DEC 23 
THE RURAL 
374 
THE STORY OF STONY BROOK FARM 
HENRY STEWART. 
CHAPTER XIX. 
(Continued from page 855 ) 
‘Don’t! mother! don’t say any more; she’ll 
get better I am pure; and this dreadful coil 
will be unwound, Don’t leave her and what¬ 
ever happens let me know every week. No, 
don’t stay for me; I can help myself. I will 
lock the door and put the key in the old 
place. You hurry back to poor dear Patience 
and don’t leave her mother. Married to that 
man! Oh! I can’t bear to think of it. But 
mother, that will! For forgery he would be 
sent to the State’s prison and that would 
break the marriage anyhow. Oh! there will 
be a way out of this mother. We may not 
see it all now; but we shall see it. Let the 
will be for the present until we see how 
Patience may be, and when she is strong 
enough we can get some lawyer to find a way 
out of it no doubt. She was forced into it 
against her will Pm sure. Good bye mother 
dear. Now go; don’t stay for me.’’ 
“Good bye my dear hoy and God bless you.” 
And so Mrs. Merritt returned to her charge 
and her son returned to the West. 
CHAPTER XIY. 
Barley had been away but two short weeks 
On his return a change had occurred. The 
woods on his way out to the camp were full 
of workmen chopping out a railroad track; 
others were building camps and boarding¬ 
houses, and, as usually happens in such cases, 
there were men beginning to clear farms in 
the dense woods and to build log cabins for 
their families All along the surveyed and 
staked route there were evidences of new life 
on every hand, Bpringing from the infusion of 
capital aud wealth and the active enterprise 
of the capitalists. As Barley Merritt followed 
the old trail he found it in great part taken up 
by the railroad liue; a frequently proved in¬ 
stance of the true instinct with which animals 
choose the easiest path from place to place 
through the woods and over the prairies, and 
the equal instinct with which woodsmen 
choose their trails. Many a railroad now runs 
over the exact liues which first the baffalo 
marked out over the easiest divides by the 
gentlest slopes, aud where the Indians and the 
white trappers and the frontiersmen followed. 
He soon reached his destination and found 
Josiah Jonkins busy preparing supper. 
Josiah looked up from the embers over 
which his venison stoakswere broiling. “You 
have bad news, my boy. Never mind. There’s 
no misfortune in tho world big enough to spoil 
a man’s supper unless he’s dead, and that, 
perhaps, mightn’t be a misfortune at all. I 
used to think differently once, Barley, but I’ve 
learned better. Let us eat and drink and 
be merry, if to-morrow we have to die. That’s 
your true philosophy. Bah I There’s no hap¬ 
piness in the world unless you are out of it. 
The world’s a whirlpool, a reg’lar greedy, de¬ 
vouring—what d’ye natl it—uialstrom which 
swallows a man’s happiness and his substance, 
too, sometimes. Cheer up, my boy. Here 
you are out of it. Come get some of tb is steak. 
It has been hanging up since you left. It will 
put some life in you, with a cup of this fine 
coffee. Then tell mo all about it ” 
And the two men fell to eating with as much 
relish as the savory viands and the physical 
exercise could give them. Then Barley Mer¬ 
ritt related what he had learned and by ques¬ 
tions which surprised him was led by Jonkins 
to relate all that happened, or which he knew 
had happened, for many years back. 
Jonkins then related all his history, and 
when he had done he seized the astonished 
hearer by the hand and said; “Now, my 
boy, you understand me. For your mother’s 
sake I’ve watched you since you’ve been here, 
and for her sake I want to be a father to you. 
Stay here with me—there’s enough to do—un¬ 
til things get cleared up so you can do some 
good by goiug home, and then I’ll go with 
you. There’s plenty here for both of us. 
This railroad was thought to be a secret, and 
kept so, so they could grab up all the best 
land. But I was ahead of them, I have heard 
and watched the surveyors in the woods when 
they didn’t know as any body was within mil s 
of ’em, aud I've kept track of ’em. I went in 
yesterday and entered 8,000 acres of the best 
iron and timber lands round, and when they 
go to make their entries they’ll find Old Crusty 
has been ahead of ’em; that’s all. I’ve put in 
your three quarter-sections. How did I know? 
Bless you, I soon found your trail, and all 
your rest pits, that you covered up so careful¬ 
ly with leaves and brush. Do you suppose a 
woodsman ever sees a heap of brush in the 
woods and don’t know at once it is made by 
some man to hide something? Well, I’ve got 
’em in my lot. They are good; but they are 
yours and entered in your uarne, and all paid 
for. And I’ve entered a quarter next here 
which you shall have if you’ll stay. One day it 
will make a nice farm, and then there will be a 
village here and you can have the naming of 
it and the selling of the lots, and that will be 
better than stubbing your toes on those rocks 
down to Stony Brook. What d’ye say? Is it 
a bargain! That’s right, my boy; let’s shake 
hands on it.” 
