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FOUR
“T he Story of Waitstill Baxter”
N
Kill Dougin Wlggln f*
Author of "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm"
PROLOGUE.
* Strength and interest of quie
Uvea in /he Now England oj
three-quarter a of a century age
provide the framework of “The
Story of Wailetill Baxter." That
ie the ekeleton. The fleeh and
blood of human beings, living
and loving and moving in a world
of their own that te a mtniaturi
picture of the greater world out
eide, are aleo there. The eiory
te a oroee section of life am eeer.
and deeortbed by a woman wht
has been well called “America’*
greatest living woman novelist. '
Amid the hills of New England
are many men and women llki
Waitstill and Patienoe Baxter
and their father. Ivory Boynton
and hie afflicted mother and
funny Cephas Cote, who woot
hopefully, bat with email chana
of Moogit They find their way
into books but seldom, for ii
takes a master hand to describe
faithfully the doings of rea.
people. And that is the reason
why “The Story of Waitstill
Baxter" has won highest praise
from orilioe who know a good
book when they see one.
(Continued from Yesterday.)
".Ted'a 'bout right lu sizin' up the
Wldder TUlaou." wait Mr. Day's timid
contribution to the argument. "I nlo'l
a resilin' mini, but from wlmt folks re
port I should think she ini one o’
them critters that set ou rocks bewil
dertn' an' beditrllln' men folks otrt o'
tbelr senses—screens. I think they call
’em—a reg’lnr screen Is what that wo
BHD la. I guess!''
"There, there, Abel, jrou wouldn'4
know a syreen ts you found one In
your baked beans, so don't tnke away
a woman's character on hearsay.' 1 , Ami
Mra. Day, having shut up her hue!,and
aa was her bounden duty as a wife
and a Christian, tteil Iter bonnet strtnp
a little tighter and looked distinctly
pleased with herself.
"Abel ain't startin' any new goeslp,''
waa Aunt Abby'a opinion, aa she
aprang to bis rescue "One or two
more holes to a colander don't make
much dlfrence— Bartholomew, we're
certainly goto’ to bo late tbla morn in
wo're about the last team on the road,'
and Aant Abby glanced uervonsly be
bind. "Btder Boone ain’t begun tbe
openin' prayer, though, or we should
know It You can hear hltn pray a
mile away, when tbe wind's right I
do hate to be late to meetln'. The
alder alien takes notice; tbe folka In
the wing pewa alien gnpea an' stores
and the eholr peeks through the cur
tain, taktn’ netoe of everything you've
got oa year back. I hope to the land
they'll chord and keep together a little
mite better'll they’ve don# lately, that's
all 1 caa aay. If tbe Lord Is right In
our midst, aa the Bible says, be can't
think mack of our singers thla sum
gner!”
"They're Improvin', now that Plinj
Waterhouse plays Uia Addle," Mrs
Day remarked pacifically. There was
times tn the anthem when they kept
together conald'able well last Sunday
They didn't always chord, but there
they cborded aot»e! Wo're moat there
bow, Abby, don't forget! Cephas won't
ring the last bell till be knows hta own
folks is crosstn' the common!"
Those were days of conscientious
churrbgotng- and every pew In th«
house was crowded. Tbe pulpit was
• built on pillar* that raised It sis feet
higher titan the floor. Tbe top was
matt teoed sad covered with red velvet
'■urtuoauted by a bugs gilt edged Bible
There was a wlDdow In tbe tower
tfuough which Cephas Cole couki look
tatn the church and whllo tolling th«
bell ooald keep watch for #>e minister
Always exactly oa time, he would come
in, walk alowly up tbe right hand atale.
mount the pulpit stairs, enter and close
the door after hint Then Cephas would
give one tremendous pull to warn lolt
arers on tbe steps, a pull that meant
"Parson's lu tbe pulpltr and was act
ad upon soconllngly Opening the big
Bible. tbe minister raised hta right
band Impressively, and, saying, “Let
na pnty," the whole congregation roe,
in their pewa with a great rustling and
bowed their beads devoutly for the In
aeeatioa.
generally jt
thnt day one of Isaac Watts’. The
singers, fifteen or twenty In number,
eat In a rained gallery opposite the pul
pit, and there was a rod In front hung
with red cnrtalo* to hide them when
Bitting down. Any one was free to
Join, which perhnpn accounted for Aunt
Ahby’a stricture* a* to time and tune.
