a package of umbrellas. “Why, Kitty Dallas!” cried he;’ “what are you and Flo doing here?’ “We’ve come to live in the country,” said Kitty, triumphantly. “Sister Alice is tired of living in a flat where the people down stairs grumbled every time we ran across the floor. And this is such a lovely place, with a brook and a lot of apple trees. But, Mr. Pindar, how came you here?” “So we are to be neighbors!” said Mr. Philip Pindar, with an aspect of great satisfaction. “I have rented a house close by, where I can work at my occupation in peace and quiet from old Madam Mesally’s piano and Pierre Hall’s cornet playing. Why, hello, she’s here 1” He walked into the farmhouse porch with the little girls trotting at his heels. “Alice, Alice,” they cried, joyfully, “here’s Mr. Pindar!” The pretty girl in black came to the door. Mrs. Simeon Lilton flatteped herself behind the fanlights, eyeing Simeon, who pretended to be busy nailing up his last chest of old blue-edged crockery. “So pleased to see you, Mr. Pindar!” said Alice, in the pretty, gracious way of a born chatelaine. “Welcome to Glen Farm, our new home!”

“Why,” exclaimed Mr. Philip Pindar, “I’ve rented this house for a year! Haven’t I, Mr. Lilton?” “There must be some mistake,” said Alice, suddenly growing grave. “This good woman here—” “Settle it between yourselves,” said Lilton, hammering noisily away. “I dunno’s I’ve any particular choice between you.” “But,” gasped Alice, “there’s all our worldly goods at the door! And —and we’ve nowhere else to go. And I did hire the house, last week, and I’ve paid down a month’s rent in advance.” “Precisely what I did,” said Mr. Pindar. Little Flo crowded into the front rank here, with her dimpled face all interest. “But,” stammered she, “it’s a big house—that is, there’s a lot of dear, cupboardy little rooms in it. And there’s only three of us and one of Mr. Pindar. Why couldn’t we all live together?” For an instant silence prevailed. Then Alice turned away, her face all a glow of scarlet blushes, murmuring some incomprehensible sentence. But Mr. Pindar appreciated his advantage and seized the opportunity with instantaneous quickness. “Well, why not?” said he, catching hold of Alice’s hand before she could withdraw it. “I’m willing, if you are, Alice—only, of course, there’ll have to be a wedding first.” “A wedding! a wedding!” Flo and Kitty whirled ecstatically around the grass plot at the very sound of the word. “You know I love you, Alice! You have known it this long time. Only for this little darling’s lucky speech, I might have lacked courage to plead my cause so promptly. Our tastes are similar, or we never should have coincided in selecting this lovely little bit of Elysium to dwell in. Say yes, Alice! Or I’ll be contented even if you don’t say no 1” “It’s so—very —strange!” hesitated Miss Dallas. Pindar turned smilingly around ’•o the little ones. “It’s fill right, children,” said h».

“She hasn’t said no! My good friend,” to .Simeon Lilton. who had stopped hammering at last, “will you be so good as to furnish me with the address of the nearest clergyman?” “I didn’t fairly know,” said Simeon, afterward, “but that them folks was goin’ to pay the rent double. But they didn’t!” “It’s the romantickest thing I ever heerd on!” said Mrs. Lilton, wiping her eyes. “If I knowed anybody that writ for the papers, I’d tell them the hull story.” “Don’t be a fool, old woman!” said Simeon. . . . But he, too, was whistling “Love’s Young Dream,” under his breath. The little children frolicked around, picking buttercups and making friends with the cat and the dog. But Mr. and Mrs. Pindar were very quiet in the purple twilight of the May’ day. Their hearts were too full for words.—[Saturday Night.