Old Lady Number 31 | Page 5

fer what folks must say. Le' 's hurry before any one
sees us. I told everybody that we wa'n't a-gwine ter break up till
ter-morrer mornin'."
Fortunately, there was a way across lots to the Old Ladies' Home, an
unfrequented by-path over a field and through a bit of woodland, which
would bring the couple almost unobserved to a side gate.
Under ordinary circumstances, Angeline would never have taken this
path; for it exposed her carefully patched and newly polished shoes to
scratches, her fragile, worn silk skirt and stiff, white petticoat to
brambles. Moreover, the dragging of the loaded little wagon was more
difficult here for Abraham. But they both preferred the narrower,
rougher way to facing the curious eyes of all Shoreville now, the
pitying windows of the village street.
As the couple came to the edge of the woodland, they turned with one
accord and looked back for the last glimpse of the home. Blazing
gold-red against the kitchen window flamed the afternoon sunlight.
"Look a' that!" Angy cried eagerly, as one who beholds a promise in
the skies. "Jest see, Father; we couldn't 'a' made out that winder this fur
at all ef the sun hadn't struck it jest so. I declar' it seems almost as ef we

could see the rocker, tew. It's tew bad, Abe, that we had ter let yer old
rocker go. D'yew remember--?" She laid her hand on his arm, and lifted
her gaze, growing clouded and wistful, to his face. "When we bought
the chair, we thought mebbe some day I'd be rocking a leetle baby in it.
'T was then, yew ricollec', we sorter got in the habit of callin' each other
'father' an' 'mother.' I wonder ef the young 'uns had come--"
"Le' 's hurry," interrupted Abe almost gruffly. "Le' 's hurry."
They stumbled forward with bowed heads in silence, until of a sudden
they were startled by a surprised hail of recognition, and looked up to
find themselves confronted by a bent and gray old man, a village
character, a harmless, slightly demented public charge known as
"Ishmael" or "Captain Rover."
"Whar yew goin', Cap'n Rose?"
The old couple had drawn back at the sight of the gentle vagabond, and
Angy clutched at her husband's arm, her heart contracting at the
thought that he, too, had become a pauper.
"I'm a-takin' my wife ter jine the old ladies over thar ter the Hum," Abe
answered, and would have passed on, shrinking from the sight of
himself as reflected in poor Ishmael.
But the "innocent" placed himself in their path.
"Yew ain't a-goin' ter jine 'em, tew?" he bantered.
Abe forced a laugh to his lips in response.
"No, no; I'm goin' over ter Yaphank ter board on the county."
Again the couple would have passed on, their faces flushed, their eyes
lowered, had not Ishmael flung out one hand to detain them while he
plunged the other hurriedly into his pocket.
"Here." He drew out a meager handful of nickels and pennies, his
vacant smile grown wistful. "Here, take it, Cap'n Rose. It's all I got. I

can't count it myself, but yew can. Don't yew think it's enough ter set
yew up in business, so yew won't have ter go ter the poorhouse? The
poorhouse is a bad place. I was there last winter. I don't like the
poorhouse."
He rambled on of the poorhouse. Angy, panting for breath, one hand
against the smothering pain at her heart, was trying, with the other, to
drag "Father" along. "Father" was shaking his head at Ishmael, at the
proffered nickels and pennies--shaking his head and choking. At length
he found his voice, and was able to smile at his would-be benefactor
with even the ghost of a twinkle in his eye.
"Much obliged, Cap'n Rover; but yew keep yer money fer terbaccy. I
ain't so high-toned as yew. I'll take real comfort at the poorhouse. S'
long; thank yer. S' long."
Ishmael went on his way muttering to himself, unhappily jingling his
rejected alms; while Angy and Abe resumed their journey.
As they came to the gate of the Old Ladies' Home, Angy seized hold of
her husband's arm, and looking up into his face pleaded earnestly:
"Father, let's take the hunderd dollars fer a fambly tombstun an' go ter
the poorhouse tergether!"
He shook her off almost roughly and lifted the latch of the gate.
"Folks'd say we was crazy, Mother."
There was no one in sight as he dragged in the express-cart and laid
down the handle. Before him was a long, clean-swept path ending
apparently in a mass of shrubbery; to the left was a field of sweet corn
reaching to the hedge; to the right a strong and sturdy growth of pole
lima beans; and just