Rensselaer Union, Volume 5, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 May 1873 — A NOVEL SPOILED. [ARTICLE]

A NOVEL SPOILED.

BY KATE W. HAMILTON

The heroine was not beautiful, to begin with, not queenly, not in any wise remarkable. She was just a plump, winsome little maiden, and site stood garden gate, that moon-lit Sunday evening, with an air tlie very revorseof stateliness and composure, pulling leaves from the rose-bush near by with nervous, fluttering fingers that did not even know when the thorns pricked them. Outside the gate was a tall figure, a face bronzed and bearded, and a low voice uttering words half pleading, half resentful. There was a moment’s pause, then the voice questioned, with a dash of bitterness—- “ Shall I go, Maggie?” “Just as you please, Mr. Clifford;” whereupon the questioner turned suddenly about and strode rapidly down the country road, crushing the glittering sand under his feet, while'Maggie sped into the house, up to her rdorn, ami bolted her door as if afraid of being pursued. She peeped through the window, from behind the cur, tain, until the lonely pedestrian on the quiet road had vanished from sight; then site assured herself that “if Tom chose to act so—so —she didn’t care!” and proved her utter indifference by burying her face in her pillow with a burst of sobs, and entire forgetfulness of the pansies in her pretty hat. They had quarreled about nothing—at least she couldn’t remember what it began •with—but, of course, it tvas all over between them now, and lie would go away as he had said. She wondered, as she lay with her Hushed, tearful face turned toward the- stars, how iFwould seem to dia that night, and go away from it all. Wouldn’t somebody he sorry then? She almost wished she could do it—not quite, because one doesn’t like to stop in the middle of a story, even if it is one’s own ; and, beside, what good would his remorse do her if she never could know anything about it?

: Torn, on iris homeward walk, discoursed furiously to himself on the fickleness aiul perversity of all woman-kind. “Notone of the whole race worth breaking a fellow’s heart for,” he remarked savagely, though with a queer little quiver about his lips the while. One thing was certain, he would not stay moping there. The world was wide, and there was nothing now to hold him back. He would resign his place in the village store, and join the party for Arizona. Yes, lie would take the-first train for the city, and tell Colter lie would go; there war fortunately time' enffugh for that yet, and if it left, brief space for preparation, so much the better. II« would not wait for people to change their opinion, ho thought; fancying that by “ people” lie meant Miss Maggie, but, in reality, feeling more a faltering of purpose in a nearer party.

Let tlio Sunday night be wlmt it may, Monday morning follows it all the same. Mnggiu was glad that it was Monday morning, since it left her at liberty to sit with her sewing it a quiet corner by a window, unquestioned and undisturbed, while busy Aunt Polly, who would allow no inexperienced fingers to intermeddle in her washing, und lame Aunt Becky, who always would stay where Potly was, were in the kitchen adjoining. No ordinary kitchen was this, steaming, soapy and disconsolate, but, a large, pleasant, tidy room, where Aunt Becky could enjoy her armchair and her knittinjj together with Aunt Polly’s discourse. The latter lady waS unusually talkative on wash-day. Possibly being surrounded by tubs and piles of linen suggested, vaguely, a pulpit or speaker’s stand, or perhaps, having had all Sunday to think in, her opinions needed shaking out ams smoothing before they were laid away for the week. At nny rate, Miss Polly had a way of doing up the world and her washing together. “Most through, Polly ?” questioned Miss Becky, as she always did every half-hour. "Can’t say I am,” responded Miss Polly with a snap that shook out a pair of wet hose and her words at the same time; “not unless I view my washin’ the same way these new style poets do the robe of righteousness, and think a mighty little is the whole on’t. One clean stockin' is qnough ’cordin’ to them. No matter how much mud a body has gone into, so he’s managed to keep one foot out! I don’t h’lievc no such!” i

