Rensselaer Republican, Volume 20, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 November 1887 — FOUND. [ARTICLE]

FOUND.

A trim New England kitcli >n, with its floor of knotty, uneven pin boards, <■ scoured to a snowy whiteness be red brick hearth reflecting back ti gleam of tiie crackling hickory logs irid the dress.*’ - full of glittering tins, pu mat lie matic'siiy straight, after the coining meal—this was the second s<« ne upon which the autumn sun glowered rediv for an instant through the narrow window panes, ere it went down behind a bank of slate-colored clouds in.the west —and Miss Jemima Btixford, glancing up at the clock on a little wooden shell between the windows, saw that it was 5:30 o’clock. “Bless me. how the time dots go on'.’’ said Miss Jemima., “And it doesn’t seem as if I accomplished both in’, what with runnin’ after your everlastin’ whims, Ebenezer!” Ebenezer H'S ftiTfocraHc* sister’s senior by twenty good vears, looked depreca ingly.up rem his cushioned nook in the chimney corner—a weak, feeble kneed, old’man, with scanty gray hairs brushed into a meek little whisu on the top of his heart; wateryblue eyes and a conplexiou like wellcured parchment. “1 know I’m a deal o’tronb e, Jemi- j my,” said the old jnan apologetically, “but I try not to make any more trouble than 1 can help!” “No< you don’t; neither!” snapped Jemima. “I hain’t no patience with your old pipe and your everlastin’ amoke, smoke, smokin’, till we all smell like an old bar-room, and there ain’t a eurtaininthe house that don’t tell its own story . I tell ye what, Ebenezer. Buxford, you’ve just got to leave off that mis’ahle habit.” Ebenezer shrank instinctively at the hard cruel tone. ‘‘Bur-- Jemimy” “I’m in earnest, Ei>enezer!” “But Ellen Dennison says— — ” “1 don’t care two snaps o’ my finger what Ellen Dennison says—a pert minx, just as full o’ airs and graces as I her mother was afore her, though she was my own sister If Ellen choose,'to make a fuss over you and imfu'ge you in every whim, I don't; that’s all there is to it! I ain’t goin’ to have the smokin’going on.. You’ve just-got to quit it!” , “I might as well quit livin', Jeinimy. I For forty-seven year— Miss Jemima, however, did not stay to hear the end of the speech, but burst out of the room, muttering to herself sentences of which the imnort boded little good. “He'll be right down vexed, though!” thought the spinster, when he knows I’ve sold them there packets of Virginia tobacco he brought home on his last sea voyage. It’s odd a-man can keep voyagin’ to furrin’ parts all his life and not lay up no money, arter all. But Ibeneaer never was savin’ likethe rest •’ the Buxfords.” And Jemima went up stairs to rummage in an old red chest where she kept her treasures, for a hank of mixed yarn to finish a.pair of socks she had on hand. Old Ebenezer waited patiently by the kitchen fire the while, until he heard a light footstep on the door stone without; and his face brightened as Eden Dennison came in.

She was a tall, fresh complexioned girl, with a face which, if not absolutely pretty, was pleasing, and a slight figure whose grace was patterned after the waving rushes by the riverside and the tall young elms in the meadow below. "Well, -uncle!” she said, cheerily. “I’ve been waitin’ for you. Ellen,” the old man whispered, beckoning her to come close to him. "She—she won t bring me no more ’baccv, and I haven ’t had a whiff since 4 o’clock.”’ Ellen bit Her lip. ' ‘Til bring you some at once, Uncle Ebenl” ain’t none left in the tin box,’ went on the old man,detaining her with a grip of her neat ealico dress. ‘‘You'll

have to go to the packet p* blue paper in the corner cupboard - upstairs—the! genuine stuff I brought from old Virginny years an’ years ago, when I warn't the old wreck lam now. Get the top package, Nell-ythe top one, remember!” ■'Yes, uncle!" And away tripped Ellen, carrying her lighted candle through the gloomy entries, like a rustic embodiment of Dawn bearing her herald star. Miss Jemima met her at the head of, the first flight of Wooden, uncarpeted steps. • . ’ “Where are jrou going, Ellen DennD son?” “To get some tobacco * for Uncle Ebenezer." “There isn't none left!” / “Yes, there is—in the packet he brought from Norfolk in the Lively Sally!” “But I tell you their ain’t!" reiterated Miss Jemima: “I sold it yesterday to a peddler that came along. He gave me $5 for it!" “ You sold ill*’ Miss Jemima nodded her Ijead defiantly.

