AUNT LIEFY BY ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON Author of " FishM Jimmy," etc. Illustrations BY G. F-RANDOLPH NEW YORK ANSON I). F. RANDOLPH & CO. (INCORPORATED) 182 FIFTH AVENUE ^12S ^J S " ,5* . ^ Copyright, 1892, BY AXSON D. F. RANDOLPH & Cc (INCORPORATED.) anifarrstts JBrrss : IOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE ILLUSTRATIONS. It don t seem as if 1 lieerd the words Frontispiece That same little red house just out of the village 9 All my neighbors had posy gardens ... 12 Was hearin a man speakin . . . 16 Gold n Rod. ye know " 24 She told me to give you this" . . . 38 My winders and porch so chock full of grow ing things " 44 Lame Posie and foolish Nance, and that lit tle rickety Dan" 45 AUNT LIEFY. I. I DON T know how it come about exactly ; mebbe t was because I never rec lected any folks of my own. Or again, pVaps t was owin to the people where I lived not bein of the sociable sort. Or mebbe, likely s not, t was all the fault of my own queer, cross-grained, hard-to-get-along-with natur . But tennerate, there twas, - a fact well known to me and other folks, that I was the lonesomest crca- tur that ever lived. I hadn t a real friend on the airth ; more n that, I had n t scursely any acquaintances. 8 Aunt Liefy. Folks in the village and town knew who I was, most of em, and I knew their names and some of their faces ; but that was about all. You asked me for just one partic - lar part of my story, and I m goin to give it to you. As for the rest, why, there s no call for me to go into that now, and I ain t a-or>in to. How I O come to be there in Hilton, without any one belongin to me, or a soul in the whole world to set by me, or me to set by, why all that s another story, so \ve 11 let it alone now. And I 11 begin just here, when I was a grown up woman, hard featur d and harder natur d, not liked by anybody, and not havin , myself, a mite of int rest in any one on this airth or outside of it. Never mind what I done for a livin ; I got along. I had enough to eat and drink, and clo es to wear ; and Aunt Liefy. 9 I was n t beholden to anybody. I lived by myself in that same little red house just out of the village where you fust see me, the lonesomest creatur . as I said afore, that God ever made. My whole name, you know, is Relief Staples ; but t was years and years since I d heard the fust part. I was " Miss Staples " to the whole town ; and yet t was n t the kind of io Aunt Liefy. place where they give folks sech names gen rally. Other single women of my age old maids I suppose you d call em was Ann Nichols or Lizzy Mount or Hopey Palmer; and the married ones was Aunt this or Aunty that or Mother somebody. But I was allers " Miss Staples " to man, woman, and child, speakin about me, or to me, no matter which. And, queer enough, I never thought of myself by any other name. I d most forgot I was Relief at all ; for I even signed my name to a bill or paper, I never writ a letter R. Staples. I don t seem to remember much about when I was a girl. There was reasons that have n t got anything to do with this story, why I was diffent from the other children. Strangers that come along and die right in the public roads, and leave young ones Aunt Liefy. n too little to know their own names or where they come from, can t expect their children to be fav rites in the c mmunity, especially if they re put in among the town-poor at fust. I know I got some schoolin at the lit tle deestrict school on the north road ; but I don t rec lect much about the other children playin with me, or callin me by my fust name, as they done one nother in the games or in spellin and readin . I don t b lieve I liked em much or them me ; for after I growed up I allers had a dislike to young ones, and they returned it every speck. Fact is, I can t remember lik- in anything much in them days. I done my work without takin much notice of it ; I eat my meals, some times one place, sometimes another, settin or standin , or workin about, as I felt like it. I went to bed and got 12 Aunt Liefy. up ; that was my life. All my neigh bors had posy gardens, and most of em had flowers in the house too ; but I never thought of sech a thing. What was the use of it ? I went to meetin sometimes ; because well, I Aunt Liefy. 13 don t seem to rec lect why I did go, but I did. But it did n t interest me, and I did n t take no great notice of what went on. That it meant much of anything to me, myself, never come into my head in those days. Aunt Liefy. II. I M leavin out, as I said afore, everything that has n t really got to do with my story. So I need n t stop to tell you how it come about that I was trav lin one day, the day my story really begins, on a kind of business errand, over the Middle rail road, nor how I come to get off at the wrong station ; but there I was. I meant to go to Wellsville. I d been . there afore and knew how it looked ; and the train had n t hardly started after leavin me before I see I was wrong. There was n t any real depot, only a kind of platform to wait on, and there was n t a soul in sight. I looked about a little, and then I Aunt Liefy. 