‘Why, ot course; to be sure!” admitted Miss Becky, withjnnild indefiniteness. _l_ “Curious wiat kiudl of,folks this world does hold, anyhow!” pursued Miss Polly, gazing meditatively into the depths of her tub. “There’s them that has health on the brain, now—not that their brains is so partic’lar healthy neither, that I know of; but they're always a talkin’ about it. You

must do thi3, and you mustn’t do t’other, for fear you’ll spile your constitution and all your by-laws. Some of ’em says it’s a sin to be sick. ’Pears to me, if that’s so, the sicker you get the wickeder you must be, and (lyin' would seem fitter to send folks to the penitentiary than to heaven. It makes things look considerable mixed.” “There’s the railroad smash-ups, Polly,”' suggested Miss Becky, alleviatingly. “Humph! Well, I should think there was. But everybody can’t expect to get killed that way, though the companies offer ‘great inducements’ ”, muttered Miss Polly. * “Say, Aunt Polly, can’t T sail ships in your tub?” interposed a small voleer and a pair of blue eyes and u head of tangled yellow curls appeared in the door-way. But Miss Polly was too busy to notice, even when the little navigator took silence for consent, and plunged into her rinseWSter with his treasures. In this general straightening up of her mental pantry, she had just found another article to be labeled and putawayr ~--.=■ “All sorts to make a world! I should think so! There’s them reformin’ women what go about lecturin’ and wantin’ laws fixed, and men to give’em their rights. Landsakes! why don’t they jest take their rights? If there’s anything they want to do, and can do, why don’t they stop talkin’ Slid do It? Who’s goin’ to hinder ’em? They’re just like Mrs. Jones when she wants to cross the field where the cows are. She’ll stand on the fence and ‘shoo,’ and swing her work,hag, and flap her parasol, and cry,‘Get out there!’when the critters are so busy eatin’ grass that they never notice her no way, and she might cross a dozen times if slic’d a mind to." “And me too ryes, I think so," observed Miss Becky, counting her stitches. “But then I don’t.say somefolks haven’t as good a right to vote as anybody, and more too, for all I know, if they be women,” pursued Miss Polly, frisking around to the other side of her tub, and surveying the suds from that point. “Puts -mo elear out of patience to hear all jlhis talk about its spilin’ women—’sif we was a lot of eggs that must be kept cool and not, he. shook up much—and callin’ us ‘ministerin’ angels’ nil the time. Do I look muck like an angel, Becky Murray?” The resemblance was not very striking as she stood there with her sleeves rolled up, her hare arms akimbo, a wet check apron pinned about her, and her nose decorated with a streak of blueing. Conscientious Miss Becky surveyed the stout form rift her doubtfully. ‘•Well—to be sure! That is, you’re as good as the most, Polly—better’ll most, Polly ; hu't then there’s the wings and things; they’d make—well, I must say lbr’t, considerable difference, I do.s’pose!” she admitted hesitatingly. “Guess you’ll get wings sometime, Aunt Polly. WisliT had some now,” reflected Billy, with a plashing of his hands in (he water that at one© recalled Miss Polly to matters terrestrial. “Mercy! what is the young one up to now? Got my best spice-box for a boat, and punched a hole clear through the bottom of it to stick a mast in, as sure as I’m alive!” “Well, Maggie wouldn’t tell me stories, an'my top’s broke, an’ I didn’t know noth in’ else to do,” atlirnied Billy, dofens- ■ ively. “Nothin’ else? Well, it’s lucky you didn’t, for it would like as anyway have been something worse instead of better! There, there, child!” with a softening light in her eye wltereby the angel in her. flashed into sight for an instant, “all the splashup in the world can’t make an ocean in a wash-tub; older folks than you have tried it. Runout in the yafd and plav, there’s a good boy.” The June sunshine fell soft and bright upon the quaint, homely old garden, and Billy was quite reconciled to his banishment the moment he caught the rustle of the lilac leaves, and met the familiar nodding of the tall, good-natured sunflowers. He seatcHUiirttself mr the* grass dug his hare toesdnto the warm earth of a poppybed, and leaning his small elbows upon the patched knees of his small Ttrowsers, settled Iris round chin between his palms, and dropped into a fit of childish meditation. With no past to remember, no cures to make anxious, and small -knowledge of possibilities to curb him, his dreams and plans had a wild, free range ; and he had quite decided where he would go when he came into possession of his coveted wings, besides selecting a particularly soft fleecy cloud, in the far-off blue, to serve as his bed at night, “after it got too dark to fly,” when a voice interrubted him.

