THE ABANDONED FARM 



By J. OLIVER SMITH 



A FEW years ago the so-called 

 abandoned farm was in reality 

 forsaken, left to the mercy of 

 the elements ; and though mother na- 

 ture tried to cover up the slow deca)' 

 by luxuriant growths of vine antl 

 creeper, by banks of wild roses and the 

 persistent bloom of daisy, larkspur, and 

 caraway, which some loving hand had 

 planted near the doorway, still the 

 tangle of bush and brier told its own 

 story of neglect and also of longing. 

 At the present time the longing and 

 loneliness which even nature might be 

 supposed to feel 



For the touch of a vanished hand 

 And the sound of a voice that is still, 



have been in some measure relieved by 

 the extent to which these places have 

 been taken by summer residents, and 

 the tenderness of home given back to 

 the locality by the bestowal of more 

 care than that given by their original 

 owners and occupants. What new de- 

 light the summer resident feels over 

 every changing panoramic view, in sun- 

 shine or in storm, beautiful beyond de- 

 scription, and soul-satisfying after the 

 limitations of the city. 



Several years ago it was the good 

 fortune of a little family who had been 

 living in one of our smaller cities to 

 find such a home for the summer in a 

 section of the western Adirondacks. 

 The father being a professional man 

 with but little leisure for summer out- 

 ings, and belonging to that school of 

 "reservists" who think that home is the 

 best place for the family — and with 

 reason — that there is altogether too 

 much hotel life for the good of the ris- 

 ing generation, seldom in his busy prac- 

 tise found an opportunity for a vaca- 



tion and seldom admitted the necessity 

 for it as a nerve tonic, a rest cure, or an 

 inspiration. The family had without 

 much rebellion accepted his opinions. 

 lUit as the daughters grew toward wom- 

 anhood and the mother noted a delicacy 

 of coloring in the cheek of one of them, 

 and a growing languor in her appear- 

 ance, some plan was in process of evo- 

 lution to give them the tonic of the 

 woods and fields without the nerve- 

 exhausting distraction of crowds nor 

 the wearing efifect of coming in close 

 contact with different personalities. 



Just at this time the mother heard, 

 through a friend, of a place in one of 

 our northern counties which was for 

 sale at a low figure. She wrote to the 

 friend and found that there was such 

 a place. He gave a glowing account 

 of it in its natural scenery, not far from 

 the junction of two rivers and only a 

 few miles from some of the famous 

 Adirondack lakes. "The house itself," 

 he said, "was merely an unfinished 

 farm house, and might disappoint a 

 purchaser who had not seen the small 

 houses in that section of country ; but 

 there was a fine old barn, weather- 

 beaten outside, but with beams and 

 rafters that might last a century. There 

 were sixteen acres of farm and wood- 

 land, and a clear title could be given. 

 But there was an "if" in the way. It 

 had other prospective purchasers, and 

 would be held only one day more ! 



xA.s it happened, the father was, for 

 the time being, on the other side of the 

 continent, having been sent as a dele- 

 gate to an important convention held 

 in a city near the Pacific coast. It was 

 an important step to take without con- 

 sultation ; and the mother, dreading the 

 responsibility of it, might have lost the 

 opportunity, had it not been that one 



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