Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 282, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 November 1913 — THEIR HERMIT HOST [ARTICLE]

THEIR HERMIT HOST

By MARY O. ARNOTT. The little schoolma’am,* her face framed in her two hands, her elbows on her desk, looked thoughtfully through the open window into the autumn woods. It was late afternoon and the country school room was deserted—yet Miss Leddon remained at her desk. It had been bqr custom during her five years of service in the school to give her pupils a Hallowe’en party in the little school house. Now, as the time for celebrating the day drew near, she found her finances in such a deplorably low state that she could not spare sufficient money to buy the pumpkins, the doughnuts and nuts and marshmallows that had always added so much to the festivities. She knew that the children looked forward to the party and she was deeply disappointed when she realized that she could not give it to them. As she sat at her desk she tried to dispel the thought of how the doctor bills for her mother’s illness during the summer had eaten into her savings and were even now draining her purse. She tried to scheme some fhanner of : giving the party without funds. The schoolhouse was situated on the edge of a wood and adjoining the wood on the hillside there was a, small farm. Mlbs Leddon remembered having Been some ripening pumpkins lying on the vines not far from the entrance to the farm. She wondered who lived in the tiny farmhouse at the top of the hill. She wondered, too, as she sat there dejectedly, why the person who did live there did hot receive the mental messages she kept sending across the longing to have those pumpkins offered to her for the Hallowee’n party. *At last she got up, put away her few books and pencils, closed and locked the windows and stepped out into the crisp air. She would stop such ineffective methods and go and ask for some of the pumpkins. It was not for herself that she wanted them; it ivas for all the children of the countryside. Perhaps some of them lived in that very farm house though Cora Leddon hoped not —it was such a tiny house that it would scarcely enclose a family of children. She tramped along the path through the woods kicking the autumn leaves beneath her feet and gaining courage for her mission with each step. When she reached the gate leading up the hill to the house she opened it wfth some of her old-time confidence and began the ascent. On one side she saw the golden pumpkins peeping out here and there from among the witnering vines and fallen cornstalks; on the other side of the road great feathery asparagus fern swayed in the gentle fall breeze. The farmer must have made a sDerialty of corn and asparagus, the little schoolma’am decided —a spring specialty and an autumn product. As she reached the small plateau on which stood the diminutive stone farm house a grizzled man came Ho greet her. “Greetings,” said the stranger, pleasantly. His voice, the girl thought, was far more attractive than his appearance. “How do you do,” she replied, smiling. "I have come to beg of you,” she eaid. “Sit doWn and get your breath,” the bearded man said, offering her a rustic chair near the door. Miss Leddon sat down and explained her plan and then asked him for the pumpkins. As she talked to him she observed his eyes; they were as blue as the sky overhead and seemed the bluer for the mass of sandy whiskers he permitted to grow all over his lower face and the heavy shock of sandy hair on his head. His clothes were of a dull tan corduroy and his skin was tanned to almost the same shade thus leavingrihe intense blue of his eyes the only spot of color in his entire makeup. “Suppose I say I can not let you take them,” the man remarked with almost a twinkle in his eyes. “Suppose I tell you of a scheme that presents itself to me even as you unfold yours to me?” Cora Leddon’s face fell. “Of course if you refuse—” • “I haven’t refused,” he hastened to tell her. “I merely suggest another plan. May I?” he asked, looking down at her. , “Certainly,” acquiesced Cora without enthusiasm. “Let me gather the pumpkins for your party and give you and your pupils the use of my little stone farm house for the occasion. Tt would be much more like the real old-fashioned spooky Hallowe’en parties I remember as a child. Leave it all to me —only come and bring your school. Will you Misa Leddon?” “That # really seems like asking too much of you,” she demurred. He Talsed a protesting hand. “Not at all. I’ve lived a hermit’s life here for two years and it will be a delight to me to have you. All I ask is your promise to come.” “Very well—l promise,” said the little schoolma’am, rising to go. On the walk home to the farm where Bhe boarded Cora Leddon’s thoughts were full of the personality of the man in the stone house. He seemed so dnkempt, bo grizzled, so unconventional—-and yet hiß voice and hts kind blue eyes made her think he had not always been so. When school opened Monday morning ■he told the pupils of the Hallowe'en party she was giving them and asked

them to dress la sheets and pillowcases and to meet her at the schoolhouse on the following Friday evening at 7 o’clock. She told them she had a surprise in store -for them. The week passed quickly and the thought of the approaching gayety spurred the boys and girls on to good work and obedience. Hallowe’en was a crisp, cool ovenIng and the twenty-odd pupils of the little country school assembled promptly at’ 7 o’clock. The teacher, similarly clad but wearing a great witch cap on her head to distinguish her from the .children, counted her flock and helped them to secure their garb before the tramp through the wood. They arrived at the farm to see a perfect • fairyland of lights and lanterns. The trees about the old stone house were hung with gay lanterns and festoons of gay trimmings were everywhere. A table groaned with good things to eat from mince and pumpkin pie—which Miss Leddon knew only a man would have provided for children —to nuts and raisins. As each child passed the gate he was presented with a tiny swinging lantern and the evening was merrily spent around the bonfires toasting marshmallows, singing and popping chestnuts. The strange part of it all was the absence of the host and as the evening wore on and Miss Leddon made merry with the children she began to wonder why he did not appear. When the bonfires were burning low and the spirits of the young folks began to Bhow evidences of the hour, a young man In evening clothes appeared in the doorway of the tiny house. Miss Leddon looked up at his face as it was illumined by the flame from a pumpkin lantern. It was the grizzled hermit of the farm —none other. She went quickly toward him and he held out his hand. "r hope you have all 'enjoyed yourselves,” he said, Bmilihg at the expression in her eyes. "Indeed we have,” Cora managed to say “But —why have you absented yourself? I was not sure you were not one of us draped in a sheet and pillow case, too —until we took off the white headgear and revealed ourselves.” The man laughed. “No—l’ve been inside watqhing you all. I’ve been sitting quietly in my dim little window there realizing what I have missed in life—realizing what a- fool I have tried to make of myself. ' Half an hour ago I went to my meager toilet table and — the result is what creates that expression in your face this minute. Is it not, Miss Leddon?” Cora nodded. “It surely is,” she laughed. “I knew you—but it was only because I knew your eyes—and your voice, when you spoke.” The man looked pleased. “I shall be a hermit no longer. The world is still good in spite of the fickleness of a young girl in whom I once centered my entire youthful life,” he laughed. Cora laughed with him. “It’s usually a girl when a man does silly things, isn’t it?” she asked, naively. He nodded. “Also —it is usually a girl—a woman —who makes him do the better things, is it not?” he questioned. Cora interpreted the veiled compliment and turned toward her young charges. “Come and meet them all — my children —and then let us bid you good night,” she said, a blush covering her with confusion. “I’ll walk down the hill with you and learn where you live —if I may?’ f “You may,” said Cora. “And perhaps you’ll help me not to be a hermit any more.” “Perhaps I will," the girl said as he followed her to the group of tired children by the flickering bonfire. (Copyright, 1913, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)