The Cedarville Herald, Volume 12, Numbers 27-52

greet tbo "■* new yew 's dws - cnco y v ,A« our king tor days to come; When tvo walk within bis palace, And it seems as sweet aa home, "What would we stik of Time to bless us, What from his bands would we receive?— Hut courage tor the tasks before us, And power to do as We believe t T.ct Ills royal grace command us In tlie name of truth to light; I.et his banner, floating o'er us, Ever lead us to the right, Strike down the sins thut smite us, • BunlsU the baudlts in our way; ' Elko I'Cdoross knights bo bold to vanquish Tho monsters making man their prey. In these days of toll and striving. There’s so much tor linnets to do. And tor lips that have a message- Is the need that they he true ; The nnolont word of love is mighty, Its living p r.wcr to save, Is sure; And ware our souls aflame and zealous. The day of "victory we'd secure. Lot us strive to muled men bettor;" Doing something tor the race, "W iping out some gilded error, Bringing back some gentle grace; By honest word'and deed defending What earnest hearts desire tod'o; By hope and help thelr plans perfecting, And l>y tho old enrich tho now: . Lot us ask of Time correction . Of tho. pas we used but ill; . I.ct ns ask to do our duty, ■ WHltabravoiv.truer.will : . •Then Wiillclng ln tho now year's portals, Thrilling witb $aldior love qt fame. We’ll give our. God our grandest service In holy worship of His name!, —Wlllium Brunton", In Good Housekeeping. Year’*, with hr*. E all Went to O r a n d m North’s lor our ■vNew .Year’s d i n- ner. She d in ed with us on Christ* was, and we al­ ways spent New When l say‘nil ot,us I mean pa and toa tend Helen and Alice and myself (Robert)'* the only boy in the family, and I cAn tell you being the only boy, with two older sisters order* ing you round* and nagging and mak­ ing fun of you, isn’t a delightful posi* tion. Pa is grandma's only child,,and that’s the reason there's so few of us when we'come together a t a family dinner. To be. sure we have other relatives, but" they live way up north, and I haven’t seen half of them and couldn’t even tell you half their names. Grandma lives on a farm about two' miles from the town of Shelton, and though she’s a very old lady she’s as Bpry and active as i f . she Was young, and manages the farm by herself just’ as well as grandpa did when he was living. Wo live so far from Pine Grove— that’s the name of the farm—-that we always get there a day dr two before New Year’s. I must sAy for grandma there isn’t any stinting a t htr table, or winking and frowning a t you no t to take two helps of this or that, and when she catches m s or the girls doing it ut me, she calls out: * •j^'or goodness* sake, let Hob eat as mtudi as he wants to! Where's the of stinting a boy of thirteen In Ms eating? 1 like to see young people eat as if they enjoyed their meals, and itot mincing and dallying over their platoii. Lot tlie boy alone, Maria.” Grandma has a cook, an Irishwoman earned Molly McShnne, jnst as jolly and good-natured as herself. She’S lived leu years a t Pine Grove, amt she’s as glair to see ns all as grandma is. Slip's no beauty, Molly Isn’t, for slle’S short and squat, and has no more fig* ini- than a cotton bale, and her face Is lava 1and red, and her nose looks as if it had been mashed flat. Slu* isn’t young, either, but for all* Hmt sl*e"s got a bean named Terence O’lJrien. A worthless young fellow he Is. grandma says, Who wants to get a t Molly’s bag of savings* and If he can cajole her out of themTrtthottt marry* lag her, he’ll do if; b a t if he can’t, he'll »»ke her Mrs. O’Brien, and get away with the money. B a t Molly keeps a tight grip on her bag. Bhe and Ter* tnec Count the money over every two or three months, bu t she holds o n to every nickel, and he can 't get one of ’em out of her. Pa tried to persuade h e r to p a t her Amity la a savings bank, b a t She hoot* Wl at him. "Mo. sor, I ’ll be n ite r t b i t silly to fst me money where 1 uwMtofc eee i t whi ». i want. Banks break* end If X M a li tliegw id and silver and joule. av tiro wurld, no banks would sec ’em, and swaller ’em up. Sometimes I dhrara av mo money, and then It does me all the good in the wurld to open rae chist and see me bag all safe.” “Take care, Molly!’’ pa said, laugh­ ing,. ‘‘Since Terry knows so well where you keep your treasure, some bright morning you will wake up and find bath bag and sweetheart gone.” Molly got red, and cried outs ‘‘An’ dp ye main to say, sor, tha t Terence O’Brien, what comes av the,, good ould shtoek—why, the (Vllriunscame av tho kings av Munsthev—rthat lie a ould de­ mons himself to be a dirthy thnfo? Ah, nivcrl” “Very well," pa said, still laughing. "If I wore you, Molly, Pd change my hiding-place now and then, It won’# do any harm.” Slid didn’t answer, hut went about looking troubled until grandma had to scold her for being so absent-minded th a t she put sugar instead of salt in the soup, and burned the chickens to a crisp. • “What j > the matter with you, Molly?” says grandma. “It’s the evil, one that’s got into me, I - think, ma’am,” Molly said. “I’m just dazed, and I fee) as if some great troubleAvus cornin'.'" . That was a t night, and the next morning there was the greatest >hulla­ baloo you ever heard. ' Molly’s bag of. money was gone from her chest, and she was ..in hysterics. The strangest thing of all was, she always worn the key of the chest on a string around her neck, and it never came off day or night. The key was in its pla^e, and the chest locked as usual, hut when she opened it the money hag was gone. “Who was hem last night, Molly?” asked pa. . • “It was Terry!” she screamed. “It’s him, the thafe, that’s got my money! AVo counted it, and he says as how there was enough to get married on afther New Year. Have hhn arrested, Misther North, for tlie liowly Vargin’s sake.” ■ ; “But how did he get the keys?" pa asked. “How can I know?” she groaned. ‘T had awful dlirames all n igh t av walk- in* and climbin', and 1 was that sore ’this mornin’. He's got my riioney some way;” and then she began to howl again. , Pa went to town, hut sure enough Mr. O’Brien wasn't to be found, and the map w|ierC he worked said he had gone off on the north-bound train, but said lie would be back,in a day-or two. , “An' where did the dirthy tliafe get the money for his-ticket," cries Molly, “whin niver a red cint did he have in his pocket?” . . • • • ■ Pa tokl licr he had put the police on his track, and that quieted her so she managed to /cook the dinner, but she cried quarts between times. That was the day before New Year, and after dinner grandma took us into the pantry to see the things. Oh, I couldn’t begin to tell you what loads of pics and cakes and fruits* and candies there were, but we hardly saw anything for .looking and wondering at a monstrous turkey that hung from a big hook in 'th e ceHing. It was a mammoth, and grandma said that okl as she was she hod never seen any­ thing like it. I t was of a big breed, to begin with, and liad been fattening in a coop for a year. “For two months,” grandma said, “the turkey has been lied on pecans and walnuts, und just look a t the fat! I f it isn’t delicious, then I'm no judge of a fine turkey.” Even Molly got up her •spirits over tha t turkey, and told us how she was going to stuff K>with truffles, und such a gravy! After that she had another crying spell, and took herself off to bod. The next morning, after breakfast, she took the keys out of her pocket and started for the pantry. I wont t gone ! ” along, but sheNyvaJiahcad. She opened the door and gtirt a little sta rt and cried out: “Where’s the turkey?” \ Sure enough, there was the hook, but no turkey. Molly looked on the shelves, behind the barrels, and in every nook and corner, as if the mice could have moved th a t monster. Then she says to me, looking as white as a sheet: •' . , “Bob, run to the mlstliress and be pskht’ her if she moved the turkey?” - “The turkey!” cries grandma, jump­ ing up. “Wbat does that girl mean? Has she lost her senses? Where should the turkey be bu t in the patotry where she hung it?” * “It Isn’t there, grandma,” I said, and then everybody ran to the pantry. Moily was sitting in a chair, looking seared to death, and gasping for breath, “ It's gone! it’a gone!” she hollered, jumping up and dapping her hands. “ it’s gone like ray money! The door was locked, and the key in my p ocket. The window-is barred, look! They haven’t been touched! liowly saints, but it is bewitched the house is!” Well, it was just as she said. Every­ thing was in its place, the ducks and geese and mntton, and n o t a single pie or cake had been touched. - The thief, whoever ft was, only hankered for tlie big turkey. • .. “But who could have taken it?” says grandma, looking hard at Molly. “1 don’t suspect you, Molly, for you’ve been with me for ten years, and I ’ve never missed a pin. But dirt