“Why don’t you play with me, Billy Murray?” A little blue dress was crushed against the fence, a pair of tiny hands grasped the pickets; and from under a white sun-bonnet merry brown eyes laughed at Billy. “ ’Cause —I guess—l’m thinkin’ what I’ll do,” he responded with slow gravity, neither disturbed nor astonished by her sudden presence. “What you’ll do when you’re big? I know nil that now, and I guess I won’t ■wait to to grow either!” rattled the little damsel, her nimble tongue crowding in the words so thick and fast that she contrived to utter a dozen in the time' 1 Billy would have required for one. “What?” asked Billy slowly, hut with an awakening gleam of curiosity. “Keep a toll-gate—that’s what—l know all all about ’em, for me and papa rode through in. a carriage, and I did see it my own self. You have a gate clear across the road, so folks can’t get through, and then they pay 1 you to open it ; and you don't have anything to do but just live in ■_a nice funny little house, and get lots of money,” Biliy’s"hlue eyes brightened. Down from Ins airy heights, at the prospect of gaining earth's shining dust, lie came as readily as though he had been older. “I guess I’ll do that too,” he announced. “ ’Long of me?”

“Yes,” said Billy, accepting the partnership as condescendingly as though the patent-right for the invention had not belonged to tlio other party. ‘ “•Well, let’s do it-now, tr - proposed the vivacious small lady, anxious to be making her fortune at once. “I guess lots of folks go ’long the road down by the end of the lane, and if we have it tligre then they’ll have to pay us.” cs,” said Billy once more, and lifting the latch of the gate he slipped out. Maggie had ears for nothing that morning but a footstep . that did not come, and- Aunt Polly was too busy in looking after the ‘whole of creation to pay any special attention to her own small corner of it; so there was nobody to observe the new firm, as they trudged off to seek a favorable locality for their |nterprise. It was no long search, however, since the road at the end of the lane was the only one they knew anything about; moreover it was narrow, and well suited lo their purpose in that way.

“I don’t know how we’ll stop it up, though,” Billy remarked, surveying it doubtfully. But Carlie was fertile in expedients. Her quick eyes rested upon an old unused cart standing a little distance Up the lane, and she proposed that they should draw that down across the road, to begin with. It was hard work, with all their united strength and most vigorous efforts, but they persevered until the task was accomplished. “I thought it was big enough to reach ever so far,and it don’t,”, said Carlie disappointedly. “Anybody could just go around the side of it , if they wanted to, and never pay a cent.” Billy expressed a valiant determination to “knock any feller down that tried it,” but Carlie was unsatisfied. Presently a pile of bean-poles in a neighboring lot suggested an idea of relief, and the children, in high spirits once more, proceeded to appropriate them. They could carry but one at once, but gradually they piled them up, with one end upon the fence and the other resting upon the cart, quite forgetting, in their zeal for a thorough barricade, to make any arrangement for opening their gate when the required toil should be paid. It was slow, toilsome building; hut the two little faces, though flushed ants perspiring, were also triumphant as they gazed upon the completed structure, with its last pole standing nearly upright against the cart. Partly for coolness to herself, partly by way of ornament to the edifice, Carlie removed her sun-bonnet from her head and hung it upon this highest point. “But nobody can’t get through that!” exclaimed Billy, pantingly. “How much do A’ou-s’pose we’il make ?” “Dollar, maybe,” replied the sanguine Carlie, her eyes growing round with the stupendous prospect. “I’m too tired to build any little house to live in to-day; let’s stay out-doors.” ' Out of doors was very pleasant. They sat down on the soft grass that edged the road, and curled the long stems of dandelions while they waited for their fortune to come; growing so interested in them .occupation at last, that they had almost forgotten that they were waiting for anything, when a horse and rider came dashing down the road, and Tom Clifford, with barely time to reach the village in season for the city-bound train, rode full upon the barricade, For a gloomy and desperate suitor, bent upon rushing to the ends of the earth, to lie, stayed in his course by an old cart loaded with bean-poles was certainly exasperating. Nevertheless he could not go on; and as the two beaming and satisfied young faces peered out at him, he demanded in vexed astonishment :

