630 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



Sept. 



would be a piece she had spoken; another, the way 

 she had solved a problem in arithmetic; or else she 

 had spelled the school down. She was thi-ee years 

 younger than Polly, but they were the closest of 

 friends. All the big- girls treated Ruth well. Polly 

 said it was because they wanted her to work their 

 examples for them ; but I know it was because Ruth 

 Avas a lady— natui-ally and instinctively a lady. So 

 that evening-, when Polly brought her in, and intro- 

 duced her to me, she bowed low, and then, reaching 

 out her hand, said, ' How do you do, Mrs. Morse? I 

 hope you are well.' I told her I was well, and asked 

 after her health ; she said she wasn't very well— that 

 her head ached ; and then we went on to talk about 

 the school. I was charmed with the child. 



" After supper, when we were all sitting- around 

 the fire, Polly said, ' Speak one of your pieces for 

 mother, Ruth,' and Ruth asked, 'Which one?' 'Oh! 

 the One-Hoss Shay, or Barbara Fritchie,' said Polly. 



" Then Ruth stood up and spoke the 'One-Hoss 

 Shay' in a clear sweet voice that had a delightful 

 ring- to it. After that they played fo.x and geese 

 awhile, and then went to bed; for we always got up 

 at four, and we could not afford to sit up late. 



"About midnight Polly came and told me that 

 Ruth was sick. I went into Polly's room, and the 

 minute I saw her I said ' measles,' for I knew thej' 

 had it over in the neighborhood where Ruth lived. 

 Her face was i-ed as scarlet; her eyes were swollen 

 shut; and she was moaning and throwing herself 

 about. I put hot bricks to her feet, and a cool wet 

 cloth on her head, and sat by her till morning. 

 Then we sent for the stepmother and the doctor. 

 The doctor came, and said it was as good a break- 

 out as he had ever seen, and that the only thing she 

 needed was good nursing-. The stepmother never 

 came. She was an iron-stone-china sort of a wo- 

 man, and no more capable of caring for Ruth than a 

 bear would be of caring for lilies and pansies. 



"The year after Ruth's mother died, she spent 

 with some people named Pearson, and the good- 

 ways-to-do things, and the money-making ways of 

 that family, would fill a volume. They were nice 

 folks too. I know they were, from what Ruth said 

 about them. Then her father married again and 

 she went home to live. But her father lived only a 

 month after his last marriage; and, as I sat bj- her 

 night after night, I could not help saying, 'Poor lit- 

 tle lamb! poor little lamb!' 



" I took care of her at night, and Polly waited on 

 her in the daj-time. Nearly all of Jordon's school 

 had the measles, and he (juit teaching, and she got 

 along nicely. 



" One night, when I was sitting by her, she asked 

 if she could not stay and live with us. ' I like you 

 all so well, and you are so good to me,' she said; 

 and she pressed my hand to her cheek that was wet 

 with tears. 'There, there,' said I, for I knew she 

 must not be excited, 'if we were able we would keep 

 you gladly; but we are in debt, and have hard work 

 to get along. But you need not go back to your 

 stepmother. There are plenty of good people in the 

 world who want children to raise; and if we do not 

 keep you, we will get you a good home.' 



" You sec, this farm belonged to Jordon's father; 

 and when he died, Jordon bought out the other 

 heirs, and he was obliged to mortgage the place to 

 doit; and we had lived plainly, and worked hard, 

 and Jordon had taught school every winter, and we 

 had paid it all off but a thousand dollars, and that 

 seemed to hang. We had bad seasons, and Jordon 



was sick all one summer, with fever and ague; our 

 hogs died with cholera, and our horses with epi- 

 zootic, and every thing seemed to be g-oing- to rack 

 and ruin. I was discouraged. The first ten years I 

 was light hearted, and thought it almost a joke to 

 make money and pay off the mortgage; but for the 

 last five years 1 had been losing heart. I could not 

 see where the end would be. But, Jordon loved the 

 place, and could not think of leaving it to better 

 himself. I am a little sentimental myself; but 

 when sentiment comes In conflict with an empty 

 stomach or a bare back, then sentiment is bound to 

 go to the wall. 



" Well, one day when Ruth was quite well, Jordon 

 and Polly stopped me out at the well, just as I was 

 stai-ting- in with a bucket of water, and asked, both 

 at once, just as if they wei-e speaking a piece in 

 concci-t, if I didn't think we could keep Ruth. 



" ' Keep Ruth !' said I; ' where is the money to keep 

 her on?' and turning to Polly I asked, 'Have we 

 any coffee in the house?' 'No,' said she, ' nothing- 

 but corn meal and molasses browned together.' 

 * Have we any sugar?' I continued. 'No,' said Polly, 

 ' but we've plenty of sorghum molasses, and it 

 makes real g-ood cookies. ' Have we any tea?' I 

 went on. 'JJo,' said she, ' nothing but spicewood, 

 but it is'—' Oh, yes ! I know what you are going to say ; 

 that spicewood tea gweetened with sorghum is good 

 enough for anybody. Sorghum cakes, sorghum 

 tea, and sorghum coffee, corn cakes with sorghum 

 on them, fried mush and sorghum; I'm tired to 

 death of this everlasting- sorghum business.' And 

 then, turning- to Jordon, 1 asked, ' How much money 

 do you happen to have on hand?' 'About two dol- 

 lars,' said he. 'About two dollars,' I repeated after 

 him, 'and Ruth's doctor-bill is three dollars, and the 

 taxes due next month. Oh how rich we are! we 

 ought to start a free hospital, or an orphan asylum, 

 with our extra cash. Princes who ride in gold 

 chariots are poor when compared with us.' 'Well, 

 well, well,' said Jordon hurriedly, 'if you don't want 

 her, of course we won't keep her. But, Polly wants 

 her to stay, and she seems to be a handy little thing; 

 and I thought we could contrive to keep her some- 

 how. But if you don't want her, why, of course she 

 can't stay. I'm going to Ashland to-morrow to 

 quarterly meeting, and I'll ask Mr. Units about tak- 

 her. I've heard they wanted a little girl to live with 

 them.' 



" ' But, I do want her,' said 1. 'I like the child, 

 and should hate to have her go away ; but you know 

 how we arc situated; it it were not for the mort- 

 gage now'— but they had both gone, and left me 

 standing there staring in the water-bucket. 



" Ruth stayed on. When spring came, and the 

 weather grew warm, and the birds were building 

 nests in the June apple tree in the yard, and the 

 bees were humming among the apple-blossoms, 

 Ruth came out one morning- where I was looking at 

 the May pinks, and stood by me, chewing her bon- 

 net-strings. I knew as soon as I saw her doing that, 

 that she had something on her mind, and I asked, 

 'What is it now?' 'The bees!' said she; 'four of the 

 hives have no live bees in them; and the combs 

 ought to be smoked to keep out the moths.' 'That's 

 easily done,' said I. 'Just get the chip-pan that 

 we used to smoke mosquitos with, and make a fire 

 in it, and set it under the bench, and smoke them 

 all you've a mind to.' 'Oh, no!' said Ruth; 'I 

 don't mean that; the combs must be smoked with 

 brimstone, to kill the mothworm. Mr. Pearson kept 



