MISS SITT'S "WAITIN."

Press, Volume LVIII, Issue 10887, 12 February 1901, Page 2

MISS SITT'S "WAITIN."

Br Edwin L. Sabin. Out at the ond of Oheetnut street. Ln Farm Centre, all by herself, lived Miss Stitt —"waitin , ," said the people. Formerly the ( StLtts had occupied" a large yellow house, with drab blinds a.nd an iron : fer n ,* around it, on the corner of Maid? and Kirn streets, three blocks from the post office, ft was the finest house in the -village, for Squire Stitt and family were personages of no little importance in the community. Visitors to Farm (tentre always were taken past the corner, so that, they might inspect it and carry with them a remembrance of "the Stitt Place." This memory could hardly fail to be pleasant. Not only was the dwelling itself quite imposing, but the premises were spacious and shady and comfortable looking. The Louse stood at one side, so that a clear half i of the lot was left. free. The back part ! of tjie yard was rich in old-fashioned flowers, i There were two immense beds containing ' phlox. niLifnonette, bachelor buttons, gera- j nimas, daddies, primroses, pansies, lielio- J trope, asters, and other posies dear to the I heart of a woman saph -Mrs Stitt. Sunflowers and hollyhocks flourished along 1 the back board fence, nasturtiums grew beside the fence bordering Kirn street, sweet peas were trained aga'list the lattice work over the wall, and morning glories covered the' kitchen porch. Of course, right in the | centre of the yard was the inevitable bunch ! of huge white peonies—the very biggest j peonies in town. I Passers-by on Elm street greatly admired ; the Stitt flowers, and boys and girls liked to rea<:h through the fence and break off . nasturtium stems in order to nibble them ; and enjoy tiieir peppery flavour. However, ! from in front of the house the flowers were I barely visible, because the view was inter- j rupted by a magnificent-clump of evergreens. ■ The trees extended across the lot. from the porch nearly to the side fence. They gave to the house v peculiarly stately, reserved '. air. j Kven on the hottest days the evergreens ; offered a cool retreat. The sun never pene- ! trated beneath their low branches, and the breeze seemed never to abandon them. Here, in a hammock, Jennie Stitt was accustomed to spend many hours sewing, reading, and dreaming: and here, at the least two evening in the week, when the weather was propitious, James Thayer was sure to lind her. In village parlance James Thayer was ■'keepin' comp'ny" with Jennie Stitt* Neighbours became used to bearing, o* nights, within the recesses of the pines, subdued voices and happy laughter. People generally were wondering when the wedding was to occur when it was noised about that James Thayer was going away. And go h-e did, early one spring morning. Of those behind, no person outside of the Stift family knew whether or not he and .Ipnnie had come to %n understanding. What the Stitt family knew was this: — Jaiues might return in a year, and if he and Jennie were still of the same mind i*one would gainsay them. But they were not to communicate with eatah other. if he shouldn't come back—and sometimes they don't." observed the Squire. "I'll i not have uiv girl down iv white and black. ! or breakin" her heart over letters. Better ■ U» let 'em both cut loose for a w-hile, and , Sfe tv bat'll haippeu." i Fourteen yeara ago was this—fourteen yfeai'3. The yellow house, with its Hanking groups uf evergreen, was still termed "the Stitt l'laof." but t J .ie Stitt*. suve Jennie, h:td been lvmiAxl frum the village to a ! I'airer l«uul. Firsx tlrt> Squire had gmie. leav- ' iug his property in a sad tangle of lhtgati«m. Then went Mrs Stitt: and when the irun front gate Kirung to afford passage for I her ctittin, misfortune took advantage of the I gap, and, gathering its forces, rushed in. j By tJtc advice of fc-tr attorney, Jennie ; sold house und lot- and mur-h of the furniture. Having sutistied her father's creditors, *he putxdtaaed a modest cottage at th« end of Cixesrtnui street, and strangen stov*d taw tfa« old hoauwt«*d. ]