75 begun to walk along the road, not carin much what I did. My business was n t pressin , t was the middle of the day and lots of daylight ahead, so I jest walked slowly along. The road was an uphill one, and no houses along it at fust. I rec lect that, though I did n t notice much besides ; for up to that day, you know, I never did notice things. But that was the last of that way of livin , as you 11 see pretty soon. It was in the fall of the year, early in October, and as I could tell from what come arterwards, the trees all along the way was red and yeller and bright-lookin , and I was steppin on leaves colored the same way ; but I did n t seem to see em. I don t know how long or how fur I walked, or what I was thinkin about. Somehow it don t seem as if I ever was thinkin 1 6 Aunt Liejy. much about anything those times. *- -j Mebbe my mind run a little on that piece of business I was goin to attend to, or some work I d promised to do, I don t remember. The fust thing that stands out, as I look back now, was hearin a man speakin . He was in a buggy; but I had n t noticed the sound of w r heels, and he was close up to me comin clown the road facin me, as if he was on the way to the station I d come from, fore I see him. He rl rawed up ri^ht alongside of me. He was an O O oldish man, with a pleasant-lookin kind of face, only a mite solemn and sorry like, and he says, " I m so glad you Ve got here. They Ve waited, thinkin you might be on this train. I m goin on to tell the minister, or I d give you a lift; but some one 11 meet you." And then, fore I d had A nut Liefy. ig time to say anything, he says, in a low sort of voice, u I m dreadful sorry for you ; we all be." And then he started his horse and rode away. It seems odd now that I did n t wonder more about what he meant, or ask him somethin , or call after him that I guessed he d made a mistake. But, if you 11 believe me, all I could think of in that fust minute was that some body was waitin for me and expectin me ; somebody was glad I d come ; and, bove and over all, somebody was dreadful sorry for me. Not one of them things, s fur s I kno\v, had ever happened to me afore, and though I made sure t was all a mistake, some how jest for a minute I had the comfortablest feelin I d ever had in my life. Comfortable in my mind, I mean ; but queer enough, it made me feel weak in my body and with a kind 2O Aunt Liefy. of choked-up, s welly throat. I walked along, tryin to think, when I see a carryall comin down the road towards me, with a boy drivin . " Oh, there you be ! " he says, as he stopped the old horse. " Get right in. They put off the funeral, you see, thinkin you might get here on this noon-train." I stood still in the road, lookin at him; but he says, " Hurry! Pa told me to drive quick ; " and I got in. I don t know what made me do it. I go over and over that day sometimes in my mind, and try to think how t was I fell in with everything so, j O without explainin or askin questions. The only way I can make it out rea- s nable is, that I was so took up with this bein expected and took notice of and made much on, that I jest let myself have the comfort of it all, Aunt Liefy. 21 without savin or doin a thing that might a stopped it. The boy did n t say much ; he driv fast, shakin the reins and cluckin to the horse. The road was pretty rough, and the wagon was shackly and shook about and rattled, and we could n t a held much talk even if we d had a mind to. We met some folks, and they all looked at me in the same way, kind of int rested and friendly, but allers sorry, real sorry, that was what struck me most. " They Ve mistook me for somebody else," I says to myself ; " but I can t help likin it, and I won t tell em jest for a spell. It feels so good to be looked at that way. I 11 wait a minute fore I tell em." Mebbe I did n t put it into jest them words, but I was thinkin somethin most like that, I know. 22 Aunt Liefy. All of a sudden the boy whoaed his horse and stopped. I see a little gal in a red frock runnin crost the road and holdin up somethin . She was all out of breath and her little face red, she d run so ; and she did n t say anythin , on y reached up and put somethin in my lap and run off. The boy whipped up. and \ve went on. I looked down into my lap and see some yeller posies. "What be they? I says, more to my own self than anything. But the boy, he says, in that kind of way boys does when they re sorry and most ashamed of bein , " Gold nrod, ye know, that she set so much by." Now that bloom crrows all alon^ O o the roads through our part of the country ; but somehow I had n t ever noticed it afore, and I never d heerd its name, not to rec lect it. And Aunt Liefy. 