“ Now, mark my words. That villain, Jonas 
Pratt, will hang himself some day. Yes, I do 
say so; because I believe so, and this way. 
You see, so far as I can understand this Pa¬ 
tience Bartlett,—I remember her mother well, 
and if she is like her mother, Barley, she is 
worth loving; and is clear thrown away on 
this rascal. You see, this girl will never go 
back to him. She has been defrauded and 
forced into this marriage; sacrificed herself, 
in fact; believing it was her duty to obey her 
father; and has got away from him in time to 
free herself from him. Now, she knows how 
things are; how those stories about you were 
lies, and how this Pratt is a villain. Why, 
that marriage can be broke like a rotten stick. 
He knows that. But he has got his neck into 
a rope, because, don’t you see, aB soon as this 
evidence comes out the forgery of that will 
comes out with it, and the State has a finger 
in the pie. Don’t you see?” 
“ Yes, I see.” 
“Well, then, how is he agoin’ to let that girl 
loose? He’s in a trap, you see, through that 
marriage. If it hadn’t been for that, he 
might have been let off just as you 
have let him off, because he’s your 
cousin. But, to save the girl, he has got to 
be put through if I go down to do it; and he is 
too great a coward to face the music,” 
“ But I don't think he has the courage to 
kill himself.” 
“ There you are wrong, my boy. A brave 
man never takes his own life, because it is a 
mean thing to do. A brave man is always 
above his misfortunes,whether they are of his 
own making or not, and will nevtr sneak 
away from them through a little pain for a 
few seconds. But a coward is afraid to face 
his troubles. And these mean, cowardly 
scoundrels always take a rope to make away 
with themselves. That’s why I think he’ll 
hang himself. I haven’t been living here, 
thinking and studying human nature, for 
nothing. I may be wrong, but it seems to me 
that’s the way he’ll take to get out of this mess 
he’s got himself into.” 
“ Now, let's talk about business. This rail¬ 
road’s coming right by here, and here’s been 
lots of men out looking for farm land. 
There’ll be furnaces right here and mines all 
round inside of two or three years. We can 
hire lots of men to clear up 100 acres, and I 
propose we do it right away and get the first 
start. When the folks come they’ll want 
sometning to eat and we shall have it to sell 
to them. This cosey place I’ve got here will 
be spoiled, and grog-shops and gin mills stuck 
up all round, I dare say, and that makes me 
feel sick. But I’ve a mind to go East again 
to die, anyhow. I’ve enough down there laid 
by for myself, and this place, my boy, I’ll 
hand over to you the day you marry Patience 
Bartlett. You can come end live here or you 
can sell it for a good round sum and live where 
you please. Now—don't! Just stop a bit. If 
you don’t like the bargain yon can go to your 
coal job, if you think there’s more in it... .No; 
I know it isn’t the money you’re thinking of, 
it’s only your modesty; but we don’t want 
any of that here: we’ve no use for it. Jest 
say yes or no. 
“Now, that's right, and I’ve got rid of a big 
load off my rniud. Let’s turn in. Here’s 
nothing worse thau ourselves to fear. The 
wicked world is far away. Here’s peace and 
quiet and contentment—all we can wish for 
and much that many would give their ears for* 
But it is Blipping away, too; and very soon 
we shall have a crowd around us and farms 
all over, and there’ll be no place for me here. 
That’s all that troubles me.” 
There was consternation in the Stony-Brook 
Valley when the story of the wronged, and it 
was thought dying, Patience Bartlett became 
known, and there was trouble on the Stony 
Brook farm. Defiance Bartlett was over¬ 
whelmed with the work with which he had 
loaded himself down. Jonas Pratt saw the 
hopes of profit from the form disappearing. 
The neighbors were brimming over with in¬ 
dignation, and threats were openly made of 
tarring and feathering both the men, but Jonas 
Pratt especially. The ugly suspicions form¬ 
erly rife against him were now revived, and 
strengthened by the stories—of course greatly 
exaggerated—of the incoherent words dropped 
by Patience In her delirious condition. Stern 
looks and rebukes met these men whenever 
they appeared and it seemed as though a well- 
deserved punishment was about to be meted 
out to them. But alas! how short-sighted 
men are. They think they can mete out 
justice to their fellows better than that surer 
and infallible power, that eternal right and 
justice which in the end brings all things 
even and renders unto all their dues. Already 
I 
the coils were closing in upon the men, and in 
that most legitimate way through the direct 
fruits and consequences of their own acts. 
The Stony Brook Farm Dairy so well and 
favorably known was ruined by the loss of 
its mistress. Her father with the best help 
be could get essayed to manage the dairy and 
ship the butter. It was returned within 
an hour of its arrival, and a clerk was des¬ 
patched to investigate the cause of the 
change. As he drove past the Stone House 
farm, he stopped; supposing he was right; 
and announced bis business. To their mutual 
surprise Emily Bates and the yonng man 
recognized each other through former busi¬ 
ness done at the Boston store. An explana¬ 
tion ensued, and George Bates was called in. 