She lived alone in her cottage. As years glided by she became simply "Miss Stitt," for the Jennie was not essential. She was self-supporting, doing odd jobs of sewing for the villagers, helping with honse-clean-ing. and making perfect models of doughnute and "devil's cake" and angel food, which were eagerly bought by liousewives having unexpected company. Her needs were few ; her ehickenyard and her garden, with occasionally a call on the butcher and grocer, abundantly supplied her table. Her cottage, with its four rooms—bedroom, parlour, dining room, and kitchen— and its surroundings, were wonders of neatness : so much so that the village took considerable pride in this humble successor to -the Hiitt Place" of days gone by. "That's whsre Miss Slit* lives—she that's waitin' for her lover to come back. She us«d to live in the bisr valler house I showed ye," would be the explanation given by the villagers to strangers. As her mother had been. Miss Stitt was extremely fond of tiowtrs, and her back v;ird was overflowing with plants grown from seeds she had carried with lier when she had changed the one home for the other. All the old favourites were there. It was her constant delight to walk among them, and talk to them, and water them and pi line them und train t hem—always caressingly. Her roses were marvels for miles around. Without her flowers she would have been lonely much of the time, for as the years sped the neighbours grew accustomed to her presence, and did not run in so often as at first. But only occasionally was she lonely. Onoe in a while the spell would come* upon her, in her flower garden, or at the table, or in the quiet of her chamber, and she would catch lierself wondering— wondering wistfully—if sometime he would come back. The spell over, her flowers received an extra amount of attention, in order to show them her remorse for having suffered her heart to stray from them even for an instant. In truth, Miss Stitt, consciously now. and now uneotiscLously, was "waitin'." Though fourteen years 'had elapsed since James Thayer had left her standing at the gate in tSie shadow of the evergreens, while with teas* in her eyes, and on her lips the iiodefinable sweetness of the first kiss she ever 'had known from one not a relative, she listened to his footsteps retreating down the street; she had not forgotten. The first kiss also was the last. James Thayer had not returned. He liad no kin in Farm Centre, and ere the twelve months had passed the village had dost all trace of htm. Yet, deep jn Jennie Ktitt's heart lived the belief, upheld by the precedents of romance, tha-t her girlhood lover would come to her again. Had he not said so, and kissed her? Under the contents of the top drawer of her bureau was a photograph of him. Only at long intervals did she look at it. She did not need tthe picture, for she remembered him fully—his smooth, oval, tanned face, his brown eyes, his brown hair, slightly curly, and his lithe, springy walk: and sho "kuew that when she again saw him she would recognise him as though he had gone from her hut yesterday. It happened that one June evening, "Miss Stitt, having washed and put away her tea things, and having tucked h«r chickens to bed (speaking figuratively), having watered her gardens, after lingering lovingly among the posies, was sitting on her tiny front porch. She was so absorbed in the magic of the soft spring gloaming that the was startled when her gate latch clicked and she saw a man just on the point of entering. As •Uβ approached, along the short walk leading to the porob, she arose to receive ham. He paused, with one foot'on the lowest step, and. taking off his hat. silently faced her. Miss Htitt's mind instantly reverted to burglars, and sfiie hastened to place her hand on her mother's old silver watch in her belt. "Well, Jennie," said the mam, hesitatingly. Miss Stitt peered at him. but tie moonlight fell only on the side of his face, so that his features were not wholly distinct. " Well. Jennie," lie said again, " don't you know me' , " " No," she answered, '" I don't believe I do. It isn't Mr —Mr Lukens, te it?" hazarding the name of the groceryman. "No, it isn't Mr Lukens," responded the caller, laughing. " It's only Jimmie Thayer." " jimmie Thayer!" exclaimed Miss Stitt. incredulously. '*' Just turn around, will you, so the light's on your face—l do declare!" surveying him as he obediently submitted himself for examination, "you do look a little like him." " And I am him," he insisted, still laughinz.' " Won't you shake hands with mc:" Wonderingly she extended her hand. " T know your lauijh better than I. do your face," she said. '" That laugh is a Thayer laugh, every bit; but you ye changed— you've grown a beard, and you're stouter, aren't you?" •" Yes." replied the mtrti, seating himself at. the top of the steps, with his back against a post, and the moon shiuing full on him. ; ''I've changed, ;of course. It's fourteen years, Jennie.' , " Fourteen years—that's so," she repeated meclianieallv. •' But 1 seem to be the only thing that has changed." he continued, gazing at her with all his might. " for you look just the suiiie as ever, and Farm Centre, too. Why, the town hasn't gone ahead an inch. I re- j member this house—it used to be at the end of Chestnut street, and it's at the end of »"h-estnut street now. I walked past the <>!d place before coming here: that's the only change there is. I guess. It doesn't s-sein possible tha,t I've been gone so long. Jennie, you're not a day older!' , " Oh, but 1 am." she asserted, quietly. " You're not." he returned, firmly. "And Jennie, I've come back for you. I'm going to take you. away with me—if you'll let mc. Will you?" Miss Stitt said nothing. " I've come as soon as I could," he re- ! sumed. " I've never forgotten you for one j moment, and I've been working all the time i for you. I didn't know that you were alone here, and I felt that it would be only ■natural that you had married; but I took I the chances, and I've come at last. -J haven't ii fortune; stiH, out in Colorado I've a : home and enough for both of us. You I haven't anything special to hold you here. I have you, "Jennie? ,