23 whoever did he mean by " she " ? But that give me a little more to hold on by. All this bein sorry for me, and takin care and all, had somethin to do with this somebody he spoke of as " she." I begun to feel dreadful queer and choky, and s if I must know right straight off all about her, and what O had happened. It s a mistake, I says to myself, but oh, I jest can t let on that t is yet, and me to go back to bein no account to anybody, and never wanted or expected anywheres again. o We kep meetin folks : but they all turned s quick as they see us, and went back the way we was goin . And I could hear teams comin along behind us too. Bimeby I see a little white house ahead and a good many men-folks standin round it. And the boy 24 Aunt Liefy. drawee! up in front of that house. Two or three men come out to the carriage, plain, farmer-lookin men, with kind of tanned, weather-beat faces, but all with the same sort of sorry look, and I see they was goin to help me out. I d jest been a goin to tell em who I was and how twas all a mistake; but for the life of me I could n t then. Aunt Liefy. 25 They 11 find me out in a minute, I says to myself ; but I can t tell em now. For you see, in all my born days I had n t ever afore been helped out of anything, and I wanted to see how t would seem. They done it real gentle ; and somehow they led me into the gate. All the men in the front-yard, they stood back each side of the path, while I walked up to the door. I had n t more n stepped over the sill into the entry, where t was sort of dark, when I felt somethin queer, warm, and soft, and wrappy ; and I see I was in some body s arms. T was an old woman with white hair, and a soft, wrinkled face, and sech a mothery look all over her, I wonder how my mother looked; and she put her face up again 1 mine, and I felt t was all wet. I don t believe I d ever, nfore that, 26 Aunt Liefy. felt anybody s tears, not even my own, sence I was a baby. She 11 say somethin now, I thinks to myself, that 11 show me where the mistake is ; and then t will all come out, and I 11 jest go back. But she didn t say but one thing, after all. and that did n t help. " Oh, my dear, my dear ! " she says. That was all. You can t blame me for not tellin then, not jest then, can you ? S pose you had n t ever in all your hull life been called " my dear ; " and you was all kind of shakin and chokin and cryey, and glad and sorry to once with hearin it, could you go and spile it right straight off by ownin up you hadn t no claim to it ? Well, I could n t any way. She took me into a little bedroom and put me in a chain She said Aunt Liefy. 27 there was plenty of time for me to rest a spell ; for folks had got to be let know I was come, and that the fun ral could go on. She untied my bun net- strings, and unpinned my shawl. She clone a lot of things to me that I did n t hardly know what was, they was so new and queer to me, not bein used to em, you know. She talked a good deal ; but I did n t take much notice of the words, I was so took up with her softly voice and the things she was cloin to me. o But I know 7 she kep say in over n over, " If you could only a got here afore she went ! If you could only J ^ a got here ! " I tried to say somethin ; but some ways my throat was all dry, and fore I could get out any words, she says, " Oh, I know you could n t, you poor dear creatur , and she knew it 28 Ait nt Lief} 1 . too. She wanted you dreadful bad, she says, the tears a runnin down her pretty, old, wrinkled face ; %> but she knew you could n t get here, and most the very last word she spoke w r as your name, my dear." Well, that finished me. Up to that time I had n t cried any myself. I don t b lieve I knew how exactly, never havin done it sence I was a baby. But now I found the water fallin out o my eyes like rain. Mebbe t was because I knew t was all a mistake ; mebbe again owin to my half-believin twas real and true after all, and somebody was layin dead that had set by me so that she d wanted me dreadful, and said over my name with her last breath most. Anyway I cried and cried and cried. I d a said afore that, if anybody d asked me, that it must Aunt Liefy. 29 hurt to cry, that I shouldn t like it; but I did. It seemed to help me, and rest me, and comfort me, to make me difTent from what I d ever been afore in all my life, more like other folks, and jest a little mite like the white-haired old woman and the people outside with that sorry look on their featurs. I don t know how long t was, mebbe only a few minutes, mebbe more, but arter a spell anyway, we went out o that little bed-room and into the setting-room. It was shet up and dark like, and I could n t see much at fust. They put me into a seat ; and pretty soon I found there was lots of folks round me. There was chairs in rows, and people in em ; and there was a somethin , black and strange, covered and shet up and still, and I knew without bein 30 Aunt Liefy. told that she they d said had wanted me, and set by me, and spoke about me up to the very last, was layin there. My old woman was settin close by me ; and when she see my eyes fixed on that, she says in a whisper, " I wish you could a seen her, she was so peaceful and pleasant- lookin and nat ral. But you know how t was, and that we could n t wait." So I wasn t goin to see her, even this way ! I should n t ever know how she looked, livin or dead. Well, I was n t exactly sorry. I most dreaded the idee of seein her; for fear somehow I might be disap- p inted. For I d got a ready a notion of my own about her, from what the dear old woman told me, and things I heerd whispered round as we set waitin . Aunt Liefy. 