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“7 he Story of Waifstill Baxter”
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Author of “Rebecca of Sunny brook Farm"
PROLOGUE.
Strength and interest of qiu
lives in the New England <
three-quarters of a century ay
provide the framework of “Th■
Siory of W ait still Baxter." Thu
is the skeleton. The flesh ana
Hood of human beings, livin/
and loving and moving in a worlc
of their own that is a miniaturi
picture of the greater world out
side, are also there. The story
is a cross section of life as meet
and described by a woman wh<
has been well called "America'!
greatest living woman novelist.'
Amid the hills of New Englana
are many men and women lik>
Waitstill and Patience Baxter
and their father, Ivory Boyntor.
and his afftioted mother ana
funny Cephas Cole, who wont
hopefully, but with small chanci
of success. They find their wa)
into books but seldom, for it
takes a master hand to describi
faithfully the doings of real
people. And that is the realtor .
why "The Story of Waitstill
Baxter” has won highest praise
from critics who know a good
book when they see one.
(Continued Prom Yesterday.)
’Ub. .. .
"We along pretty well." ante
Rodman contentedly. “I love book
learning like Ivory, and I’m going to
be a schoolmaster or a preacher when
Ivory’a a lawyer. Do you thluk I*at
ty ’d like a actusilninster or a preach
er beat, and do you think I’d be too
young to marry her by nn<l by. If she
would wait forme?”
“I didn’t thluk you bad any Idea ol
marrying Patty.” laughed WaltaUl.
through her team. ”la this something
now?"
"It*» net eaacMy new." aaid Rod
jumping along like a squirrel in the
path. “Nobody could look at Patty
and not think about marrying her
I’d lore to marry you. too, but you’re
too big and grand for a boy. Of
course I*m not going to nak Patty yet
Ivory aaid once you should never salt
a girl nntll you can keep her like a
queen. Tbeu after a minute he aaid
"Wall, maybe not quite like a queen
Bad, for that would mean longer than
a man could Walt Shall we nay un
tO ha could heap bar Ilka the dearest
lady In the lauds That’s the way he
said It You do cry dreadfully eaay
today, Walty. I’tn aure you barked
pair leg or skinned your knee when
you fall down. Don't you think the
*daoweet lady in the land’ la a nice
sounding sentence?”
“I do, Indeed!” cried Waitstill to
hansel f as she turned the words over
and over trying to feed bar hungry
heart with them.
“I lowa to hear Ivory talk. It's like
the stories in the boohs We have our
be* times ta the barn, for I’m help
bag with the milking now Our yel
low cow’s name Is Molly and the red
cow used to bo Dolly, but we changed
her to Oolly ’cause she’s so trouble
•OfUIH* 1
“Wo had a crons old cow like that
ones," aaid Waltadi) nheenCly, loving
to hoar the boy’s chatter and the eter
nal quotations from his beloved hero
“Wa have great fun cooking, too,”
continued Rod. “When Aunt Hoyn
ton was first sick aba stayed In bed
more, and Ivory and I hadn't got used
to things. One morning wo bound up
each other’s bums Ivory had three
fingers and I two done up In buttery
rags to taka the firs out Ivory called
ua 'soldiers dressing tbslr wounds aft
ar the battle.’ Sausages spatter dread
folly, don’t they? And when you turn
a pancake It flops an top of the stove.
Can you flop one straight Walty?”
“Yaa, I oan; straight as a die; that's
what girls ara made for. Now run
along home to your big brother, and
do put un some warmer clothes under
your coat The weather's getting
colder"
“Aunt Boynton hasn't patched our
thick ones yet but abe will soon, and
If aha doesn't Ivory’ll take thla Satur
day evening and do them himself. He
aaid no.”
“He shall not!” cried Waltatlll paa
•ltmatriy. ”It Is not seemly for Ivory
to saw and mend, and I will not allow
tt- You aball bring me those thlng
(h«t Dtcd patching without telling mu
one, do you hear, and 1 will meet yon
on the edge of the paature Saturday
afternoon and give them back to you
You are not to s[»eak of It to any one
you understand, or perhaps 1 ahull
pound you to a Jelly! You'd make a
sweet roar Jelly to eat with turkey for
Thanksgiving dinner, you dear, com
fortlng little boy!”
Rodman rnn toward home, and Walt
atlll hurried along, scarcely noticing
the beauties of the woods and fields
and waysides, all glowing maases of
goldenrod and purple frost (lowers.
