AT THE SIGN OF THE YELLOW BIRD

New Zealand Tablet, 6 March 1913, Page 9

AT THE SIGN OF THE YELLOW BIRD

If the inhabitants of Hilltop had known the uses of slang, they might have said that there was ' something doing ' in the little yellow cottage on the Bradford road. A man was doing it. .He was taking an inventory of the belongings of the building leased to him, ' furnished,' for three months. 'Furnished!' he remarked. 'Great guns!' There were three chairs, neither of which looked reliable for a grown person; a rickety table, an indifferent bedroom equipment, an oil stove, and a scant array of tableware. There were also a frying-pan, a kettle, which leaked; two lamps, smelling of kerosene; and an ancient clock stood on the chimney-piece. The fireplace and clock had been made the most of by the shrewd agent. He had described them as Colonial,' and they may have been. But although the furnishings were meagre they were clean, and the man seemed not ill pleased. The fireplace alone, he thought, was worth the small rent; and he piled into it an armful of hemlock branches, set them on fire, and looked the picture of content while they burned. Leaving them to smoulder, he unpacked his little steamer trunk, took from it a few photographs which ho placed upon the mantel-shelf, covered the table with his travelling rug, fished,out a dozen books, gathered some roses from a bush near the door, and there began to be a home atmosphere about the premises. Then he looked out of his front window upon a fair scene. Below him in the valley, itself elevated a thousand feet above sea level, the village of Hilltop basked in the warm June sun. Through it a little river ran like a winding ribbon: and in the midst of the neat white dwellings the ' meeting house ' lifted its spires, and the soldier's monument upon the green proudly upheld the statue of the distinguished officer who defended the honor of the village during the Civil War. Across the valley, and indeed hemming it in, the foothills of the White Mountains lifted their proud heads, verdure covered as far as the timber-belt; and, a little farther on, old Kearsarge was enthroned king of the region. The man—whom we may take the liberty of calling Sam, as did his intimates—drew a long breath. Why had he never discovered this place before ? How should he ever rescue the wasted years before he knew that little yellow cottage perched upon the hill road to Bradford Then some one knocked. 'l'm Popsy and she's Wopsy,' said a small boy, who held a still smaller child by. the hand. 'My aunt has sent you some doughnuts and pie.' ' Your aunt, whoever she is, is a sensible and good woman,' replied Sam, taking the neighborly donation from the youngsters. Popsy's shirt had a big purple stain (the .pie was juicy); and Wopsy's mouth, a rim of sugar. She had carried the doughnuts. ' Come in,' said Sam, ' and we'll have some tea. I really haven't got settled yet, and you are my first callers, so you will make allowances.' ' What are " 'lowances" V asked Wopsy, devouring \ another of her relative's cakes. f ' } Why, they are—something they sell in Boston. They're made of raisins and spice.' My aunt went-to Boston once,' announced Popsy. ' She went on a 'scursion. Say, Mister, be you a tramp V ' Well, not exactly; though I do tramp now and then. Fin just a sort of bug man.' 'Bug man!' exclaimed the startled children at once, looking for monstrous outcroppings of wing or limb. ' Yes: I catch bugs and fasten them on cards, in rows.'

Board of Mercy connected with her ' Sabbath school.' ' Oh, no, it isn't, the way I do it!' answered Sam, pouring the boiling water from the frying-pan upon the fragrant oolong. -' I put them into a nice sleep first, and they enjoy it, and they'd have to die sometime, and perhaps not so pleasantly. How many lumps of sugar, Wopsy V ' Three,' said Wopsy, who now felt that she was having a very nice time indeed. The tea seemed to remove all reserve from the infantile minds, and Sam gathered much innocent information from their guileless prattle. They lived with their mother and Aunt Sarah. Their father was dead and their mother was ' queer,' on account of a fall down the cellar stairs. They went to school and could spell as far as ' baker.' They had seventy chickens and sold eggs, and were twins, and their names were really John and Elizabeth Kimball. They did not care for mountains, and were some day going to grow up and move where it was ' nice and flat'; and they really must be going home now. Sam, with a regretful sigh at so soon being discovered by his neighbors, called upon them the next day. ' It's Mr. Bugman,' said Popsy, briefly. Sam. bowed to staid Aunt Sarah, then to a silent woman who sat by the window. ' My sister-in-law is not very well,' remarked Miss Kimball. Wopsy made frantic efforts to attract his attention, and whispered behind her hand: ' Queer, you know Let me give a short account of myself,' said Sam, ' as I have no one to vouch for me. I'm just a plain old fellow from Boston. The doctor has ordered me to a quiet place in the hills for three months; and if you can supply me with milk and eggs and butter and an occasional pie or pot of beans, I shall be very glad.' Miss Kimball readily agreed to the suggestion. 'Tuberculosis,' she thought to herself. 'Poor man! I don't suppose he's long for this world.' But ' Mr. Bugman ' seemed to thrive. Bright and early every morning he was out of doors, sometimes sitting quietly with his pipe and a book, sometimes busy with his flowers, his eyes on the alert for a stray butterfly. Then came the walk to the post office, a friendly chat with the village shopkeeper, the sweet stroll home, and an afternoon in the woods, that gave him of their aromatic treasures. The twins were often his companions. They knew the haunts of the wild flowers and the habits of the birds like true little woodlanders, and soon became trained in bug and butterfly lore. They knew, too, just when to slip away and leave the bug man to luV books or his reveries. On the whole, Sam lived a happy and wholesome life, and began to notice with some astonishment that the swift passing of the summer was by him not welcomed. Once in a while he strolled into the home of his small neighbors, and seemed to take a curious interest in the peculiar mental state of their mother. Once, when his eyes rested longer than usual upon her countenance, she got up suddenly and left the room, muttering something like ' Nobody wants you here!' He never offended her again, but was doubly kind trying, it seemed, to win the poor woman's confidence, but with poor success. September had sent her scouts to tell of her coming. There was a perceptible shortening of the days; the golden-rod and Michaelmas daisies were flaunting their yellow and purple banners, and the earth was thirsting for the autumn rains. Sam was busy; for he was to give the twins a farewell banquet, and also to pack his belongings into the little trunk. The table was already gay with blossoms and confectionery and many wonderful cakes, straight from Boston that morning. There were other things, too, in the precious package and books and pictures, looking at which the children were to remember their faithful friend. He concocted a pailful of lemonade, and lowered it into the well to acquire the proper temperature; then made his toilet for the occasion. First he deftly removed the gray beard that had been unmolested for three months, and