The clerk concluded it wa3 useless to go 
further, and as a matter of curiosity examined 
the dairy. He saw the butter on the marble 
slab and tasted it and asked to have it sent 
down to Boston where it was accepted and 
a regular order given for all that could be 
furnished. After a consultation George and 
Emily determined to secure the milk from 
Stony Brook and make the butter from It and 
still ship it under the old brand on the ac¬ 
count of Patience Bartlett until she should 
recover or her fate was known. An arrange¬ 
ment of this bind was gladly made by Defi¬ 
ance Bartlett and carried out by George 
Bates and Emily. Emily, with a woman’s 
shrewdness, suggested why it might not be as 
well to start a creamery at once, and get all 
the milk they could and make butter of it. 
It could be done by getting some extra help 
and now they had gained experience, she 
thought it might be done successfully. And 
so the dairy-house was enlarged and the 
Stony Brook Creamery was started, without 
delay, and a grand success was made of it 
But ill went the Stony Brook farm and ill 
went the tongue of Defiance Bartlett, the 
chief promoter of the miserable compact. A 
severe drouth set in. The tobacco plants set 
out at great cost on the 10 acres had faded 
and died. A second planting had fared no 
better aud the crop was abandoned and corn 
was put in. Still the drouth continued. It 
galled the man to see a heavy shower pass 
more than once over the hills and drench the 
woods and the fields of the Btone House farm 
and but a few drops to fall upon his parched 
fields. He stormed and cursed and swore 
until even Jonas Pratt remonstrated, and, 
with all his wickedness, was shocked to hear 
the imprecations of this defiant and self-willed 
but impotent, helpless creature. 
1 To be Continued.) 
-»- 
THE RESTRAINTS OF CEREMONY. 
Most people affect to dislike ceremony; yet 
they are quick to resent any little omission of 
respect due to themselves. If Jones passes 
Brown in the street without seeing him, 
he is surprised that the latter construes the 
involuntary action as a direct slight: but re¬ 
verse the case, and he is apt to be equally 
tenacious of his supposed rights. It seems as 
if we were under a constant wish to get back 
to nature and simplicity, but were constantly 
checked in every effort by powerful bonds 
which a state of society has imposed. We 
would all fain be the easy, happy, pleasant 
children which we think we once were, instead 
of the cold, artificial, heartless beings which 
we think we now are. Bat in feeling thus we 
forget that when we were children sporting 
with each other, we were perpetually giving 
and receiving rudeness of behavior among 
ourselves—in other words, from want of a 
conventional system of respectful manners— 
and that we were, in consequence, often most 
unhappy. If the world were only gratified 
in its general desire of doing away with cere¬ 
mony, we think one day would be sufficient 
to convince all that it would be advisable, 
even necessary, to return to a decent degree 
of social formality. Preserve a certain 
amount of ceremony, as it is called, with all 
persons, even your most intimate friends; for 
though it may be in itself a kind of hardship, 
being a departure from the dictates of natural 
and real feeling, it is the preventive of greater 
inconveniences. Taking off the restraints of 
ceremony would, in most cases, be like un¬ 
muzzling the apparently tame tiger in the 
midst of a drawing-room. By far the greater 
number of people, thus permitted to speak at 
random, would do much greater mischief than 
could ever arise from years of formal harm¬ 
lessness. 
-- 
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The Naturalist.—[Illus. Art Notes]— Fio. 491. 
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CONDUCTED by MISS RAY CLARK. 
THE TREASURE DRAWER. 
Only it little golden tress, 
Nestled against the velvet blue ; 
Only a little dainty dress, 
Only a baby's hall-worn shoe. 
Only a hood of cambric white, 
Cloudy trimming of cobweb lace, 
Strings and ribbon, azure bright. 
That bad framed a baby’s face. 
Only a little rubber ring, 
With marks that her teeth have made, 
Torn and battered, a worthless thing. 
In that treasure drawer Is laid. 
Only a book with pictures quaint, 
" Boy Blue" with “Cows In the com,” 
Many a hole my infant saint, 
Which those rosy bauds have torn. 
Only a doll without a head, 
A truthful relic of our May, 
And a mother’s tears are shed 
As she folds those things away. 
Only a mother’s aching breast. 
As she closes that treasure, drawer, 
Sighing to be with May at rest.. 
In the light of the Golden shore. 
CHRISTMAS REVERIE. 
Once again sweet sacred Christmas! Al¬ 
ways new; and for whose recurrence the 
tired heart grows warm and hopeful, while 
the heart of the child not yet grown unbe¬ 
lieving by contact with the world, bounds 
with glad joy. How memories crowd and 
jostle each other to-night; though wrong it is 
so human to brood over our trials and stum¬ 
bling places along the way rather than think 
thankfully of the many blessings brightening 
and lighting the rugged journey. You think 
and think until everything in the room takes 
on an individuality of its own. The pictured 
faces ou the wall look down at you as if in re¬ 
proach that you do not heed their silent voices; 
and gazing, you do heed them. 
One, whose eyes see no longer things of 