31 Then somebody says, " Here s the minister," and an old man come up to me. I looked up at him ; I had n t ever seen jest sech a face afore, or if I had it had n t made much im pression on me. T was n t exactly sorry, but s if it had been jver n over again, and knew all about it ; and there was a look as if he was hopin somethin real hard, and lottin on gettin it too, a kind of shinin in his eyes and a still sort of look jest round his mouth. He took hold of my hand, and he said somethin . It don t seem as if I heerd the words, each one on em ; but I gathered lots o meanin out of it somehow, and I knew that he was dreadful sorry for me, but glad enough for her, though I could n t hardly see why jest then, and I see too that he knew I was goin to be glad too, some day. ?2 Aunt Liejy. Well, the fun ral begun and went on. I disremember whether or no I d ever been to a fun ral afore ; but I d seen em go by, of course, and thought I knew all about em. But this was n t a bit like what I d con ceited. I can t tell you jest how t was diff ent ; mebbe one thinsf was O I was diff ent, even in that short spell. Things the minister read or spoke, though I d heerd some of em afore in meetin and elsewheres, got to meanin somethin now when I was listen in so close to find out somethin about her that laid there, and whether there was any chance of my seein her some day. And when he prayed, well, I d seen folks pray, time and again, but did n t think of its meanin much of any- * thin ; and as for prayin myself I didn t s pose I knew how. P r aps I Aunt Liefy. 33 didn t and \va n t prayin then; but I was secondin evYv single thinsf ^ O O the old minister said, and hopin with all my heart and mind and body they d come true. Ain t that a kind of prayin ? And somebody else said somethin ; and they sung things softly, and prayed again. And in ev ry single thing I could see they thought she that laid there b longed to me more n to anybody else, and that I was the sorriest of any one there. They prayed for me more n all the rest ; they talked about me, not by name, but " our sister," they says, " her that \s so sorely afflicted," " she that was so closely bound up with her that s gone," and things like that. Oh, I can t begin to tell you what t was to me to be, for the fust time in all my days, right in the middle of things, stead of alone 34 Aunt Liefy. outside ; with folks all lovin me and bein sorry for me and askin for things to happen to me. I could n t. I jest could n t put a stop to it all by ownin up t was a mistake somehow. And then we went to the little buryin -ground. T was close by, and folks walked ; and I was ahead of all, and closest to her. I can see it all so plain, for I b lieve t was the fust out-o -doors thing I d ever really looked at, in a takin -notice way, I mean. The trees there was a lot of em round was all bright and gay-lookin with their red and yeller and browny leaves, and the sky was all blue with little white clouds strimmered over it. There was ever so many posies grovvin in the paths, gold nrod I d learnt that name a ready and purple blooms mixed Aunt Liefy. 35 in with em, and the air was full of a minty, spicy sort o smell from yarbs in the grass. And up in a tree, jest over the place they d dug her grave, set a little bird a- singin s loud and sweet s he could sing. Then the minister said some words, sing lar, wonderful sort o words they peared to me then, in fact they do now, and they laid her down there. And the sun was a-shinin ; there was a bumble-bee buzzin about the posies, and a butter fly lightin on em. And up in the maple, mongst the red leaves, that little bird was singin with all his might and main. There was some tears o course ; but folks kep smilin through em till they was more like rainbows. Why, thinks I to myself, tain tlike }6 Aunt Liefy. a fun rai one bit ; it s more like plantin a flower. And then they all come round me, jest me ; the women, the men, the children, and ev ry one had somethin to say about her that was gone, and what she d been to em all, what she was to me and me to her. There was an old blind man she d took care of and read to, and some little orphan children she d mothered and done for ; and there was friends she d been friend to, and meetin - folks she d worked with in doin good and -- all of a sudden it all come over me what she must a been and how I d heerd of her too late ; and then I thought o my lonesome, dried-up, good-for-nothin life all ahind me, and how difFent t would a 1 been if she d really b longed to me, as these folks all Aunt Liefy. 