xt70rx937t9n_475 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt70rx937t9n/data/mets.xml https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt70rx937t9n/data/46m4.dao.xml unknown 13.63 Cubic Feet 34 boxes, 2 folders, 3 items In safe - drawer 3 archival material 46m4 English University of Kentucky The physical rights to the materials in this collection are held by the University of Kentucky Special Collections Research Center.  Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Laura Clay papers Temperance. Women -- Political activity -- Kentucky. Women's rights -- Kentucky. Women's rights -- United States -- History. Women -- Suffrage -- Kentucky. Women -- Suffrage -- United States. Talks and Tales text Talks and Tales 2020 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt70rx937t9n/data/46m4/Box_17/Folder_33/Multipage20603.pdf 1899 1899 1899 section false xt70rx937t9n_475 xt70rx937t9n Vol. 11. JANUARY, 1899; No.

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One Dollar a Year. 10 Cents a Copy

Entered at Hartford Post Office 21:;{secanrl‘clusm.1‘nuttr‘er.


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Conn. InstitUte and Industrial Home for the Blind,

Nos. ‘38-’4- qqd 3‘36 V/e‘l'hexrsficld “00.,

F. E. CLEAVELANI), President.
._,_, ___,, , -_,-_-#Q___ _ __

Edited by M115. HUME B. KENDRICK.

One Dollar a Year, - - Ten Cents a Copy




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Table of Contents.

Children‘s Orchestra—Kindergarten Department ............. FRONTISPIECE
European Turkey ...................................................................... A. GERBER
Harvesting on Round Top ........................................................ I
Retta’s Girl ................................................................ MRS. M. M. BUCKNER
Elizabeth’s Experiment ................................................ HELEN A. HAWLEY
Blind Mnttie .................................................................................
Virginia D. Young ................................................. FLORENCE N. D. EVANS
Mind in Neiture .......................................................................... W. C. GRAY

Selected Matter

Children‘s Department

Current Events

Wise and Otherwise E







of Hartforc‘), 60912.

Capital Stock, all Cash, ............... . . . . fl . “a l,r)(x.),0no.()0

Funds reserved to meet all Liabilities.
Re—Insurance Reserve, Legal Standard..- .. . I,'7‘§.1.,<).15._3.1
Unsettled Losses and other Claims,,...............,. . ., m . 317,054m2
Net Surplus over Capital and Liabilities, .. .. . , Ingrlopirofir)
Total Assets, January [st 18%. _. . $.1...1,33‘()IH,8(5

JAMES NICHOLS, President; E. G. RICHARDS, ViceJ’l‘eHidL-nl nml Envy;
B. R. STILL'MAN. ASh‘l Seu'y.

1851 185,-)H

The Phoenix MutUal Life Insurance Co.

of Hartford, Connecticut.

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Jonathan B. Bunce, President, .
John M. Holcombe, Vioe~President,
Charles H. Lawrence, Secretary.




,1,” .— 4;;

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The Connecticut Mutual

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THE C(iNNlCCTIc‘U't‘ Mt"1‘t'..\ittal;es for its single aim the

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JACOB L. GREENE, Prest. Row-Hen A1. lumen, Sec.
JOHN M. TAYLOR, V.-Prest. DANIEL ll. WELLS, Actuary

ALFRED T. RICHARDS, General Agent, Company’s Building, llartford. Conn.


1! magazine Published in the
Interest 0! the Blind. . . . .


The work of the magazine is largely done
by the blind people and your interest and sup—
port is solicited, that its circulation may in-
crease. Every subscription helps towards furn—
ishing employment for the blind. Published
by the Printing Department of the Institution,

334 and 336' Wethersfie/a’ Aye” Hartford, Conn.

. . Subscription Price $1.00 per year.



l 899

Columbia and Hartford Bicyeies.

Columbia Bevel-Gear Chainless, $75
Models 50 and 51.
Columbia Chain Wheels, . . . 50
Models 57 and 58.
Columbia Chain Wheels, . . . 40
Model 49, 1899 Improvements.

Columbia Tandems, . . . . . 75

Mods. 47 and 48. Diamond and Combination

Hartford Bicycles, . . . . . . 35

Patterns 19 and 20.

j Pat. 21, for Men. 25

Vedette BicyCIe 1 Pat. 22, for Women, 26

We also have a few Columbias. Model 46,
and Hartfords, Patterns 7 and S, on which we
will quote prices on application.

