The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

_â€"â€"_â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"-â€"_â€"_â€"_fl__â€"â€"â€"___â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"P_â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"_â€"â€"â€"-fl-â€"â€"â€"â€"Hâ€"â€" in UHURGH nun. A Cl l HIST)! AS STU P. Y. “ I never heard of a woman's bein‘ satton. " “ I dun'no’ what difference that makes ; I don’t see why they shouldn’t have women saxtons as well as men saxtons. for my part. nor nobody else neither. They’d keep dnst‘ ed ’nougbsight cleaner. I’ve seen the dust lay- iii' on my pew thick enough to write my name in a good many times, an’ ’aint said nothiii‘ about it. An’ I ain't goin' to say nothin' now again Joe Sowen, now he's dead an’ gone. He did jest as well as most men do. Men rit in a good many places where they don’t elong. an where they set as awk- ward as a cow on a lieii~roos'., jest because they push in ahead of women. I ain’t blam- in’ ’em ; I s’pose if I could push in I should jut the same way. But there ain’t no reason that I can see. nor nobody else neither, why a woman shouldn’t be saxton.” Hetty Fifield stood in the rowen hay-field before Caleb Gale. He was a deacon, the chairman of the selectnien, and the rich and influential man of the village. One looking at him would not have guessed it. There ti mm in his calico shirt and baggy trousers. Ifowever, his large face, red and moist with perspiration, scanned the distant horizon with a stiff and reserved air; he did not look at Hefty. “ How’d you go to work to ring the bell '3” said he. “ It would have to be tolled, too, if anybody died.” I’d jest as lief ring that little nieetin’diouse bell as to stain’ out here and jingle a cow- bell,” said Hetty, "' an’ as for tollin’, I jest as soon toll the bell for Methusaleh, if he was livin’ here ! I’d laugh if I ain’t got strength ’nou rh for that.” “ t takes a kind of a. knack.” ” If I ’ain’t 7of. as much knack as old Joc Sowen ever hm . I'll give up the sliip.’ “ You couldn’t tend the fires.” “ Couldn‘t tend the firesâ€"â€"whcn I've cut an’ carried in all the wood I’ve burned for forty year ! in them two little wood stoves l" “ It‘s consider’ble work to sweep the meetin’dmuse." l . to sweep that little inectin‘diouse, I rather guess I have.” “ There's one thing you 'ain‘t thought of." “ \Vhat’s that ‘3" * “ \Vhere‘d you live ‘5' All old Sowen got for bein’ saxton was twenty dollar a year. an' we couldn’t pay a woman so much as that. You wouldn’t have enough to pa for your livin" anywhcres.” “ \ 'here am I goin’ to live whether I‘m saxton or not '3" Caleb Gale was silent. There was a wind blowing, the rowcu hay drifted round Hetty like a brown- grcen sea touched with ripples of blue and cold by the asters and golden-rod. She stood in the midst of it like a May weed that had gathered a slender toughness through the long summer ; her brown cotton gowu clung - about her like a wilting leaf, outlining her harsh little form. She was as sallow as a squaw, and she had pretty black eyes : they were bright although she was old. She kept iiicm fixed upon Caleb. Suddenly she raised herself iipoiinci' toes: the wind caught her i'cssand made it blow out ; her eyes flashed. “ I’ll tell you where I’m goin’ to live." said she. “ I Iiig/oin’fo fire in flu: nterlhl'-/1ou.w." l Caleb looked at her. “ (v'oflt’ {o [ft'lt in NH: 1m : fin' house ."’ “ Yes. I be." “ Live in the inectin'diouse ‘3" “ I’d like to know why not." “ “flu-“you couldn’tâ€"dive in themeetiif- horse. You‘re crazy.” (.‘ailcb flung out the 'akc which he was i holding, and drew it in full of rowcn. Hetty moved around in front of him, he raked llll' pcrturbably, she moved again right in the pith of the rake, then he stopped. “ There ain't. no sense in such talk.” “ All I want is jest the east corner of the back gall'ry, where the chimbly goes up. I’ll mt up my cookin’ stove there, an‘ my bed, and I'll curtain if- off with my sunflower quilt, to keep off the wind. “ A cookin' stove an' a. bed in the niec'.in‘- house?" “ Mis‘ Grout. she give me that cookin‘ stove. an' that bed I'vcallcrs slept on,bc.forc she died. She gave 'em to me before Mary Anne Thomas, an' I moved ’cui out. They air settin' out in the yard now, an‘ if it rains that stove an’ that bed will he spoilt. It looks some like rain now. I guess you'd better give me the iiicctiii'-house key right off." “ You don‘t think you can move tli.it cookin‘ stove an’ that bed into the met-fini- housc~â€"I ain't goin' to stop to hear such talk.