Patty was standing under a little
rock tnnple. her brown linsey-woolsey
In tone with the landscape and the
hood of her brown cape pulled over
her bright head. She looked lluslieri
and exelted aa she ran up to her slstei
and aaid: "Walty, darling, you've been
crying! Has father been scolding
you?"
"No, dear, but my heart Is aching to
day ao that I can scarcely bear it. A
wave of discouragement came over me
as I was walking through the woods,
and I gave up to It a bit. I remember
ed how soon it will be Thanksgiving
day, apd I’d ao like to make It happier
for you and a few others that I love.”
Patty could have given a shrewd
guess aa to the chief cause of the
heartache, but she forebore to ask any
questions, “Cheer up, Walty!” she
cried. “You oau never tell. We may
have a thankful Thanksgiving, aftei
aIL”
CHAPTER XX.
Pnotbs Triumphs.
MRS. ABEL DAY had come to
spend the afternoon with
Aunt Abby Cole, and they
were seated at. the two sit
ting room windows, sweeping the land
aoape with eagle eyes lu the Intervals
ot making patchwork.
“The foliage baa been a little mite
too rich this aeanou,” remarked Aunt
Abby. ‘1 b'llove I’m glad to see II
thlnnia’ out some, ao 't we can have
some kind of an idee of what's goto
on in the village.”
“There's plenty golu' on," Mrs. Day
answered unctuously, "some of ll
above board an’ some underneath It."
“An’ that’s Jest where It's aggravnt
in’ to have the leaves so thick and the
trees ao high between you and other
folks’ houses. Trees are good for
shade, lt'a true, but there’s a limit to
all things. There was a time when I
could see ’bout everything that went
on up to Rnxters' and down to Bart’s
shop and, by goln' up attic, conaid'nhle
many things that happened on the
bridge. Bart vows he never planted
that plum tree at the back door of his
shop- mys the children must have hove
oot plum stones when they was setttu'
oa the steps and tile tree come up of
Its own accord."
“Men are an awful trial,” admitted
Mrs. Day. “Abel never sympathizes
with my headaches. 1 tokl him a Sun
day I didn’t believe he'd mind If I died
the next day. an' all be said was.
’Why dou't you try It an’ see, I.yddy7’
Be thinks that's humorous.'’
"I know That's the way Rnrtholo
mew talks. I guess they all do. You
can see the bridge hetter’u I can, Lyd
dy. Has Mark Wilson drove over
nonce you've been sot tin' there? lie's
like one o' tbem ostriches that hides
their heads in tbc saud when the bird
catchers are cornin' along, thlnkln
’cause they can't see anything they’ll
never be seen He knows folks would
never tell tales to Deacon Baxter,
whatever the glrla done. They hate
him too had. I.nwyer Wilson lives so
far away he cau l keep any watch o'
Mark, an' Mis' Wilson's so cltyfled
an' purse proud nobody ever goes to
her with any news, bad or good; so
them that's the most concerned la as
blind as tints. Mark’s oonsld'able atid
dier’a be used to lie, but you needn't
tell rue lie has any notion of bringln
one o' that Baxter tribe Into his fanil
ly. He's only ntuualu' himself."
"Patty 'll be Mrs Wilson or noth
In’," waa Mrs. Day's response “Both
o' them girls la atlk purses, an’ you
can’t make sows' ears of 'em. We
ain't neither of us hardly fair to Pat
ty. an' I s'pose It's because she didn't
set any proper value on Cephas."
"Oh. she's good enough for Mark, 1
guess, though I ain't so sure of bis In
teutious a* you be. She's nobody's
fool, Patty ain't; I allow that, though
abe did treat Cephas like the dirt In
the road. I'm thankful he’s come to
his senses an' found out the illfTremv
between drosa an' gold."
"It's very good of you to put It that
way, Abby,” Mrs Day responded
gratefully, for It was Phoebe, her own
feljj
Ww^Mlmr
\
“Patty’ll be Mrs. Wilson or nothin’,”
was Mrs. Day’s response.
offrpring. who was alluded to as the
most precious metals. “I suppose we’d
better have the publishing notice put
tip In the frame before Sunday?
There'll he a great crowd out that day.
hnd at Thanksgiving service the next
Thursday too.”
“Cephas says he don’t care how soon
folks hears tile news, now all's set
tied," said Ills mother. "I guess lie's
kind of anxious that the village should
know Jest how little truth there is in
the gossip ’bout him bein’ till upset
over Patience Baxter. He said they
took ctMisld'able notice of him un'
Phoebe settin’ together at the harvest
festival last evenin'. He thought the
Baxter girls would he there for cer
tain, but I s’pose Old Foxy wouldn't
let ’em go up to the Mills In the even
in' nor spend a quarter or their tick
eta.”