Jed Morrill, "hlasphsmious" as he was
considered hy that acrimonious ludy.
wan the leader, and a good one too
There would be a great whispering
and buzzing when Deacon Bit inner,
with bis big fiddle, and Pliny Wuter
bouse, with hla smaller one. would
try to get In accord with Humphrey
Baker and bis clarionet. All went well
when Humphrey wo* there to glee the
sure keyuote, but In his abaence Jed
Morrill would use hla tuning fork
When the key wutt finally secured hy
all concerned Jed would raise hla stick,
beat one measure to set the time, aud
all Joined In or fell In, according to
their several abilities. It was not al
ways a perfect Ibing In the way of a
start, but they were well together at
the end of the (lint line, and when, as
now, the choir numbered a goodly num
ber of voices and there were 300 or 400
In the pews nothing more Inspiring In
Its peculiar way was ever heard than
the congregational singing of such
splendid hymns ns "Old Hundred,"
“Dnke Street” or “Coronation."
Waitstill led the trebles, and Ivor)
was at the far end of the choir In the
basses, but each wus conscious of the
other’s presence. This morning he
could hear her noble voice rising a lit
tie above, or, perhaps, from Us qnnl
lty, separating Itself somehow, ever so
little, from the others. How full of
strength nud hope It was. her voice'
How ateudfnat to the pitch! How gold
en Its color! Uow moving In Its ores
cendoit llow the words flowed from
her lips, not as If they had been writ
ten years ago. but as If they were thi
expression of her own faith! Then
.were many In the congregation who
were stirred, they knew not why, when
there chanced to be only a few “carry
Ing the air” and they could really heat
Waitstill Baxter aluglug some dear old
hymn, full of sacred memories, like—
WhUe thee 1 soak, protecting Power,
He ruy vein wishes stilled.
And may this mneecrated hour
With hatter hopes be filled
“There may be them In Boston that
can slug louder, and they may lie able
to run up a little higher than Wattetlll
but the (ideation la, could sny of 'em
make Auut Ahhy Cole shed tears?"
Tilts was Jed Morrill's tribute to hb
best soprano.
Thera were Punday evening prayer
meetings, too, held at "early candle
light," when Waitstill and Buoy Mor
rill would make a duet of “By cool SI
loam's shady rill." or the favorite
“Naomi," and the two fresh young
voices, rising and falling In the tender
thirds of the old tunes, melted all
hearts to new willingness of sacrifice.
Father, whet e'er of earthly
Thy eov'reign will denies.
Accepted et lliy throne of grass
I.M tide petition rise
Olve me a calm, a thankful heart.
From every murmur free.
The blreetnc of thy grace Impart,
And let me live to thee.
ITow iTory loTed to hear Waitstill
slug these lineal How they eased hla
burden as they were easing hers, fall
ing on hla Impatient, longing heart Ilka
evening dew On thirsty grnadt
CHAPTER X.
The Green Eyed Monster,
"TITHIIK Thro 1 Beck. Protect
m/ lug Power," *u th* Brut
V V h i mn on this particular
Sunday morning, and It
usually held Patty* rather vagrant at
tention to the and. though It failed to
do so today Tbr Patter* occupied 000
of th* wing pswa, a position always to
be envied. a» one could so* the singer*
without turning around and alao ob
servo everybody In the congregation
tbrtr entrance, garments, behavior and
eapectally their bonneta—wltbont being
In the leant ludlgcrvet or seeming to
have a roving eye
Lawyer Wilson's pew waa the oec
ond in frout of the Baiters In the aatne
wing, and Patty, seated decoronaly but
nnwtlUngly bealde her father, waa tm
patiently awaiting the entrance of the
family, kuowlng that Mark would he
with them if he had returned from Bos
ton. Timothy Grant, th* parish clerk,
had the pow In between and afforded a
moot odtfylng spectacle to th* com
munity, as there were a*von young
'lrani* of a rhun-bgvlng ago. and the
ladle* of tl|* congregation were always
counting them, reckoning how many
mar* were In tbsir cradles at home and
trying to xuoea tram Mr*. GrepP* Uv*
iy or chastened countenance whether
any new ones bad been born since the
Sunday before.
Patty settled herself comfortably and
put her foot on the wooden "cricket,”
raising her buff calico a little on the
congregation side, Just enough to show
an Inch or two of petticoat The petti
coat was a* modestly long as the frock
Itself, and disclosing a bit of It was
nothing more heinous than a casual
exhibition of good needlework. Deacon
Baxter furnished only the unbleached
muslin for his daughters’ undergar
ments, but twelve little tucks laborious
ly done by hand, elaborate Inch wide
edging, crocheted from white spool cot
ton and days of bleaching on the grass
In the sun will make a petticoat that
can he shown in church with some Jus
tifiable pride.
The Wilsons came up the aisle a mo
ment later than was their usual hoblt.