-. “ My worsted-work. all my mottccs I've douc, an‘ my wool flowers, air out there in the yard." Caleb raked. Hotty kept standing her- self about until he was forced to stop or gather her in with the rowcn hay. Hc look- cd st‘uiglit at her, and :cowled : the per- spiration trickled down his cheeks. “ If I go up to the house can .\lis' Gale get me the key to the incetin‘dmuse 1'” said Hefty. “ No, she can‘t." “ lie you goin' up before long?" “ No. I ain't. Suddenly Caleb's voicc changed ; it had been full of stubborn vex- ation, now it was blandly argumentative. “ Don't you see it ain‘t no use talkin‘ such nonsense, Hetty'.’ You'd better go right along. and make up your mind it ain't to‘bc thought of." “ Where bel goin‘ to-niglit, then?" “ To-niglit ‘5" “ Yes: where he 1 a-goiii":" " 'Ain‘t you got any place to go to ‘:" “ “here do you s‘pose I've. got any placc‘.‘ Them folks air inovin' into Miss Grant‘s house. an' they as good as told me to clear out. I ‘ain't got no folks to take me in. I diin‘no' where I‘m goin'; incbbe I can go to our house 7” Caleb cave a start. “ \l'c've got company to home?‘ said he, hastilv. “ I‘m 'fraid .\lis' XGale wouldn‘t think it was convenient.” i Ilctty laughed. “ Mos: evcrylmdy in -c town has got company," said she. “\lt‘l) dn * his rake into the ground as if it ~gvcrc a me. then he leaned on it and at the horizon. Y “ I guch I’ve done 'bout as much work as ‘ There was a fringe of {)0 v birciies on the edge of the hay-field : M, l tlicin was a low range of imstv blue ..I\ on ain tgot no place‘tog'o to,then ?' housou no of‘any. _Thcre am t no, poor- Calgte, an ain t got no folks; new c“good like a statue. borne crows “15‘ ' over the held. Hefty waited. find it Yoda key‘is where Mis Lisle can Caleb “Enid. finally. d and threw out i rake with I was nothing imposing about his lunibeiingl Couldn’t keep the tires agoiii’ a jerk. I up behind the cellar-room door. vou can stay there to-night. as long as you isiu‘t got no other place. \Vc shall hive to see what can be done." Hefty scuttled off across the field. “ You mustn't take no stove nor bed into the meet- in’ house." Ca‘leb called after her. “ we can't have that nonow.” Hetfy W'-nt on as if she did not hear. The golden-rod at the sides of the road was turning bro 'n ; the asteis were in their prime, blue and white ones ; here and there were row:x of tliistles with white tops. The dust was thick ; Hetty when she emerged from Caleb’s house, trotted along in a cloud i sailed in her own course for the three l ofif. She did not look to the right or left. a she kept her sni ill, eager face fixed straight-i ahead, and moved forward like some little i animal with the purpose to which it was! morning, when the boy who had been supw iplying the dead sextons place came and.1 born strong within it. ' Presently she came to a large cottage E house on the right of the road; there she' stopped. The front yard Was full of furni- } ture, tables and chairs standing among the ‘ dahlias and clumps of marigolds. Hettyj leaned over the fence at one corner of the, yard, and inspected a little knot of house~ ' hold goods set aSide from the others. was a small cooking stove, a hair tiunk, of yellow bedstead stacked up against the fence, I and a pile of bedding. Some children in the ' yard stood in a group. and eyed Hetty. A l pealing glance back at his mother. Her face was distressed. “0h. 51 i-iny, I'm afraid you'll git sick." said she. “No, he ain‘t gein'to get sick." said Hetty. “ Come. Sunuiy I" And Sammy cellowed her down the path. It was four o'clock then. the chimney-corner of the. church gallery : her stove and little bolstead were set upand she h Lil entered upon a life which endured successfully for six months. All that. time a st irm brewel : then it broke ; and Hetty months. It Was on a Saturday that she took up her habitation in the meetingdiouse. The next shou" the door. Hetty Was prompt on the other side. “ Deacon Gale said for you to let me in so I could ring the bell," called the bov. "‘ Go away,” responded Hetty, “ I'm goin’ to ring the bell ; l’ni sexton." Hetty ‘ang the bell with vigor, but she Here , made a wild irregular jaugle at first ; at the . sting last it was better. The village people said i to each other that a. new hand was ringing. f Only a few knew that Hetty was in the meeting-house. “'hen the congregation had At dusk Hetty ‘ had her gay sunflower quilt curtainingoffi . , . 