« AnkstesnisTęsti »
A TRUE STORY.
By Gertrude Weeks Marshall.
Through the brilliant autumn wilderness, magnificently gay in coloring,
Pityingly her beams seemed to shine upon the brave old warrior Prostrate on the frosty ground. At last, his mind by pain disordered, He rose, and wandered down the old trail, often in other days pursued,
Down the Mohawk Valley to the base of Mount Monadnock (Spirit
Thence up the Connecticut. He passed, unheeded, the homes of settlers,
There among those strange white people, once enemies, now his friends,
Copyright, 1922, by Gertrude Weeks Marshall.
[Note: Mrs. Marshall furnishes a memorandum regarding the story of Metalak which may interest the reader unfamiliar with the local setting. The Mohawk Valley of New Hampshire extends from East Colebrook to Colebrook Village. Monadnock Mountain is across the Connecticut in Vermont. Metalak, after the accident related in the story, found his way unaided to Stewartstown, where he was found at the door of Mrs. Samuel Weeks. Later the town of Stewartstown cared for him.]
By Lilian Sue Keech
I know a lane where the sweetbrier blows,
The trumpet vine clings to the tree,
I know a lane-'tis far away-
I'd rather be a milkmaid, free,
Mrs. Pilsbury sat knitting in her high-backed rocker. She was in her ninety-third year, but apparently as strong as ever. She had renewed her youth, or so she said, in knitting for the soldiers, a pair for every year of her age, and now that the war was over she still knit for the poor people of the desolated French countries. "Only to think on't," she said to the Irving girls, "and I didn't use to know there was sech a place as Belgium. It's live and learn, sure enough."
Judge Irving's daughters were spending a few of the summer weeks in the country to rest from arduous days in Washington. They had been in France many months, working in canteens, and one had driven her own car for the Red Cross, while the other had helped in the hospital. Both had become engaged, one to a French officer, Count Declarine, and the other to a government official high in the confidence of the President. Having done so well for themselves and their country, they felt that a rest in the place where their father first saw light would do them good. So here they were, sitting on the back porch munching winter apples and talking to Mrs. Pilsbury. Back in the kitchen they could hear Mandy stepping briskly from pantry to kitchen, occasionally calling loudly to Ephraim who was having a brief rest from the spring planting.
"I do'no' 'bout putting the west field into oats," he said. "I'm sort
studying on't, Mandy," they heard him say.
"You know better'n I do 'bout that," replied Mandy. "What say?"
"You know a sight better'n I do what to plant and what not to plant," was Mandy's reply in a highpitched tone.
"Pity he's so deef," said Mrs. Pilsbury, "I can hear a sight better'n I uster, seems ef."
"Father says you break every record in keeping young", said Ethel. "It's the nicest thing in the world to live so long and to pile up experiences of four or five generations and to know all about our great grandparents."
"I've lived through five wars. Less see: there was the Mexican War, the Injun Stream War, the Civil War, the Spanish War, and this War, the last that ever was."
"What about the Indian Stream War? I never heard anything about that."
"Didn't your pa ever tell you about that? Wall, it was a real, actual war and folks was killed and all that, but I guess folks don't know much about it in a gen'ral way."
"Tell us about it, dear Mrs. Pilsbury, won't you?"
"If you never heard on't it stands me in hand to tell you. But I can't understand how it is your pa never knew about it. His fathers' uncle went to it; and so did Peter Muzzy and Eli Cole, both on em neighbors of his grandsir."
"Perhaps he knows, but I never heard him speak of it.”
"Wall, it happened in the Injun Stream Country, jest on the aidge of Canady, 'bout thirty miles from here. I was up there at the time sewing for old Mis Peters in the line house. 'Twas right on the line betwixt Canady and the Territory,