No need to purchase poorly made bi—
cycles when Columbias, Hartfords and
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The best of the riding season is before
you. BUY now.

POPE MFG. 00., Hartford, Conn.








 ‘3. -.11....‘—_...-...«’.‘.:t .









IT was in May, 1895, and I was on my way to Greece. Northern Germany,
Hungary, and the greater part of Servia had been traversed in an almost
uninterrupted railroad journey of forty-eight hours, and at the town of
Nissa, the birthplace of Constantine the Great, where the roads to the Bos-
porus and to the zEgean Sea divide, Southern Servia, which, until 1878,
belonged to Turkey, had been reached. My through car, Buda-Pesth-
Salouica, of which I then was the only occupant, was detached from the Con—
stantinople express and joined to the few cars that were about to start south-
ward for the present Turkish frontier. The sun was just about to rise, and,
as the time table allowed five hours for a distance of less then eighty miles,
there was ample opportunity to View the country and the people.
We were going up a valley of moderate width, bounded by rugged hills.
A muddy river, the Morava, mostly very shallow, was flowing between poor
pastures and poorer fields. Soon we commenced to pass large herds of
swine, tended by men in the Servian costume, consisting of brown knee
breeches, a short brown jacket, a brown cap without a brim, a gray sash, and
gray stockings laced almost up to the knees with the strings of leather san-
dals. From time to time there was a village of wretched clay huts, and but
few brick buildings, with enclosures of briar twigs around each yard and the
whole place. Evidently some of the hovels were inhabited by men and
geese and swine at the same time. Bye and bye the river contracted into a
brooklet. and the hills became barren mountains; on the left a snowy peak,
Riladagh, in Bulgaria, became visible, and far in front a whole snow range
loomed up. It was the Sardagh, the highest mountain ridge in European
Turkey. At laSt the lonely frontier station was at hand, and I caught sight
of a group of Turkish soldiers, who WS’J’? #9 protect our train as we proceeded




through the provinces of Kosovo and Macedonia. They wore wide red
trousers tied below the knees, blue coats and red fezes. Their rather kindly
faces singularly contrasted with the rifles in their hands and the belts of
'cartridges they carried around their waists. After an examination of my
passport and valise, my car was attached to the Turkish train, and the two
hundred miles ride through the very heart of the Sultan’s European domin—
ions began. The country improved as the road commenced to descend to the
upper valley of the Vardar river, which comes from the snow range men-
tioned above. Though this appeared grander and grander as we drew nearer,
glimpses of oriental life right and left soon claimed the greater part of my
interest. Had it not been for the absence of palm-trees and the sands of the
desert, one might have believed himself to be in Palestine or Arabia. Indeed,
it was difficult for me to realize that I was still in the same car I had boarded
in the magnificent station of Buda-I’esth. in the midst of \Yestern civilization.

There were herdsmen in oriental costume resting in the shade of a pine-
tree, while their dogs were tending their flocks; men with fezes or turbans
tilling their fields with hoes, as their predecessors had done two thousand
years ago; women with white head dresses picking weeds, quickly hiding the
lower parts of their faces with a piece of linen as the train came up, and
throwing it on their backs again as we went out of sight: maidens drawing
water from a spring, reminding of Rebecca; a closely veiled lady of rank in a
costly embroidered attire, mounted on a mule led by a man with a long,
white beard and a snow white turban, as venerable as a patriarch of old; now
and then in the distance, by the edge of the valley, lofty white minarets and
low domed mosques, surrounded by dark cypresses. Stations came and
went, and our escort of soldiers changed again and again. \Ve now ap-
proached Uskup, the capital of the province of Kosovo, which commands the
passes to Albania, Bosnia, Servia, Bulgaria and Macedonia. It was a pic-
turesque sight indeed. In the background the snow mountains; in the fore-
ground the town, surmounted by a hill with ancient fortifications, rising
from a fertile plain; five, ten, twenty slender white minarets, mosques and
churches, and a Ma‘hometan cemetery, strewn with rocks and without any
enclosure. Here a stop of some length was i: ade for dinner. The meal was
good, but had not two other gentlemen assisted me, the a 'aricious waiter,
who 'was surely not a Turk, would have given me only a small part of the
change that was due.