57 thought she clone, and seemed s if I could n t bear it. Sech a sorrer and longin and mournin and grief come rollin over me, like waves o the sea, and I see I d never had any real trouble or grief or loss afore in my life. Oh, what was it for? What did it mean ? How was I goin to bear it anyhow? They see I was givin way, and one after nother begun to tell me things she VI said about me, word she d sent to me. " She said she d be watchin for you till you come," says one, most in a whisper. " She told me," says another, " to tell you not to feel bad you could n t get here to take care of her, For says she, if you 11 on y take care o somebody else that s sick or lonesome t will be jest the same s doin it for me. " And a little gal, with yeller curls $8 Aunt Liefy. and sech a soft face, reached up, and bays in the littlest whisper, " She told me to give you this. And she kissed me. I never d been kissed afore. And then the old minister, he kind of drawed me to one side and he says, " She asked me over and over, afore she died, to tell you this, that she forgive you everything if there was anythin to forgive, and that you must n t mourn and fret thinkin mebbe you was one cause of her dyin ; for even if you was, she was glad, and more n glad, to lay down her life for you." Aunt Liefy. III. 1 CAN T hardly rec lect how I got away from em all, and from that grave and the little buryin -ground, and found my \vav back to the station. J *> I on y know I did n t tell em t all t was a mistake, but come away with out ownin up anythin . I took the cars back to Hilton. I see so many thino s out of the winder I had n t O took notice of that mornin . There was gold nrod all long side the way, - her fav rite flower ; with the sun a shinin on it and the cars goin by so quick, it made the roads look like the golden streets the minister d talked about. And I see little buryin - Sfrounds with oreen craves and white j O O ^o Aunt Liejy. stones that made me think of where she was layin . And when we stopped, sometimes I d hear a bird like that one up in the maple-tree. There was a little gal in the car with yeller curls, like the one that kissed me, and I found myself a-smilin at her, and she smiled back to me. And when I got out at my station and was walkin up the village street to the red house, things looked diff ent from what they ever done afore. I j see I was walkin on red and yeller leaves that looked pretty and made a rustlin sort of noise as I stepped on em, jest s they done s I stood in the little buryin -ground where we laid j O her. And there was little white houses along the street, somethin like the one where I d been, and where I s pose she d lived; and I begun to wonder if there was anybody resem- Aunt Liefy. 41 blin her livin in these. I never d wondered much about folks afore, did n t take any interest in em. And jest fore I got to my house I see a woman comin . She had a black dress on, and s I looked at her I rec lected she was a neighbor o mine, and that I d heerd she d lost her on y child, a little boy, a spell back. All of a sudden I peared to know what that meant, and see the coffin, and him a-layin in it, and the folks all together, and I heerd the minister s voice sayin them wonderful words ; and fore I knew what I was doin I held out my hand to her and I heerd my own voice a-sayin\ " I m dreadful sorry for you." She looked into my face s if she had n t ever see it afore, I s pose it looked diff ent somehow, with my eyes all swelly and red, and she 42 Aunt Liefy. says, with the tears a-comin fast. " Thank ye, thank ye ! I see you Ve met with a loss yourself, Miss Staples, and that makes you feel for me." I wa n t tellin 1 a lie, was I, when I says, " I have, I have, and I do feel for you ! " For I had lost all I ever had in my hull life, and jest s quick s I knew I had it, too. Now, t is n t scurcely the thing for me to tell the rest ; I don t hardly know how to say it. You asked me to tell you how t was I changed about so. as folks told you I clone, from a lonesome, unfeelin , unreligious woman, not havin a mite of interest in anybody, nor them havin any in me, to somethin diff ent. And I Ve told you all I know about what fetched about the change. 1 never knew anvthin more about > that fun ral, nor the one we buried Annt Liefy. 43 that clay, nor what I was to her nor her to me. I was afraid to find out, so I never asked any questions, nor went back to that station, nor looked in the papers to see who was dead there. As long s I did n t really know the particulars, nor who they took me for, and why they took me for her, why there was n t any harm, was there, in my feelin she was mine now, let alone what she d been afore ; that that was my grave to think on and mourn over, and, what s more, hope about? Tennerate I clone it ; and small credit to me that it fetched me some o;ood, ci> and made me alter my old, hateful ways. For it stands to reas n that havin a sorrer myself and twas one, though mebbe you can t see how -made me notice other folks s trou bles and feel for em and try to help em, as I was helped. 