1618 
W* RURAL. NEW-YORKER 
November 1, 1910 
WOMAN AND HOME 
KJ 
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“Now you can afford to out down them 
trees, them pesky trees!” remarked Aunt 
Jane Weatherby. 
“Them trees will bring in real money,” 
protested Uncle Liplilet for the thousandth 
time. 
“You just sold the large woodlot and 
got cash for it; a big price, too,” Aunt 
Jane reminded him, shrilly. 
“Benham can’t work off any dubious 
checks on mo; I want real money when 7 
trade,” said Uncle Liplilet with satisfac¬ 
tion. “And I never druv a better bargain 
in my life.” 
“Then why can’t you afford to cut down 
them trees?” 
“Plague take them trees. I can’t, and 
I won’t! That settles it,” replied Uncle 
Liphlet. “sottex*” than usual despite his 
good bargain, as he had been up all the 
previous night with his sick horse. 
Aunt Jane sighed audibly and dropped 
the subject for that time. Presently she 
lamented, “I wish we didn’t have to keep 
such a lot of money in the house over 
Sunday.” 
“Banks don’t open until Monday,” 
grumpily replied her spouse. “7 know 
where to hide the money safely, and I 
ain’t goin’ to tell anybody, either. I’ve 
got sense enough to guard any amount of 
money if silly women’ll only keep their 
heads shot ” With that pai-ting shot, he 
seized a pail of swill and departed for the 
barn. 
Aunt Jane settled herself wearily in her 
big wooden rocker and began the next 
row in the semi-circular rag rug she was 
knitting. She glanced out of her kitchen 
windows, where nothing was in sight over 
the tops of the disputed pear trees save 
the spire of the village church. She looked 
wx-etchedly down at her shapely feet, so 
unequal to their task of bearing up her 
unwieldy body, and shook her head in 
momentary despair. 
“Them trees have grown until I can’t 
see anything,” she informed the tall old 
clock. “When they was smaller, it didn’t 
matter because 1 could see over ’em. And 
if anything looked specially interestin’ 
down to the village, I could go right, down 
and see about it.” 
Poor woman, increasing years and add¬ 
ed weight made it constantly more dlfli- 
cult for her to get about. Related by birth 
or marriage to nearly every person in 
Landon, she felt a neighborly interest in 
every soul therein. Hence her ambition 
to have “them trees” cut. The trees had 
been a bone of contention for years be¬ 
tween her and her husband. The differ- 
ence of opinion waxed more grievous as 
the trees hid more of Aunt Jane’s cher¬ 
ished view. Yet the pear orchard was 
very profitable, bore the best fruit in the 
whole region roxind about, and was the 
apple of Uncle Liphlet’e eye. 
The good lady’s meditations wei’e inter¬ 
rupted by the entrance of the committee¬ 
man, Hosea Brown, with a slender, tired 
stranger, who turned out to be the new 
teacher. “We’ve been to every other house 
in Landon, and nobody wants to take her 
to board.” explained Mi 1 . Brown. “Mis’ 
Brown’d take her, but when a family has 
seven kids, like us, they ain’t room for 
anybody else.” 
“Please do take me,” urged Mary 
Joyce appealingly. 
Aunt Jane hesitated only a moment. 
The thought smote her that the extra 
work of another in the family would pre¬ 
vent. her going out at all, since being on 
her feet was so difficult and buggies were 
built so frail these days. Then her kind 
heart yielded. “You poor child,” she said, 
“of course I’ll take you in.” 
Rising with great effort, she waddled 
across the room, puffed her way up the 
stairs, navigated sidewise through a nar¬ 
row passage and installed Mary Joyce in 
the clean, fragrant whiteness of the best 
room. Then she slowly descended to set 
forth a mighty supper in honor of the 
new arrival. 
At the table the pretty young teacher 
met Uncle Liphlet, the meekest-looking 
little man who ever followed a large ag¬ 
gressive nose through life, and stalwart 
Aunt Jane Wi ns 
By Edna S. Knapp 
Steadily Khe Plied Them with Her Best 
David, who inherited both his father’s 
kind eyes and his mother’s friendly smile. 
Aunt Jane dominated the conversation as 
usual. 
“Seein’ I have a boarder now, you can 
surely afford to cut down them trees,” she 
assured Uncle Liphlet. 