Soon after we had resumed our ride. a Bulgarian merchant, who had
occupied a compartment in my car, called to :{press his indignation at the
action of the waiter. So far, I had found German or French completely
sn ficicnt, but this time I had to resort to Italian, as this was the only one of

the leading languages my visitor spoke, along with three or four tongues of

his peninsula that were entirely unknown to me. \Vhen he had returned to







his compartment I paid my respects to him, but owing to my lack of practiCe

in Italian, my contributions to the conversation were rather meagre. Before .

my Bulgarian friend left, we had lost sight of the snow mountains and the

plain, and entered the narrow and utterly barren, but highly romantic gorge

of the middle Vardar. Often there was scarcely space and soil enough for a
tuft of grass between the foaming river on the one side and the precipitous
rocks on the other; for a long distance no trace of a human habitation except
a celebrated convent, perched on a mountain top toward the left. Gradually
the sternness of the scenery mitigated. The gorge expanded into a valley.
Small pastures and fields, villages, and even towns reappeared. The few
trees that were seen assumed a more southerly character. Views of distant
mountain chains opened towards the east. There were also many more inter-
esting scenes from Turkish life. '

In one place I saw a sad contrast. In a little garden, immediately by a
station where we had a stop of several minutes, a bare-footed girl in a ragged,
squalid dress, who, from the absence of a veil, must have been a Christian,
was drawing water from a well. The chain, to which the very large bucket
was fastened, passed over a roller which was turned by means of four spokes.
There was an expression of utter dejection on the girl’s face, as she was
straining every muscle to turn the creaking Windlass or lifting the heavy
bucket and pouring its contents into smaller vessels to water the flowers.
Near by in a field, only separated by a hedge and a row of plane—trees, a
young man was cutting oats and barley with a sickle. He was dressed all in
white, with wide trousers, blouse and turban, and a wide, glowing red sash.
His work was progressing vigorously, and he presented the very picture of
joyful contentedness. \Vould he, or any other, ever do anything to lighten
the lot of the poor girl by the well?

In the largest town we passed so close by some Turkish houses that it was
easy to distinguish which parts were set aside for the woman, or the women
of the family, though it was impossible to recognize anything behind the
dark glass or gratings of their windows and balconies. A woman outdoors
happened to have the lower part of her face uncovered but no sooner (lid she
see that I was observing her than she pushed the linen up to its usual place,
and punished my unholy impertincnce with, an angry flash from her flaming
dark eyes. _

When the setting sun gilded the clouds and spread a purple huc over the
eastern mountains, we were still two hours from our destination. Finally the
conductor called for my ticket and his backshish—he had been very devout
all the way—and at 10:15 we arrived at Salonica. I was taken into a room in
the midst of which a Turkish ofiicial was sittingr at a small, round table, with
two hotel porters by his side. The latter explained to me, the one in Ger-

man, the other in French, that the man wanted to see my passport in order





to register me, and at the same time neither of them failed to recommend the
advantages of his hotel. After casting a helpless glance at my passport, the
official, by means of the porters, gave me to understand that he could not
read Roman script, and I, through the same mediums, intimated to him that
I did not know the Turkish language. That made him look a shade more
doleful, but he resorted to having me pronounce my name and the rest of the
things he was obliged to get, and wrote some characters on his paper that
were meant to represent them. Then I was free to go, and I decided for the
French speaking porter, whose hotel had previously been recommended to
me. We mounted a carriage, and a few minutes later descended in front of a
brilliantly lighted court, where a band of music in a pavillion was playing to
an audience that was conspicuous through the absence of Mahometans. I
declined to sit down in the court, and was shown to a room on the second
floor, which, both by its size and its furniture, was easily the finest apartment
I had ever occupied in a hotel. At the same moment the band in the court
below struck up the German national anthem, but even this courtesy did not
induce me to change my intentions, and I retired after having taken some
glasses of soda and written a short letter, wondering whether my slumber
would be disturbed by unbidden guests, which fortunately did not material-
ze. For a while I was troubled with the buzz of rolling wheels that I had
heard for the past sixty-five hours, but soon Nature claimed her right.
Suddenly I heard a knock on the door, and a voice said it was six o’clock.
It was broad daylight indeed, but I was so very tired. A minute later my
porter knocked and informed me that it was seven. Now I had to get up,
because my steamer was to leave at nine, and at the rate at which I was sleep-
ing it would have been nine after two more minutes. I quickly dressed and
breakfasted, paid a bill of $1.40, and started out with the porter. Through a
few streets paved with broad stone slabs we soon reached the harbor, and
towering above the greenish waters of the gulf stood the snowy summit of
Mount Olympus. It was not a dream. I was actually on ancient Greek
soil, and was really to see the Acropolis of Athens before another twenty-four
hours had passed. Still, I had to get out of Turkey first, and getting out is
almost more difficult than getting in. My valise was examined again, and,
as the police station was not open yet, the three officials at the harbor had to
be bribed by a backshish of twenty cents each, before I could have myself
rowed out to the steamer Senegal, which was anchoring far away from the
shore. My Jewish boatman puffed and panted as hard as he could to induce
me to increase his pay, but my attention was more and more absorbed by the

magnificent panorama of Salonica, once Thessalonica, unfolding along the
shore and in the hills. Too soon was reached the Senegal, and I had left
Macedonia, probably never to see it again while the Sultan is ruling it.—[The