44 Aunt Liefy. And hearin what she liked and set by, posies and sech, made me begin to notice and get fond on em myself. And that s how my gardin got to what t was when you fust see it, and my winders and porch so rhock full of growin things. And of course you see now how I took to feedin them birds that you was so struck Aunt Liefy. 45 with, comin round the steps and pickin up my crumbs and seeds, lightin on me and all that; that was owin , you see, to that little bird a-singin in the red maple over her grave. I never forgot him, the peart little fellow, singin and singin away with all his might and main s if he knew somethin good was goin to happen. And them queer folks you used to watch a-comin in my gate and hangin round there, old lame Jesse and foolish Nance and that lit tle rickety Dan with the hump on his poor little back, why I had them come and done for em, on y jest cause she done that kind of thing, they said. T wa n t nothin riginal on my part, that \va n t, jest copyin her, you see. That was why I took to nussin the sick and all that ; and that s how they 46 Aunt Liefy. come to take to callin me Aunt Relief, and then Aunt Liefy, stead o Miss Staples. The other part t ain t for me to say a word about that ; Some One else done it, if t is done. It s reas n- able, ain t it, that I should take some kind of int rest in what made this friend of mine I had n t ever see the sort of person they made her out; and that I should study up about that, and about those sing lar words the minister used at the fun ral, and about the place where she d gone to, and bove and over all what chance there was of my gettin to see her, after a spell. And fmdin out con- cernin all them things, why of course I found out more n I was lookin for. You see, the one thing that had worked on me most that day was hearin she d forgive me things ; for I Aunt Liefy. 47 had n t ever been forgive anythin in my hull life, not to know it, I mean. And somehow I did n t dwell on that part about my havin done anythin to bring about her death, as much s I did on what she said about bein glad and more n glad to lay down her life for me. That was the one thing I guess I thought of most, comin home that day from her buryin and arterwards. Any one that set by me enough to be glad to lay their life down on my account, it seemed too sing lar to take in, and s if it could n t act lly be. Well, it don t seem a mite less sing lar now; but I Ve found it could act lly be! So I m jest a-goin on all the time now as if I d had folks. It s most s if I d had, you see. I Ve got a grave anyhow, in a little sweet, minty, spicy- smellin buryin -ground full o posies, 48 Aunt Liefy. gold nrod and sech ; and I ve got mes sages some one left for me, word she sent, and I m follerin em and doin em s well s I can. And I Ve been once in my life to a fun ral that was more to me than to any one else there, where I was prayed for and comforted and pitied and set by. It s most s if I d had folks, don t you think so ? That s what I hold. And I don t see how I done any body any harm by not tellin t was all a mistake and I was took for somebody else. If I was, why I guess the right one got along a spell arterward and got the same comfort out of it I did, and mebbe more. So t did n t hurt her. And there s one thinsf can t be o took from me. There was somebody lay there that day, whether she was anythin to me afore all that or not; Aunt Liefy. 49 and I know what she d been from what folks said about her; and I know where she s gone from what she was and b lieved and said. So there ain t no manner o harm, and you can t make me think there is, in my lookin forrard to seein her one of these days, and pretty soon now. And when I do see her, why, I sha n t have to go into a long explainin and showin how it come about, and why I did n t own up that day she was buried. She 11 see it in a minute, if she ain t seen it a ready ; and that if I ain t that one she d set by so long and that had set by her, I m the one that s jest lived for her ever sence, and tried to copy her and act like her, and love the ones she loved, and do for the ones she done for, and, partic lar, that s tried to get herself ready and fit to be let in to see her some day. 3 50 Aunt Liefy. And I know cert in sure that there s Some One else up there that 11 under stand all about it too, without my tell- in ; and He 11 know what t was to me to think of a buryin spot filled with sweet spices, in a place like a gardin o posies, and of some one lay- in there for a spell, some one that had set by me so much that she d a been glad and more n glad to lay down her life for me. THE END. 13u tije Same FISHIN JIMMY. By ANNIE TRUM- HULL SI.OSSON, with Illustrations by G. F-R., and H. F. B. i6mo, cloth, 60 cents. "A type of the simple-hearted New Eng- lander, in whom the religious principle works out its divine mission in the development of character along the lines of an ordinary human life. " It is a story of simple faith and duty, from which lessons of wisdom and charity may be learned." ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & CO. 182 FIKTII AVENUE, NEW YORK. DATE DUE GAYLORD PRINTED IN U.S.A. A 000 548 220 3