Just after the parson bad ascended the
pulpit. Mrs. Wilson always entered
the pew drat and sat In the far end.
Patty had looked at her admiringly
and with a certain reeling of proprie
torship for several Sundays. There
was obviously no such desirable moth
er-in-law In the meeting bouse. Her
changeable silk dress was the latest
mode, her shawl of black llama lace
expressed wealth In every delicate
mesh, and her bonnet had a distinction
that could only have emanated from
Portland or Boston. Ellen Wilson usu
ally came next, with as much of a
smile to Tatty In passlDg as shattered
venture In the deacon's presence, and
after her sidled In her younger slater,
Selina, commonly called "Billy,” and
with considerable reason.
Mark bud cotue home! Patty dared
not look up, hut she felt bis approach
behind the others, although her eyes
Bought the floor and Jier cheeks hung
out signals of abashed but certain wel
come. (the heard the family settle in
tbelr aents somewhat haatlly, the click
of tbe pew door and the sound of Law
yer Wilson'a cane aa be stood It la tha
corner; then the parson rose to pray,
and Patty closed her eyea with the
rest of the congregation.
Opening them when Elder Boone
rose to announce the hymn, they fell
amazed, resentful, uncomprehending—
on tbe spectacle of Mnrk Wilson find
ing tbe place in the book for a strange
young woman who sot beside him.
Mark himself had on a new suit and
wore a seal ring that Patty bad never
observed before, while the dress, pe
lisse and hat of the unknown were of
a nature that no girl in Patty’s posi
tion. and particularly of Patty’s dispo
sition, could hive regarded without a
desire to tear them from her person
nnd stamp them underfoot or. better
still, flaunt them herself and show tbe
world how they should be worn!
Mark found the place In the hymn
book for tbe creature, shared it with
her. and once, when tbe Grant twins
wriggled und Patty secured a better
view, once. Mark shifted bis hand on
tbs page ao that bis thumb touched
that of his pretty neighbor, who dtd
sot remove hers aa if she fouud tbe
proximity either unpleasant or lmprop
er. Patty compared her own miserable
attire with that of tbe bated rival in
front, and also contrasted Lawyer WU
son's appearance with that of har fa
ther; the former, well dressed in the
style of a gentleman of tbe time. In
broadcloth, with fine linen, nnd a tall
silk bat carefully placed on the floor
of the pew. while Deacon Baxter wore
bomeapun made of wool from bis own
sheep, span and woven, dyed and fin
ished, at the fulling mill In tbe vil
lage, and carried a battered felt hat
that bad been n matter of ridicule
these dozen years. The deacon would
be buried In two coats, Jed Morrill al
ways said, for be owned Just that
number and would be too mean to
leave either of 'em behind him.
Tbe sermon waa fifty minutes long,
time enough for a deal of thinking.
Many a housewife, not wholly ortho
dox. cut and made over all her chil
dren's clothsa. lu Imagination; planned
the putting up of her fruit, the mak
ing of her preserves aod pickles, and
arrauged her meals for the next week,
during tbe pmgrasa of those sermons.
Patty watched the parson turn leaf
after leaf nntll the final one was reach
ed. Then came the last hymn, when
the people stretched tbelr acbdpa limbs
and rising, turned thetr back aa the
mlutster aud faced the choir. Patty
looked at WAttsttll and wished that
she could put her throbbing bead on
bar sisterly shoulder and cry—mostly
with rage The benediction waa said,
and with tbe final "Amen" tbe pews
wars opened aod the worshipers crowd
ed Into the narrow atslaa And moved
toward tbe doors.
Patty's plaus were all made. She
waa out of her pew before the Wilsons
could possibly leave theirs and to her
progress down tbe stale securely an
nexed her old admirer. Old Dr. Perry,
as wetl as bla son. Philip. Passing the
singing seats, she picked np the hum
ble Cephas and carried btm along to
her wake, chatting and talking with
her little party while her father waa
at the horse sheds making ready to go
home between services. »* was bis
habit, a cold bits being always set out
oo the kitchen table according to his
orders. By means of these clever
maneuvers Patty made herself tbe fo
cus of attention when the Wilson par
ty came out on tbe steps and vouch
safed Mark only a nonchalant nod.
atrtly flinging a little greeting with the
nod. Just a "How d'ye do. Marlrt Dtd
von have a good time in Boston?"
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.)
“I SAW IT IN THE HERALD”
THE AUGUSTA HERALD, AUGUSTA, GA.
— m—em —p—gp————— mm —— meeernwememmmmm e^— <mma ■—i —a——————■' i i■ ■ . ■ .■ i j i - n .».