1 “She knows where ‘tis : its liangin' ' youth moved a little way after her,.as if 7 in. He“)- ‘ms strong and capable ; al- I I 5,9059 ‘ Perm“- Then he Sloppell “d C3“ 3“ “I”: though she was old. she could have paid for {her food and shelter by her labor : but this could not secure her an entrance even among :tiiis hard-working and thrifty pcople. who 'would ordinarily grasp quickly enough at service without wage in dollais and cents. lHetfy had somehow gotten for liz-iself an unfortunate name in the village. She was held in the light of a longihorned bricr ‘ among the beau-poles, or a fierce little unis Email with Claus and teeth barcd. People i were afraid to take her into their families : v she had the reputation of always taking her 'own way, and never herding the voice of authority. “i'd take. her in an’ have her ‘ give me a lift with the work."said one sick- ? ly farmer‘s wife ; " but. near's I can find out, i I couldn't never be sure that. I’d get molas- ses in the beans. nor salemtus in my sour- iiiilk cakes. ifslic took a notion to put it in. I don't dare to risk it." 5 Stories were about concerning Betty’s au- ‘ tliority over the old woman with whom she i had lived. “ Old Mis’ Grout never dared to 1 say her soul was her own,” people said. {Then Hctfy’s sharp, sarcastic sayings were *repcated; the justice of them made them , People did not want a tongue like ; that in their homes. , Hetty as a church sexton was directly op- f posed to all their ideas of church decorum ;and propriety in general ; her pitching her woman appeared in tlledOOYâ€"‘She “735 smallv l E‘sseml’k’d’ and saw that Emmy “3m PitCl‘ed i‘ tent in the Lord’s house was almost sacri- there was a black smutch on her face,which , in the house of the Lord, and the resolute lege' but what, could they do? Hcttyjungled was haggard with fatigue, and she scowled i in the sun as she looked over at Hetty. “ Well, got a place to stay in?” said she, in in an unexpectedly deep voice. “ Yes. I guess so.” replied Hetty. ” I dun’no’ how in the world I can have you. All the beds will be fullâ€"I expect his mother home to night, an’ I’m dreadful stirred up anyhow.” l “ Everybody’s havin’ company ; I never l see anything like it ” Hetty’s voice was iii- scruuible. be other woman looked sharply at. her. “You‘ve got a place,’ain‘t you?”she asked, a doubtfully, l “ Yes, I have.” I At the left. of thishousqquite back from the ; road. was a little unpainted cottage. hardly 1 inorc than a lint. There was smoke coming out of the chimney. and a tall youth lounged i in the door. Hctty, with the women andE children starin ' after her, struck cut across l the fi:ld in thc ittle foot-path towards the i cottage. “I wonder if she’s goin’ to stay there?" the woman muttered, meditating. .‘ The youth did not see Hetty until she was quite near him, and then he aroused sudden- 3 1y as if from sleep, and tried to slink off around the cottage. But .Hetty was after . him. “ Sammy,” she called, “ Sammy, come 3 back here, I want you.” ' “ “'hat d’ye want 'I" “ (,IOIHC back here 2" The youth loungcd back sulkily, and a fall i woman came to the door. She bent out of it anxiously to hear Hctfy. “I want you to come an’ help me move my stove an‘ things," said Hefty. “ Where to 1'" f “ Into the meetin‘dionsc.’ “ The iiicetiii'-li0iise?" “ Yes, tlic iiieetiii‘-h0iise." The woman in the door had sodan hands: behind her arose the steam of a wash-tub. She and the youth stared at Hefty, but sur- prisc was too strong an emotion for them to grasp firmly. “ I w: iif Sammy to come right over and help me." said Hctty. , " He ain’t strong enough to move a stove," , said the woman. ” Ain't strong enough I" “ llc's apt to git lame.” , “ Most folks are. Guess I've got lame. I Come right along, Sammy 1" ; " Hc ain’t able to lift much." g “ l s'nose he‘s able to be lifted, ain't lie '5" ‘. “ I dhn’uo‘ what vou mean." l “The stove don't weigh nothin’." said: Hefty. " I could carry it myself if I could i git hold of it. Come, Sammy 2” Hctty turned down the path, and the little pilgrim at the door of it. there was a commotion. The farmers and their wives were stirred out of their Sabbath decorum. After the service was over. Hetty, sitting in a pew corner of the gallery, her little face dark and watchful against the flaming back- ground of her quilt, saw the people below gathering in group I, whispering, and look. ina at her. I’rescntly the minister, Caleb Gale, and the other deacon came up the gallery stairs. Hetty sat stiflly erect. Caleb Gale went up to the sunflower quilt, slipped it aside, and To-day his dignity was supportedby import- ant witnesses. “Did you bring that stove an’ bedstead here 1'” Hefty nodded. “ What made you do such a thing?" “ What was I goin’ to do if I didn't'.