IT is an old story that has been handed down in the annals of the families

whose ancestors had a part in the great harvesting, and has so often been
repeated with pride by the old and listened to with interest by the young
that it has acquired a certain dignity. So many have expressed the wish that
it might be preserved in print, that I have endeavored to gratify them by
noting it down as I heard it from the lips of an aged aunt, whose grandmother
was one of the harvesters.

It was a long while ago, when the country was new, and when the first
little detachment from the Boston colony came to settle about here. For fear
of the Indians, who troubled them a little now and then, they thought best to
build their log-houses near together in the bend of what was called later
the town brook.

To the north was the great round hill, as a protection against the blasts
of winter, and in front a broad sweep of meadow that gave the situation its
chief attraction. On the plateau between stood the log-houses of the
“Neighborhood,” as it was called, and afterwards “Emerson Neighborhood,"
because it was said that there was Emerson blood in every one of the original
families, and each of these families owned a strip of land beginning on Round
Top and ending at the Great River.

At first the men were industrious, and set to work with a will to clear the
land and to make comfortable homes, and to establish schools and churches,
the little settlement being one of the tiny rootlets of the great Christian
nation that was to be. Soon, however, a fellow named Duncan came from no
one knew where, and took up a tract of land further up the brook, where
there was a water privilege, and instead of the sawmill they were planning to
have there, he put up a distillery to make the good grain raised on the new
land into liquor. That was the opening of a door through which the demon
of drink inevitably stole in, putting an end to all true progress, except such
as the women were able to make.

The settlers who came to reinforce the pioneers were not of the best; and
for the children growing up to be young men and women there were no
advantages but such as the mothers were able to give them. The girls were
bright, industrious and good, learning to spin and to weave, to knit and to
sew, to cook and be thrifty housekeepers, and they could read and write and
figure a little, and had all of them much knowledge of the Bible.




But the boys grew up to hunt, fish, hang around the distillery, and to
work when there was no help for it. Yet they were, after all, noble—spirited,
handsome fellows, and they courted the bright girls, and there would be a
young couple going off through the wilderness on horseback to the nearest
minister, and there would gather a “bee” who would, in short order, put up
a new log—house into which the couple would go, and a new family would be
established on the same old basis: The men having a right to rule and to
vote—after the towns were incorporated—whether they were drunk or sober,
and the women having a right to work and to hate liquor, although this
hatred did not extend to those who drank it, nor enable them to wage a war
of extermination.

To get an adequate yield from the land there was, of course, much hard
work required, and this the men said it was impossible for them to do without
liquor, the effect of which, they said, went ofi in perspiration, leaving no
harmful results.

Among the very few who dared demur to this was Tabitha Wells, a young
woman whose father and mother had both died soon after they came to the
settlement, leaving her in their comfortable log-house by herself. There she
had remained, doing her work indoors and out, cultivating what land she
could, and having no help because she would not allow any one who drank
liquor upon her premises.

“Was not my father drowned in crossing the brook, coming home at
night from the distillery,” she would say, “and in consequence, did not my
mother pine and die of a broken heart? Am I to caress the hand that has
smitten me?” .

Although she tilled but little land, she was blessed with such bountiful
crops that the men when in their cups said the witches helped her, and she
was looked upon with suspicion; but by the women she was loved and
respected, in time growing to be their leader in thought and action.

In her sweet girlhood Tabitha engaged herself in marriage to John
Slocum, a youth a few years her senior, who at that time bade fair to become
the one temperance man in all the neighborhood; but, one haying time, over-
come by the influence and example of all the others, he took his first draught
of the stuff made at the distillery, and was soon as bad as any of them.

“I will not break my troth with you,” said Tabitha, “but while you drink
liquor I will neither keep company with you nor marry you.”