‘ Mark could have Invited Patty an
paid for her ticket, I should think, or
passed her In free, for that matter,
when the Wilsons got up the enter
tainment; but. of course, the deacon
never allows bis girls to go anywheres
.with men folks.”
“Not In public; so they meet ’em side
o’ the river or round the corner of
Bart’s shop, or nn.vwhere they can.
when the deacon's back's turned. If
you tied a handkerchief over Walt
still’s eyes she could find her way
blindfold to Ivory Boynton’s house,
but she’s good as gold, Waitstill Is.
She’ll stay where her duty calls her
every time. If any misfortune or scan
dal should come near them two girls
the deacon will have nobody but him
self to thank for It, that's one sure
thing!”
“Young folks can't be young but
once,” sighed Mrs. Day. “How’d you
like that Boston singer that the Wil
sons brought here, Abby? Walt a min
ute. is Cephas, or the deacon tendin'
■tore this afternoon?"
"The deacon; Cephas Is paintin’ up
to the Mills.”
“Well, Mark Wilson’s horse an' bug
gy is meanderin’ slowly down Aunt
Betty .luck’s hill, an’ Mark Is studyln’
the rotul as If he was lookin’ for a
four leafed clover.”
“He’ll bitch ut the tavern, or the
Edgewood store, an' wait his chance
to get a word with Patience,” said
Aunt Abby. "He knows when she
takes milk to the Morrllls', or butter
to the parsonage; also when she eats
an’ drinks un' winks her eye an’ ketch
es her breath an' lifts her foot. Now
he's disappeared an' we’ll wait. • • •
Why, as to that Boston singer, I don’t
know- how high she went, but I guess
there wa'n’t no higher to go!”
“It .made me kind o’ nervous," al
lowed Mrs. Day. “Folks said she sung
runs Hud trills better'n uny woman up
to Boston.”
"Ruus nu’ trills," ejaculated Abby
scornfully. “I was talkin' ’bout stng
ln', not runuln'. My niece, Ella, up to
ParsoutieUl has takeu three terms on
the planner, an’ I’ve heerd her prac
tice. Scales has got to be done no
doubt, but they'd ought to be done to
home, where they belong. A concert
ain't no place for ’em. There! What
did I tell yer? Patience Baxter's cross
ln' the bridge with a pall in her hand.
She's got that everlastin’ yeller brown,
llnseywoolsey on an' a white ’cloud'
wrapped around her head, with eon
sld'able red hair showln', as usual.
You can always sis* her fur’s you cau
a sunrise. And there goes Hod Boyn
ton chasin' behind, ns usual. Those
Baxter girls make a perfect fool o'
that boy, but 1 don't s'pose Lola Boyn
tou’s got wit enough to make much
fuss over the poor little creeter!"
Mark Wilson could certainly see Pat
ty Baxter as far as he could see a sun
rise. although he was not intimately
acquainted with that natural phenome
non. He took a dreuitous route from
hla wateh tower and, knotting well the
point from which there could be no
espiouuge from Denoon Baxter’s store
wtudows, Joined Patty lu the road, took
the pall from her hand ami walked up
the hill beside her. Of course the vil
lage could »ce them; but. ns Aunt Ab
by had Intimated, there wasn't a man.
woman or child on either side of the
river who wouldn’t have taken the
part of the Better girls against their
fattier.
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.)
THE AUGUSTA HERALD. AIfcUSTA. GA.
. -. * i.' j i, —*
*N AID Yoo IBU Y -r- TMt SCtNtRY
A) ptCTuR.6. OF The AHiToMOBU-E- tT^TAKcfyoa
Mose - wheh Y’oo WEBk
✓ c —*r The .silk. Host
oto c "
srtoe ayds
J,^
The Idler find* loafing pleasant enough at first. "He should worry”
if the world i* spinning along without him—plenty of time to enjoy the
sunshine and to catch up later. U the dawdler thinks o( arising
OLD STYLE AND NEW
The Improvement in Advertising
THE WEB OF IDLENESS
and following his friends, he finds that Idleness has spun its web about
him, and the bonds of habit hold him beyond hope of progress. Break
the web of Idleness at the beginning, or, better, never let It begin.
SUNDAY, MAY 31.