‘ How’s a woman as old as me goin' to sleep in a pew, an" go without a cup of tea '1" The men looked at each other. They with- drew fo another corner of the gallery and conferred in low tones; then they went downstairs and out of the church. smiled when she heard the door shut. W'hen our is hard pressed, one, however simple, gets wisdom as to vantage-points. Hetty comprehended hers perfectly. She was the propoiinder of a problem : as long as it vas ungucssed she was sure of her foothold as propounder. This little village in which site had lived all her life had removed the shelter from her head ; she was penniless, it was beholden to provide her another; she asked if what. When the old woman with whom she had lived died. the town prompt- ly seized the estate for taxcs~none had been paid for years. Hefty had not laid up a cent: indeed for the most of the time she had received no wages. There had been no money in the house, all she had gotten for her labor for a sickly, impccunious, old woman was a frugal board. “'hen the old woman died. Hefty gathered in the few household articles for which she had stipu- lated. and made no complaint. She walked : out of the house when the new tenants came 1 in : all she asked was. “ Whatare vou going to do with me '1" This little settlement of . narrow-minded. prosperous farmers, how- } ever hard a task charity might be to them. 1 could not turn an old woman out into the fields. and highways to seek for food as they Would a Jersey cow. They had their Puri- tan consciences, and her note of distress would smind louder in their ears than the Jersey's bell echoing down the valley in the stillest night. But the r uestion as to Hefty Fifield's disposal was a hard one to answer. Hetty i 2 the Sabbath bells for the three months; once islie tolled the bell for an old man, and it Esecincd by the sound of the bell as if his long. tired years had swung by in a weak delirium; but people bore it. She swept ,aiid dusted the little meetin -housc, and she garnished the walls with er treasures of worsted-work. The neatness of the gar- niturc went far to quiet the dissatisfaction of the people. They had. a crude taste. Hetty’s skill in fancy-work was quite cele- brated. Her wool flowers were much talked and young girls tried to copy then. So. . . . G i looked in. He turned to Hetty With a fl'own. : tnesc wreaths and clusters of red and blue and yellow wool roses and lillics hung as ac- ceptably between the meeting-house win- , dows as pictures of saints in a cathedral. I Hctty liiinga worsted motto over the pul- ipit; on it she set her chiefest treasure of - art, a white wax cross with an ivy vine trail- ; ing over it, all covered with silver frost 1 work. Hetty always surveyed this cross ‘ with aspecies of awe, she felt the irrespon- ;sibility and amazement of a genius at his ‘_ own Work. \Vlicn she set it on the pulpit, no q ucen i casting her rich robes and her jewels upon a i shrine could have surpassed her in generous : enthusiasm. “ I guess when they see that ; they won’t say no morc.”she said. 1 But the people, although they shared ‘ Hetty's admiration for the cross, were doubtful. They, looking at it, had a double ‘ vision of a little wax Virgin upon an altar. , 'l‘licy wondered if it savored of popery. But 'the cross remained. and the minister was‘ , mindful not to jostlc it in his gestures. i It was three months from the time Hefty 2 took up her abode in the church, and a week before Christmas, when the problem was - solved. Hefty herself precipitated the solu- 1 tion. She prepared a boiled dish in the imcetinc-house, upon a Saturday. and the next day the odors of turnip and cabbage , were strong in the senses of the worshipers. ' They sniffed and looked at one another. This siipcrseding the legitimate savor of the sanctuary, the fragrance of peppermint loz- . enges and Wintergreen, the breath of Sun- «lay clothe. . by the homely. Week-day odors ‘ of kitchen vegetables. was too much for the i sensibilities of the people. dignantly around at Hetty, sitting there be- fore her sunflower hanuing. comfortable for her good dinner of the day before, radiant I with the consciousness of a great plateful of cold vegetables in her tent for her Sabbath dinner. 