This demon of want hovers over humanity. Nearly all of ue feel his presence and know that his clutching hands
are there. How can we get out of his shadow ? (See Editorial at bottom.)
“THE FEAR OF WANT”
That Is the Ghost Haunting Almost Every American—
The Rich Often, the Poor Always.
Copyrighted, ltl4, by the Star Company.
Have you a little demon in your home—or a tall,
powerful devil with clutching fingers towfering above you?
Do you talk to yourself sometimes and have friends
ask you, “What are you thinking about?”
Do you look at yourself in the glass and say: “I am
getting older. I have not so long to work. What have I
to show for the years that I have worked? What shall I
do when the working time is over ?” .
Do you feel like an animal driven and hunted un
able to sleep at night getting out of bed nervously in
the morning forming good resolutions hastily, wondering,
planning and occasionally lapsing into despair ?
Do not think that your your condition is unusual.
YOU ABE ONLY THE AVERAGE AMERICAN.
The girl compelled to earn her own living;
The old man with the white hair wishing that some
body would give him A CHANCE to earn his living;
The man with a family getting bigger, more numer
ous and more hungry; •
The woman left dependant with young children—all
have this “fear of want” towering above them.
Why, in a world of plenty, a world that could sup
port five thousand million more human beings easily, do
we all live worried and die harrassed?
Why is the rich man worrying for fear that he will
not be able to keep his TOO MUCH, and the poor man
worrying for fear that he will lose his TOO LITTLE ?
Whaf can be done to change this wretched condition
of want and anxiety ?
Nothing at all, perhaps, for the present.
We are driven by a force that we do not understand.
The lash on our back is the lash that has been there
since the cave days, when the man worried not about his
rent, but about the bear below or the other cave man
higher up.
The lash that drove the Savage up to “civi
lisation" is the same lash that will drive US from
what we CALL civilization to a condition of real decency,
perhaps.
Wo MUST worry, we must fret, we must fear,
young and old, rich and poor, UNTIL WE HAVE SOLVED
OUR PROBLEM
As a race, and as individuals, the fear of want is
the necessary goad driving us on and up from our low
civilization.
As individuals, separately and selfishly, but in the
long run for the good of all, we mav strive to get rid of this
Tfe M 3M® GG Fisa(gj ss FocHnnr®
demon with the sharp ears and the clutching fingers that
stands above us.
We can think, control ourselves, save, deny ourselves
today, in order that we may say yes tomorrow.
Above all, let us realize that we DO stand in this
shadow of fear. Let us sympathize with the others that
stand in the shadow with us. Let us work for the day
when, by united, unselfish action, men working to make
other men happy instead of working to make themselves
richer, WE MAY ALL GET RID OF THIS ECONOMIC
DEMON,
THANKS TO EDUCATION, WE HAVE GOT RID
OF OUR BELIEF IN THAT OTHER DEMON—WITH THE
CLOVEN FOOT AND THE SHARP POINTED TAIL, We
can make unreal the demon of anxiety also.
We can drive out this devil of want with education., in
telligence and brotherly co-operation if we will-*-;is we
have driven out that other old-fashioned devil with his
pitchfork and his brimstone.
Daily Pattern
MlO.—A DAINTY LITTL EMODEL.
Girl’* Apron.
This simple practical garment may
do duty an a dreee or an apron. It has
sufficient fulness, and Is cut with body
and strove In one. The fulness over
the back Is held In place with » belt.
The design Is good for percale, lawn.
TUESDAY, MAY 19.
dimity, ytnfrtia.™, cambric, chambray
or crossbar muslin. It may be trim
bed as desired, and cut with round cr
square neck edge. The pattern is cut
in five sizes: 2,4, 6. 8 and 10 years.
It requires 1 7-8 yard of 36-inch ma
terial for a 6-year size
A pattern of this illustration mailed
to apy address on receipt of 10c In
silver or stamps.
Ne. Mize
Name
Street ead Ne.
City •«••••••»•i•••■■ Btate •••«••••
DISCOVERED.
(By Jim Manee.)
Somebody swiped my garden.
And. say, I'm feelin’ bad;
Somebody bring my flowers back.
'Cause that would make me glad.
My garden was so pretty.
Oh where, oh where's tt at?
And then my aster broke the news.
“Tour garden’s on my hat."
P. S. —Rsolved, hereafter I’ll plant
vegetables.
HOMELIKE SMELL EXTRA.
European Innkeeper— How do you like
you room? .
American Tourist (jokingly)—Seems
Just like home Makes me feel a» If I
was back In New York. The room emetls
of sewer gas.
Innkeeper (to clerk)—Add five shill*
Inga for sswer gas.—Chicago News