“What on earth have you got here?” “We’re a toii-gate,” explained Miss Carlie with dignity. “Me and Billy made it, and we’ll let you through if——” But the statement of terms was cut short, The horse at that moment espied the fluttering white sun bonnet, and seizing so favorable an opportunity to he frightened, sprang suddenly’to one side, flung his unsuspecting rider to the ground, and sped away up the road again. Tom rolled over arid sat up in a bewildered sort of way, got upon his feet slowly* brushed the dust from his clothes, and looked after his retreating steed with a long whistle. “Well! it isn’t likely anything will stop him now until he gets home,‘So I might as well stay and pull this thing down. ,‘Wliat possessed you two youngsters” —and there Tom paused, laughed, and grew more like his. good-natured self than lie had been for twenty-four hours. The defiant, indignant, disappointed expression of those lit. tie dirty faces was irresistible. Carlie protested stoutly when the strong hand, began to demolish her work; but Tom persuaded and explained, and the final promise of a ride in the cart, when lie rolled it hack up the lane, effected a satisfactory capitulation. The “toll-gate” disposed of, Tom’s next move was to follow his horse, and he speedily discovered that the .wise animal had not taken the trouble to go home, but had stopped nearer by, at a place where he liad frequently been allowed to make himself quite at home. He had been recognized at once; and saddled, bridled, but riderleSfe, awakened suspicions of evil. The trip of women had gathered about him in the yard—Aunt Polly with hands dripping from the suds, Aunt Becky leaning uiiori her crutch, and Maggie pale and trembling—when Tom arrived upon the scene. Since he was prevented from making a journey to far-off lands, and leaving long chapters for misunderstandings, suspense and adventures, he should, according to all precedent, have broken a limb in falling from his horse, so that he could have been carried into the house, and have had a gradual reconciliation through slow, delicious convalescence —a mixture of roses and cream-toast. But ha had a boyish propensity for falling right side up, and there was nothing at all tile matter except a rent in his coat. Aunt Polly noticed the torn garment before his brief explanation was ended, and in the kindness of her heart insisted that it should come in for repairs. “She was washing, to be sure, and Becky was no great hand with any needle but knittingneedles, but Maggie could do it as slick as you please.” The owner assented with alacrity. <t‘lt did look rather badly to wear through the village—if it wouldn’t be too much trouble to just put a stick in it ”

He watched the color come back into tlie face bent so steadily over that piece of darning; watched the white fingers busy with their task, and remarked signin Crtntly: “What a talent you have for making things right again.” “After other people have made them crooked,” added Maggie, promptlv. “I don’t think those threads will show that they were ever separated.” Maggie Vouchsafed no reply to that, and he looked on in silence a few minutes longer. ■ “There! the breach is nearly healed.” “Quite,” she said, clipping her thread. ’ “Is it?” he asked so suddenly that she looked up, and then his eyes would have an answer, and she couldn’t keep her heart out of hers. ’ # -- , So that was the end of it—a long story cut short in the most commonplace. way. And Polly absolutely left the world at large to take care of itself for several successive wash-days while she planned Maggie’s outfit. Tom never went to Arizona at all, but kept his place in the village store, and goes home to a cozy little nest at night, where Maggie meets him at the door and receives a double entrance fee, because he says he shall owe that to all toll gates his life through. And Maggie thinks, witb-a throb of thankfulness, how well it is that a tenderer hand than our own wilful ones guides our destinies. Yes, they are simple souls, and better satisfied with their humdrum happiness than with the most poetic misery; but, alas for their biographer and' the ruined volume! —Scribner's Monthly.