Ilis disgruntled reply was cut short by 
a neighbor’s voice over the telephone beg¬ 
ging that Uncle Liphlet come at once to 
sec if he could help a sick cow. The little 
man had a genius for helping sick ani¬ 
mals and never refused a neighbor in 
need. So, protesting volubly that he 
couldn’t and wouldn’t, he started for 
Neighbor Sampson’s down the hill. 
Aunt Jane catchised tired little Miss 
Joyce with genuine interest not unmixed 
with curiosity, until the girl made her es¬ 
cape upstairs. Then Aunt Jane remarked 
to David, “I’m a good deal worried about 
that money, though your Pa has hidden it 
some place: it’s sure to be a fool place 
where he’d hide it.” 
“It’s all right so long as nobody knows 
about it,” comforted David. “Let’s hope 
Fa keeps still.” David was unaware of 
the fact that. Uncle Liphlet was dilating 
at that moment to Neighbor Sampson on 
his good fortune, and also to two unex¬ 
pected listeners hidden in the hayloft di-_ 
rectly overhead. 
Is there anything more dreamily peace- 
ful than the quiet of a New England 
country Sabbath? The very breezes blow 
with a feeling of restraint, flowers bloom 
with circumspection, even the birds tem¬ 
per their raptures and butterflies flutter 
more sedately to suit the sober mood of 
the day. On sucli an afternoon David 
needed no urging to take dainty Miss 
Joyce buggy-riding after the local custom. 
In the backyard Uncle Liphlet, who 
had been up with the cow until 3 a. m., 
lay sprawled on the grass, sleeping audi¬ 
bly. Beside him in her great rockei*, 
which thoughtful David had carried out, 
Aune Jane nodded over “Pilgrim’s Prog¬ 
ress,” with her thoughts engaged in mar¬ 
shaling new arguments against those de¬ 
spised trees. 
“Please, kind lady, kin ye give a hungry 
man somethin’ to eat?” whined a voice at 
her elbow. 
She looked up to see a seedy specimen 
of the genus tramp with a particularly un¬ 
attractive countenance. “Oh, dear, that 
money!” was her first thought; her next, 
“I must n’t make him mad.” Aloud she 
said, “Come to the door and I’ll see what 
I can find for you.” 
The tramp, turning, gave some kind 
of signal and up hurried another who had 
been waiting at the gate. This one also 
was hungry. 
“I think very likely,” admitted Aunt 
Jane, “Landon ain’t specially friendly to 
wayfarers. S’posin’ you both come in, 
because I can’t walk round very well to 
wait on you.” 
The two men followed Aunt Jane into 
the kitchen, and as her gray eyes covertly 
surveyed the rough faces of the new¬ 
comers. she saw a meaning look ex¬ 
changed between them. The tall, black- 
browed tramp glanced contemptuously 
from the snoring man on the gi-ass to the 
fat woman on her unsteady feet. From 
behind the pantry door Aunt Jane heard 
the tall one say to the shorter, red-haired 
one: “Might as well fill up first; there’s 
plenty o’ time.” 
"Young feller’s jest gone,” returned the 
other in a low tone. 
Moving ponderously and more slowly 
than usual. Aunt Jane set before the 
tramps what remained of her Sunday bak¬ 
ing. She made them fresh coffee, the 
aronm of which had never before failed 
to disturb the slumbers of Uncle Liphlet. 
She even opened a can of her choicest 
preserves to detain them longei*. It al¬ 
ways did Aunt Jane’s hospitable heart 
good to see folks eat., though she grudged 
these men every mouthful and wished the 
food might accidentally choke them. She 
thought she knew the possibilities of a 
good appetite, but never had she seen any¬ 
thing like the capacity of these unkempt 
individuals. Steadily she plied them 
with her best, hoping against hope that 
David might return, Uncle Liphlet wake 
or somebody come to her rescue. 
Not for a moment did she doubt that 
when satiated with food they would de¬ 
mand the money. How they knew of it 
she could not imagine, though Uncle 
Liphlet had that morning confessed to 
telling Neighbor Sampson everything save 
where the money was hidden. “If he’d 
only kept his mouth .shot,” groaned Aunt 
Jane privately. 
The hiding place of the treasure was no 
secret to her. She knew the bills had 
gone into a cocoa can because a nearly 
empty one was missing from the pantry. 
“Betsy Ross,” her pet black hen, would 
lay iu the barn cellar, doing there for 
eggs Sunday morning, Aunt .lane had 
nearly broken her neck over a shovel ly¬ 
ing on the ground, and fresh earth showed 
whei’e digging had been done. She had 
put the shovel away, trampled the spet. 
hard like the rest of the floor and taken 
measures of her own to guard the treas¬ 
ure. 