you have vlsitors lntit night, and did you give them a peep*at the turkey?" “Me have visitors," Molly cried,“and me pore heart broke entirely a t losin’ me money, and Terry’s rascality. No, ma’am, f cried, till the slape came, und then 1 dhratned av the turkey. Yes 1 did, and it was alive and ilyin’ and 1 runnin’ afther it.” “Well, it’s no nso moaning,” grand­ ma said. She’s, a sensible old lady, and she never cries over spilt milk. “We’ll go without any dinner if you don’t go to work, Molly, I'm’ sorry about the turkey, but I reckon ivc must make a shift without i t Where’s the sage and onions for tiro goose stuffin’?” “ Here's tile onions, ma’am, but I clean'forgot tbo sage yisterday when Jim went to town for the things. But- I remember I have a bag of sage in my chist, I keeps for gargles. I’ll run and get i t ” ,* We heard her lumbering up the Stairs and around, and then she gave a scr eech which sent us up there in a burry. There she was lying flat on her buck, pounding her heels oh the floor . SUE PltEW SOMKTUINO OUT. and howling and laughing like one of the laughing hyenas you see in shows. “It’s the turkey! tlie turkey!” she howled, “in my chist, wropped in my silk shawl the grandmother lift me.” There it was, sure enough, wrapped neatly in a white silk shawl—Molly’s only piece of finery. Everyone looked at each other, and grandma lifted Molly's head and slapped her buck, und made her drink some water. When she came to her­ self she was white and trembling like a leaf. You couldn’t pay her to touch that turkey, for she said'the 'witches lmd been moving it, and ma and grand­ ma had to stuff it and put it to roast. Pa said that ho was sure that Molly had put the turkey in the chest, maybe when she was asleep. At any rate, we tnnde a splendid dinner, though Molly said she was expecting us to drop down dead, ‘or run raving mad after eating it. That’s the way she said bewitched things served the folks in the “ould counthryi” . We sat around the fire late that night, talking over things. Ju st ns we were going to bed Jim, the hired man, came to the door and said: “I don’t know wlint's the matter witli Mollie. She’s walkin’ about the yard barefoot, and just a nightgown on and it's freez­ ing lmrd. 1 spoke to her, and she never turned her head, but just kept on.” “Ju s tu s 1 thought,” pa said, jumping up, “the worauu is a somnambulist, a sleep-walker. You must ifot make a noise, or wake her suddenly.” We came upon her a t the bars. She pulled out one as well as 1 could do, and got through the hole, and then moved swiftly toward the henhouse, wlijch was in the back lot, We fol­ lowed there, and she was fumbling in the mops and straw of an empiy. nest Bhe drew something out, and the moon was as bright as day, stg We could see it was a white bag. “ Her money, I'm sure,” wliispcrct) pa. She took the bag to another nest, and covered it there carefully, and then marched out of the henhouse, not see­ ing us, though we were almost touch­ ing lier. She went straight to her room and pa said we must leave the money in the nest anti we could tell her and le t her get it herself. You ought to have seen her the next morning when we took her to the hen­ house and showed her her treasure. She hugged the bag and kissed ft and Cried over it, as if it were a lost child; and then she hollered about her in­ justice to her darlint, Terry O’Brien, and how she would send for him and marry him th a t very day. But 1 am glad to say t h a t “Misther O’Brien” didn’t have the spending of Mollie’s earnings, lift had%>en con­ cerned in a burglary the police were after him, and that la the reason he had left town in such a hurry. He never came back and Molly still lives with grandma.—Marie B# Wil­ liams, in Youth’s Companion. AUNT JANE’S i f t O RY, A New Veai'i Pay Tlmfc Meant » Grant \Me»! to T(wo M ia . * “A goouraany years have passed since Tom Shaw brought his wife home to the house on the hill; and there is no doubt they have both grovvn a good deal older and wiser since then. To be sure, as folks find it now-a-days, time does fly fast, I remember now the picture in my little primer books of old Father Time with a sickle in Ills hand: lie seemed to be mowing at a righ t-sm art pace, but lal lie.looks mighty weak in the legs, and I don’t have an idea that lie, could get on very fust at the best. On the very next page-there’s a picture of a very little tree with a bushy top, and a mnn as big as itself sitting on