"Nothing, except the house and my i things," replied Miss Statt. , .■ j " I io-tend to give yott much more," said Thayer. " You remember the nieht I left, don't you—and what we planned 7" " Yes, I remember," replied Miss Stitt, in a low voice. "Then won't you come?" he asked, gently. There was silence as Miss Stitt sat staring straight over her liead out into the moonlight. "Wont you come:" he asked again. " Oh, I—l don't know," faltered Miss Stitt. " Let mc think, please." '• I would have come in a year if I could," he pleaded. " But I wasn't ready. I hud some hard luck—and I was too proud to let the people here find out I was unsuccessful. I saw fcbe Squire was right about us, aud I was bound not to keep you to your promise as long as tiling were not coming my way. All these years I've been working and bopinjj—working und hoping for you, Jennie. It's been an uphill job sometimes, but I've stuck it out. aiul never quit, even though it looked like you might have gone back on mc. I've had lots to contend with, but I've encouraged myself night and day thinking how glad I would be" of it all vvhen you were out there with mc at last. Won't, you comer" The voice was that of James Thayer, and Mfcss Stitt experienced a thrill such as had pervaded her when she listened t-a those tones under the evergreens. She felt herself drawn by their influence, and she was only too willing to yield. a»* of yore : hut when she rested her eves on the face before her the thrill vanished, and she was merely puzzled. Certainly it, was James Timer who had been speaking, but where was he?" " I —l don't know," she answered once more. "Will you let mc think it over?" It's such a surprise, seeing you, and this— this other thing coming on us, tha-t I'm all confused. \ou understand," she added, imploringly. ' 1 suppose it is," ike replied. " I hardly know where I am at, myself, save that I'm here again, with you—and that's enough. I've dreamed of it so often," belf tenderly, half laughingly, " tihat I'm well satisfied for a little while not to wake up." Silence ensued for a few minutes, while he devoured with his gaze, as she sat, her mind evidently far, far away, carried back, back fourteen years by the enchantment of his voice. "I'll go now," he said, rising abruptly, and holding out bis hand. You'll want time to thmk—unless vou'il let mc decide it for you? (She shook her head, smiling slightly.) You'll let mc know in the morning, won't you? We've been separated so long that we ought to make every second count now." '• I'll let you know in the morning," she replied. And with a pressure of her hand he went down the. steps, and She, standing in the moonlight, scarcely was conscious of his departure. She was under the evergreens. During some time khe remained withoutmoving ; then she descended the steps and slowly walked around the house. The witchery of the June night attended her,, and her way lay amid its thrall. On her route she noted* everything—the hawthorn bush bursting into beauty, the brier rose already clinging to fhe clapboards of the cottage, the scent of the clover along the fence. The .garden was asleep, and she glided quietly among her flowers as if cautious of awakening them. A cluster of petunias was flooding the garden with perfume. A branch of sweet peas had fallen to the ground, and she deftly lifted it to an easier position, among its sisters. Here and there she tripped, like a kindly .msjel. Finally she retraced her cour.se and entered the house by the front door. The inferior was bathed in moonlight, and she walked from room to room, lingering in each as if taking farewell of it. She stopped now and then to touch lovingly a familiar picture or tidy a bit of china, under pretext of rearranging it. On the dining-room table were her plate and cup and saucer, and knife and fork, awaiting the breakfast hour. The kitchen fire was laid, ready for lighting. The kitchen winked friendly, so cosy and clean it was. Miss Stitt locked up and prepared for bed. But her programme was often disin the act of removing her gsp&ents she frequently would hesitate, abstracted in thought. Presently she would energetically resume, only again to stay her hand. "Oh, I can't—l can't!" she said aloud, twice. Attired for slumber, she stood at tha back window of the chamber, opening on the garden, and looked out. How peaceful and fair it appeared —pink and poppy and he'intrope, four o'clock, mignonette and marguerite, bachelor huttou. rose and all, dreaming ur.der the moon. Above the foxgloves fluttered a great moth', like the spirit of soma former blossom. The heavy odour of the petunias floated like incense. "<)h. I can't—l can't!" almost wailed Miss .Stitt. "I can't leave them. And he isn't the same." She opened the bureau drawer and took from it the photograph. "No." she repeated, regretfully, "he isn't the same. He's not the Jimmie Thayer I've had in mind. I couldn't go way out to Colorado with him. and leave" , all this—all this that's mine and that I've been accustomed to. No, I can't—and I won't!" sho added, defiantly, to the roses. Thereupon Miss Stitt. replacing the photograph, seated herself at the garden window, and, vesting a writing-pad across her knte, resolutely pencilled a- note in a determined manner, "sealed it, and, still unfaltering, addressed the envelope. "There!" she exclaimed, relieved. "I'll send it down to the hotel early in the morning. It's too bad, I suppose, but I guess I'm getting old maidlsh." When James Thayer left, and Miss Stitt stayed, all the village wondered. "Well," remarked Widow Barclay to old Mrs Graham, "if sech a man as Jim Thayer don't suit Jennie Stitt, 1 sh' like to know what she really be v waitin' for!" "Mebbe she ain't waitin for nobody," sagely volunteered Mrs Uraham. And after fourteen 3-ears Miss Stitt had just found this out.