"Yi s,l sold it, and you needn’t stare at me as if I’d committed a State prison offence, miss! I’d do the same thing over again! I mean to break up Ebenezer’s miserable tricks of smokin’; an old man that is dependent on his relatives for his daily bread hain’tno business with luxuries like tobacco—and beMl get no more in this house!” Ellen Dennison answered nothing,but she turned and went quietly down stairs, with her cheeks flushed an indignant scarlet. Miss Jemima followed her. “Uncle,” said the girl calmlv, as the old man raised his bleared, expectant eyes toward her, "there is no tobacco there.” “I've sold it,” quoth Miss Jemima, putting her arms akimbo. “You’ve—sold—my tobacco! My Blue Virginia brand?” “Yes, I have; and where’s the harm, I’d like to know? I wasn’t goin’ to have it clutterin’up my cupboard any longer! I’ve sold it for $5.” “Then,” said Ebenezer, with a sort of stony calmness, “you've got just $5 for a pack of the best Blue Virginia tobacco that was ever put into pipe-bowl, and S4OO in money, that was in a tin box in .ijie ioaatfiLpaund. parcelJtat. two, That's; where I’d stored away my little savin’s. I thought they’d be safe there—but they wai u’t,“ if seetrisi You've had your own wav. J irnima, and I hope you feel better.” Miss Jemima's lower jaw dropped. “Sakes alive! why didn’t you tell me on it, Ebenezer Boxford!” “Because I didn’t choose,” said the old man, bitterly, “l am sorry on Ellen’s account. I meant she should have a little money of her own, but as for you, Jemmy, I’m free to say that I believe itser.ves you right.” _. Miss Jemima sank, rather than sat down on a low chair bv the table, letting her head fall into her hands. To the griping, avaricious old woman, to whom a dollar seemed a bright idol to be worshiped and bowed down before, this loss was most disastrous, and none the less so, because it had been wrought through her own secret, spiteful officiousness. The tears—hard, salt, and bitter as the waters of the Dead sea, oozed one by one down her red eyelids, and fell on the table; a low choking sob,like the croaking bird of prey, broke from her lips. • .• | But, alas! her repentance had come j too late. The autumn wore itself on, and when the first snow flakes drizzled through the dull, gray air, they buried old I Ebenezer Boxford under the- leafless | wilt-i Asfin the country graveyard. fAt.-ft Jeinjma packed up her belong-/) ings ami went with her niece, to a distant State, where they could bay a little place and try to earn their living, by means of a market garden—and so they dwelt for several years. v Jemima Buxford laid -her plants to keep her niece.with her always. Ellen was so bright and hopeful and full of odd, ever ready resources, but love sprang into the scale opposite old Jemima, and love out-weighed her. Ellen promised to marry George Stapleton, who had the largest farm and the most substantial farm-house in all the neighborhood. “So you are from Millowfield. Queer old place, that,” said George, one evening, as he sat on Mies Jemima’s doorstep, meditatively chew a straw. “I came through there once, years ago, when I drove a peddler’s cart.” “You!” echoed Ellen —“a peddler’s cart?” “Yes: that’s the way I laid the foundation of my fortunes, such as they are. I didn’t always own a f«rm of four hundred acres; And the oddest thing happened to me there.” Aunt Jemima put on her spectacles, and stared hard at Mr. Stapleton, while Ellen asked. “What was it?" "Well, I stopped at a strange little out-of-the-way house under a hill to get A d rink, of _ water, one morning, and a little old woman, with her face tied up with the toothache, and a sun-bonnet dipped down over her nose, like an old witoK ” "Humph!” interjected Aunt Jemima. “Came out,” pursued the unconscious G-’ >rge. “and wanted me to buy a lot of tobacco. Well, tobacco wasn’t exact-

, ly in toy line, hut the old woman was very to be rid of it, so I closed the bargain at $5; cheap enough, but at I the same time as much as I eould afford to pay. And I never opened the packet until S'mon th afterward, when I was was going up into the lumber districts, where I expected to find a good market for tha» sort of thing. And here comes in the queer part of my history. When I was making up my pound packages of tobacco into small parcels, suitable to my trade, I found in one of them, tied and papered like the rest, a tin box with—”' “Four hundred dollars in bills in it!” fairly screamed Aunt Jemima. "Yes, I know, yi sold you that ar’ tobacco! And when you found you’d got what was never intended for you, why don’t you bring it back!” “Gently, gently, Miss Buxford,” said George the very nejt trin, for although the temptation to keep it was very strong, yet it sombhow lay heavy on my conscience. And when I got bacx the old bouse was shut up, and not a soul in the neghborhood could tell me where the family had moved to!” t?-- -- “And that’s true!” assented Aunt Jemima, who had never lived on the best of with her neighbors.. "Well, seein’ the money’s to come back to the family again—don’t blush so, Ellen, I hain’t said no harm! But I kind o’ wish I hadn’t sold the Bine Yirginnv. Not for the money’s sake—but my poor old brother, Ebenezer- —’’ And Aunt Jemima got up and went into the house, while Ellen lifted her soft eyes to her lover’s face, saying: “I feel as if Uncle Ebenezer had put the money into my hands, for he always intended it to be mine, George?” “Andi,” said George Stapleton, "begin to believe that truth is stranger than fiction!”