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