it, and under the tree there’s, a bit of rhyme that sayB: “ ‘ZacoVienw he Did climb the tree His Lord to see.' “Now I-know that if Zacclieus hud climbed into that tree he never would have seen anything, for it would have broken down, and that would have been the end of it. And so neither that picture nor the other would be good for anything to me." Aunt Jane’s voice was hushed, and she knit two or three rouuds upon the gray sock that she was' making for our Poor.society, ant) then her hands fell in her lap, her chin dropped a little, and tlje old lady was asleep. Abby ami 1 looked intently at her; hair, that had once, been as yellow as our own, was of snowy whiteness,' aftd it lay on each side qf a forehead that was full of seams and. wrinkles; the eyes that were tight shut Were as blue as onr baby’s, and the month that-was a little open was almost as small as his. But lror cheeks were one mass of puckers, apd even under the edge of her white hair we could see them deep and drawn. “Say, Lila,” Abby said to me .ip a whisper, “how dreadful it must be to be eighty years old; only think, Lila, that is .tight times ati old as I am.” “What of it?” i asked, “She doesn't mind it, and she isn’t .eight times older than 1 am.” “H'm. All but, two years,” Abby an­ swered. “But. I'd have you to know,” I said,' frankly, “that two years is a long time." “No, it is not, my darlings," was Aunt Jane's unexpected interruption, as the blue, eyes popped open. “I t is only a very little time—only tha t I knew of one year that 'meant a great" deal to two folks.” “Tell us about it; auntie,” we both exclaimed. “Yes, l will. Let's see. I must have dropped off to sleep while I was telling yon about Tom and Hot Shaw. Well, don’t let me go again; just give me a shake if.you see my eyeti shut. Me- hitnblc Larkins was as pretty as a picture; her hair was as yellow as spun gold, and her eyes were as brown as a -T h a t sight vru3 too mneh for Tom.' Ifo went, over to her, lifted her from the floor, and sat her upon his knee. And then he said: ‘My little girl, what is It? I cannot stand this any longer; jrou, must tell me what the matter is.* “And she threw both arms about his neck, and between her sobs she whis­ pered into his ear a ll.her troubles; and quick as a flash they were as loving as they had been all summer; and the first thing they did was to sing the long ' metre doxology.” “What had been tlie matter, Annfc - Jane?” asked Abby, in an interested voice. And Aunt Jane said: “That is tho very strangest part of it; from that day to this not one of the neighbors could find out. Of course, there had been some sort of a quarrel, but we know they liad mode it up, for Joe Hines was going up the hill, and he (Stopped a minute to hear them sing, and under the crack pf the curtain ho saw them kneeling by . the sofa, and Trim had his arm around Het’s waist and lie was praying but aloud. And liet after told the neighbors that tho next day(that ivas New Yearday), was the happiest day of her life.” “How long ago was this, Aunt Jane?” I inquired. And to my astonishment her reply was: , “ Let’s see; ten—twenty—forty—yes, it must be nigh on to sixty years,, and there’s been no happier home in all the country than theirs. How time does ily! It#a ll turned out well in their ■ case, hut don|t quarrel, my darlings;- you mightn't come out as well. Sixty years! How time does fly, to bo sure!” “But auntie,’’ 1 commenced, and Abby gave my arm a jerk as she said: “Hush. Lila; she’s gone to sleep, and that’s all she knows about it, any­ way.” ■ We looked at her white liair that shone like silver in the sunlight, and < thought what a wonderful thing it was to know stories that happened sixty years ago;' and" we wondered if our ^ faces would be all seams and puckers if we should live to be as old as Aunt Jane. And as we crept softly ou tofthe room we heard.her murmuring, as in a dream: “Sixty years; how time does fly!” -—Isabel Oleott, in Christian at Work. . AN OLD PROTEST. TOM WEST 0V7.1l TO 11EH. ripe liuzel nut. Iter step was so springy that she hardly scorned to touch the ground as she walked, and Tom Shaw loved her better than any­ thing in the world. “ He built the house up yonder; and they do say that lie sang and whistled so many gay tunes as lie nailed on the clapboards tlmt lie ought to have hail a happy wife to put inside of i t When it was nil finished and furnished, he brought his bride home; and after that, folks used to walk past