At last the tramps drew a long breath 
and shoved back their chairs from the 
table. “Mighty good dinner.” grinned 
Plackbrow; “now jest give us that can of 
Li 11s ye got, and we’ll be movin’ on.” 
"Bills?” faltered Aunt Jane, “what 
bills?” 
“That thousand dollars in bills your 
husband got for that woodlot,” said the 
tall man, sharply. 
“He put. ’em in a cocoa can and hid 
’em somewhere,” added Redhair. 
Aunt Jane looked from one to the other. 
“7/e didn’t tell me where he put ’em; he 
never does tell me such things,” she pro¬ 
tested faintly. 
“He allowed you’d lie likely to guess, 
so you’d better, and guess right,” snarled 
the taller. “Come, hurry up. now.” 
“I—I don’t, know what he’ll say to me.” 
The fat woman spok as though dreadfully 
frightened, but undecided still. 
Plackbrow took a step toward her 
threateningly. “You’ll soon see what 
we’ll do to you if you don’t hand over 
that money,” he menaced. 
Aunt Jane sent a pleading glance to¬ 
ward the placid face of her snoring hus¬ 
band. 
“77c said lie was goin’ to sleep all day 
today; not even Gabriel’s trump’d rouse 
him,” jeered Redhair. 
Plackbrow took another step toward 
the fat woman and raisel his arm. Aunt 
Jane wilted at the threat; no other word 
will describe the flabbiness of her great 
figure under apparently overpowering 
fear. “I’ll show you ; only, don’t tech 
me,” she pleaded. 
Again that contemptuous look over their 
easy victory passed between the two 
tramps. Leaving Uncle Liphlet still snor¬ 
ing on the grass, they followed Aunt 
Jane’s trembling tigui’e down the steps, 
past, the well, across the yard into the 
long, narrow barnyard with its high stone 
wall. Aunt Jane unfastened the door of 
the cellar and stepped back. “It’s buried 
in there,” she said, shakily. 
The short man raised the latch and 
swung open the door; then things began 
to happen. The tall man bent double 
and flew across the barnyard, crashing 
head-on into the stone wall of the oppo¬ 
site side. The short man appeared to be 
doing some sort of a weird dance despite 
the day. Backward and forward, hither 
and thither, without pausing for breath, he 
moved. His partner, whom he yet seemed 
anxious to avoid, was Adoniram, head of 
the herd, and furious at his all-day im¬ 
prisonment. 
Adoniram was a gentleman in wool; 
also a man-hater, having been brought up 
on a bottle and cared for by Aunt Jane, 
and taught, by her to act as watch dog. 
Her “At if. Adoniram,” would canse him 
to attack anything she wished. “At him,” 
urged Aunt Jane as the weird dance con¬ 
tinued. 
Meanwhile Aunt Jane, swiftly for one 
so large, dragged forward an old box, 
seized a pitchfork lying near, fastened the 
cellar door, and seated herself to guard 
the barnyard gate. Blackbrow still lay 
where lie had fallen. Gradually Adoniram 
shepherded Redhair into a corner. At 
any movement on Redhair’s part, the ram 
joyously lammed him against the barn or 
stone wall. At last the victim dropped to 
his knees, begging for mei’cy. 
Aunt Jane’s heart was beating furious¬ 
ly and her breath coming in great gasps, 
but she tried to put on a courage she did 
not feel. She felt weak as water and even 
her seat seemed to tremble beneath her. 
She kept, one eye on the unconscious man 
and one on the battered individual whom 
Adoniram guarded. 
After what seemed to be years, the tall 
man stirred a Lit. opened his eyes and 
feebly lifted hie: head an inch or two. 
“Wha-what happened?” lie quavered 
weakly. 
Just as Aunt Jane’s none too steady 
seat collapsed under the strain, Redhair 
tried to escape. Adouirain was on him 
in an instant. Aunt Jane’s scream at the 
catastrophe brought, rescurers on the run, 
for David had just driven up. David had 
the rope harness still iu his hand. Mary 
Joyce followed as rapidly as her fashion¬ 
able skirt permitted. 
Tenderly the young folks helped Aunt 
Jane to her feet, and Mary went with her 
to the house. David made a dash for the 
(Continued on page 1d2fU 