1 Poor Hefty had not many comfortable ,‘dinners. The selectmen doled out a small ’ weekly sum to her, which she took with di " There was no almshouse in the village, and nity as being her hire ; then she had a mi d no private family was willing to take her forage in the neighbors‘ cellars and kitchens, They looked in. ' g of poor apples and stale broad and pie. par ing for it iiiteacliing her art of worsted-work ’ to the daughters. Her Saturday 3 dinner had been a banun to her: she had actual- ly boughta piece of pork to boil with the vcgetablcs ; somebody had given her a nice little cabbage and some turnips. without a. thought ofthe limitations of her lmuse-kecp~ ing Hctty herself had not a thought. She made. the tires as usual that Sunday morn- ing : the meeting-house was very clean : -, there was not a speck of dust anywhere, the ‘ wax cross on the pulpit 'lisfcned in a sun- , beam slanting through t 6 house. Hcttv. E sitting in the gallery, thought innocenth how nice it looked. , After the meeting. Caleb Gale. approached l the other deacon. “ Somethin‘s got to be g done," said be. And the other deacon nod- He had not. smelled the cabbage until j his wife mid vcd him and mentioned it; , neither bud Ca eb Gale. l i l (led. In the afternoon of the next Thursday. Caleb and the other two selectmen waited on Hetf y in her tabernacle. They stumped up the gallery stairs, and Betty emerged from behind the quilt, and stood looking at them scared and defiant. The three men nodded stiflly; there was a pause; Caleb Gnlc motioned meaningly to one of the oth- ers. who shook his head ; finally he himself had to speak. “ I’m ’fraid you find it. pretty cold here, don’t you,Hetty?" said be. “No, thank ye, it’s very comfortable," said Hefty, polite and wary. “ it ain’t very convenient for you to do your cookin’ here, I guess." “ It’s jest as convenient as I want. I don’t find no fault." “ I guess its raytlier lonesome licrc nights, ain't it- ‘2” “ I’d ’nougli sight ruther be alone than have conip‘ny, any dav.” " It ain't fit for an old woman like you to be livin’ alone more this way.” “ Well, I dun‘no’ of anything that's any fitter, inehbc you do." Caleb looked appealineg at his compan- - .._:_.. ions ; they stood stiffiind irrespi nsivc. Het- tyl’s eyes were sharp and watchful upon them al . “ Well, Hetty,” said Caleb, ” we've found I a nice comfortable place for you, an’ I guess ‘you‘d betfer pack up your things, an' I'll carry you right o:er there.” Caleb stepped back a little clotcr to the other men. Hefty, small and trembling and helpless before them, looked vicious. She was like a little animal driven from its cover, for whom there is nothing left but desperate warfare and death. “Where to?" asked Hefty. ., shrilled up into a squeak. Caleb hesitated. He looked again at the 1 other selectmen. There was a solemn. far- i away expression upon their faces. “ Well," jsaid lie. ” Mis' Railway wants to get nounh . body, an'-«" “ You ain‘t goin’ to take me to that Vvo- ‘ man's?” " You'd be rcalzcninforfublc~â€"â€"" “I ain't goin'." “ Now, why not, I’d like to know '5" “ I don’tlikc Susan lladway, liain't never liked her. an' I ain't goin‘ to live with her." " Mis’ liadwa "H a good Christian woman. f )Ynn hadn't ought to speak that way about ' icr. ‘ I “ You know what Susan Rad way in, jet-.1 as well as I do ; an' everybody else does too. 1 I ain't goin'ai-tep, an’yun might jest a.» well . make up your mind to it." : Then Hefty seated herselfin the corner of J the iew nearest hrr tent, and folded her ibaiuln in her lap. She looked over at the ; pulpit as if she were listening to preaching. She painted. and her eyes glittcrul, but she ; had an immovable air. ‘, ” Now, Hetty, you've got sense enough to know you can't stay here," said Caleb. l “ You’d better put on your bonnet. an' iconic right along before dark. You'll here :a nice ride.” l Hetty made no response. 1 The three men stood lookin. at her. 'Come, Betty," said Caleb, ,_ i and Her voice i E at»