the house many and many a time, to hear the two sing­ ing together.” '• “Did they never quarrel, Aunt Jane?” Abby asked. My sister’s idea of a good time was to have a bit of quarrel sometimes with somebody. “You wait, my darling, until I tell you. I t was jnst after the new year had commenced tha t they came up on the hill. Alt summer they seemed as happy as birds, and of an evening they worked in ilicir garden, and for miles around no one Iiod prettier roses, big­ ger hollyhocks, or yellower tansy than Tom and lle t Shaw. “But with the fall tho flowers faded, and the happy couple began to grow solemn; they did not sing so much, and the lamps did not shine so brightly out into the world a t night, and* when,one of the neighbors happened In, lle t had a very suspicious moisture about the eyes. But she never gave any reason for it, and she was of that sort that no­ body dared to ask, much as they would have liked to. Anyhow, her cheeks grew pale, and There were no more songs to be heird. And so it came along to the last day of the year, Tom had been out to the woodheuse to get some kindlings for the fire in the morning, and when he had thrown them behind the stove, he went into the sitting-room, and there was Het upon her knees by the sofa* sobbing a t if her heart woujd %e$k. .V l'ew K ellectiou, Suited to th e New Year. ’ When the calendar tells ns that the year is very old and near liis end. it seems like a mistake;, we only half; be- . lieve it. The mind docs no t take kind­ ly to the thought of old age. The old man with houa- glass and scythe is al­ ways an unwelcome guest. I cannot, think of myself as an old man. 1 can easily identify myself with the Crude and opinionated person who - .bore my name a decade or two ago, but by noeffort of imagination can I iden­ tify myself with the tottering 'gray- beard who may some day answer to the same. name. A hazy but' impen­ etrable harrier lies forever across a man’s untrodden path. His mind ' seems to be almost impervious to the idea that lie is growing old, '■ The venerable autocrat tells how ‘‘the octogenarian peers among th*e aster­ isks of the triennial catalogue of the university for tiro names of graduates who have been seventy years out of college und remain still unstarred.” . There is a touch of pathos in the Way in which he represents each advancing ” decade as shield, a break u iter, for those who come after them. The man of seventy takes refuge behind the thin ranks, of the octogenarians. But is tiiere not in this universal shrinking from old age some prophecy us well us some pathos? The familiar spectacle of men and women attempting to appear younger tlutn the family Bible indicates; Is it only material for the hand of 'the satirist or the sinilo of the. cynic? a hint for an essay oh the folly of man? May it not also be an unconscious affirmation of the imperishable facul- i ties of life, the eternal vigor of tho soul? The protest which mankihd makes against old age is not, I take it, merely i an indication that he is afraid of death* or too fond of the temporal thlpgs of the world, but an evidence repeated again and again of the immortality of the soul; of the essential and ever ex­ panding power of spirit, which refuses to submit to the decline and weakness which happen to be incidental to a body which he shall some day dispense with. “I don’t feel old; why should I walk as if 1were old?” says the man of seventy. It is an attempt to hold bis body up to the demands of his soul. I t is a pro­ test which stands for a truth; a kind of righteous rebellion which promises victory and liberty sometime. Old age is but an episode in the life of the sonl. The choicest, strongest faculties of one lives stubbornly resist tho encroach- " tnents of age and remain vital forever* “Undlmmed by age, uneotied by damp and Uu»t.” To the rarest men. and Women, in their declining years, old age seems more like the dawn than the twilight of life. Victor lingo in the fullness of his years said: “The nearer I approach the end* the plainer t hear around me the immortal symphonies of the world’s which unite me. When I go down to the grave 1 can say* likd so many oth­ ers*. ‘Iltave finished my day’s work,* bu t I cannot say: *t hare finished my life.’ My day’s work win begin again next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley; it is a thoroughfare. I t closes with the ttrliight to open (wlth the dawn.”—(Terence T. Bjfevni, igCkicegtt Advance \