Jfegretfully exchanged his outing suit for the garments of civilisation. ■ ' Sam,' he said to himself as he glanced into the mirror, ' you look much more respectable, but I don't think I like you any better.' It was certainly a very presentable gentleman who looked out of the yellow door to see if his guests were in sight. What could have delayed them? At last he saw them, little hastening figures on the dusty road, Popsy in the lead, gay in their best apparel, but weeping bitterly. 'Mother runned away!' said Popsy, when he could speak, ' and she's sitting on the railroad track, and won't get off, and the train'll come in fifteen minutes, and Aunt Sarah says to hurry !" Sam, although we have not thought necessary to intimate it, before, was accustomed to acting in great emergencies; and in place of the happy-go-lucky butterfly hunter, was a placid, resourceful master of circumstances. He seized the bottle of friendly fluid with which he-was wont to tranquilise the bugs. 'All hands to the rescue!' he exclaimed, starting down tho hill. 'But where's your whiskers?' asked Wopsy, doubtful as to his identity. 'Gone to join the summer,' he replied; 'but Ave must not stop to talk.' The poor mother sat upon the railroad track, as the children had said. She was calmly counting some blades of grass, and beside her Aunt Sarah was wringing her hands. 'She won't stir!' she managed to say. ' No, I won't,' declared the twins' mother. ' I'll stay here till I get ready to leave.' Then Sam's handkerchief, wet with something strongly odorous, was deftly held to her face, and she dropped the grass and became still. He lifted the slender form to a place of safety Just before the train, perversely prompt, went thundering by. ' Now I'm going to say something,' he began, foldhis coat to place it beneath the bewildered head that bore the. oft-noted scar. ' Your sister-in-law can be cured. When I lifted her I took the liberty of investigating the extent of the injury to her head. A little raising of a piece of bone that is doing the mischief, and she will be —as good as new.' ' But who will do it?' asked Miss Kimball. ' I will, with God's help,' said Sam, producing a card from his vest pocket. Aunt Sarah read it and changed color. ' And you are ' ' Samuel Campbell Stirling, at your service,' he answered. 'The great surgeon ! ' Oh, no, not great, but I have had some success, I admit.' ' I've read about you in the Transcript ' 'An excellent paper. But our patient is reviving and must be coaxed home.' She sat up and stared at him, not seeing her children's despised comrade in this scholarly-looking man with the gold spectacles and shaven face. ' You're a nice gentleman,' she remarked. And this was why the farewell banquet was given for four guests instead of two, and why it was necessary to make more lemonade and an extra pot of chocolate. Then it suddenly dawned upon them all that parting was near. ' But I'm coming back,' said the Doctor—' Sam ' no more. ' I've bought this house and named it 'Yellow Bird ' : and next summer you'll see me again, if I live; and next week you, Miss Kimball, are to bring your J sister-in-law to Boston and if you will allow me to *■ defray all your expenses, and attend to our poor friend's case, I shall think that I have paid for some of those fine blueberry pies with which you have kept me -o well supplied.' If there had not been success I never should have had the heart to record this happening in my beloved Hilltop. The mother of the twins is to-day strong and well and happy : and every vear, when the strawberries begin to blossom and the kindly mountain people prepare to make their fragrant hay, an elderly man comes

to the ‘ Yellow Bird,’ where Popsy and Wopsy—John and Elizabeth now, and pupils at the seminary greet him with never-failing acclaim. —Ave Maria.