This exasperated Slocum, and he declared to the men that Tab was a
high-strung filly, and he was better off without than with her; but at the same
time his love for her increased with his respect, and although he durst not go
upon her premiseS, he managed to see her often, and treated her with the

utmost respect and politeness. She would allow no lovering.

At length there came to the colony a woman of German descent, claiming



 ,__...__.,..__ .___.._..__._._. -._‘......> .... . >i'


some distant relationship with the Emersons, who vas well educated, and,
opening a school in Tabitha’s house, she made her home there.

A very bright woman was Madam Vaughn. She had seen a good deal of
the world, and many people. She was probably a refugee, but, although that
was thought of, no one knew for sure, and she lived on uumolested; very
silent and quiet with the men, but putting agreat many independent ideas
into the minds of the women, and talking of woman’s rights in a way to
cause them to rebel against their present wrongs.

“Most women will submit from force of habit,” she said, “and Will not
accept the rights they have to bring up their families properly, and to main-
tain orderly Christian homes. The women here have a right to protest
against the goings on of the men, and to demand that they give up liquor, and
go to work in a true manly fashion to bring this township up to a level with
the towns all around you in improvements and in morals and religion. You
don’t want to be a town of logs while your neighbors are living in frame
houses, but you will be, as long as a distillery takes the place of a sawmill in
your midst.”

The year before, it had transpired in the Emerson neighborhood that
there was not grain enough for the breadstuff and the liquor also, so in the
autumn the men put their heads together and planned to clear the whole of
Round Top and sow it to rye, that they might not come short at the distillery.

The brush had been burned off, but the logs and stumps had been left,
and the grain sown around in the deep, rich soil that had been loosened with
pick-ax and spade, but not plowed. as it was too rough.

“Drunken works, drunken works l” Madam Vaughn would say, “all
done by the help of liquor, that more liquor may follow! \‘Chat can we do
about it?"

In the spring it seemed as if every kernel of grain that had been sown
came up with a purpose to show what could be done under adverse circum-

“It is alesson to us!" Madam Vaughn would say, as it grew until the
bearded heads all swayed evenly together above the rocks and logs and
stumps, making of the great round hill a beautiful and wonderful sight. “\Ve
must rise above our surroundings if we are to accomplish our purpose in the
world.” And over and over she said: “\Vhat are we to do about that beauti-
ful crop?”

“\Ve might burn it,” some one suggested. “It is ripening now, and we
could easily set the logs and stumps on fire."

“No, that would be wrong. It would be waste. Let us ask the Lord.
He will show us the way. He has given us a good season and a heavy crop,
enough for some good purpose, if only we could bring it about.”

The haying in the neighl‘mrhood had all been done, after a fashion, and




the men had gone to the distillery for a holiday, as it was their habit to do
after finishing one piece of work, before beginning another.

“The brawling of the men from the distillery can be heard even here,"
said Tabitha. “It is hard telling what they will do before night if they get
as noisy as this so early in the morning.”

“And they have taken some of the boys with them for the first time. It
is a great shame,” replied Madam Vaughn, “It seems to me there must be
some way for us to put a stop to such things. That I do not accomplish more
must be because I have no men folks of my own in whom I am particularly
interested. I do not pray in faith; and it may be the same way with you,

“There'is some one in whom I have a deep interest, but there seems to be
no way in which I can help him to a better life,” and Tabitha related her
brief love episode.

“Let us call the women together and talk it over,” said Madam Vaughn.
“The men have continual holidays, but the women work from year’s end to
year’s end. This shall be the women’s day.”

So they made a rally; there were foot-paths, the nearest cut between all
the houses. No one took time to go by the road, and in a surprisingly short
while all the women in the neighborhood were assembled in Tabitha’s neat

“It is easy to talk and to sigh and to weep,” said Mother Phillips, “but
what can we do that will be of effect ?"

“Harvest the rye ourselves” said Tabitha.

“That would please them too well,” said some one else.

“We would do it for good luck. It would be the first stroke of work
without liquor.”

“I have often used the reaping hook in my own country,” said one who
had not been over long.

“It is the full of the moon,” suggested another.

“And the men, tired with their day at the distillery, will go to bed with
the hens.”

“And we can reap the rye, there are so many of us, between moonrise
and dawn,” decided Tabitha, “I myself, if I set out, can reap as much as any
man in the settlement.”

“Women have ‘rights,’ ” said Madam Vaughn, “Let us take the right to
reap that grain. We have asked that it may be done without the help of
liquor. The Lord has given us the opportunity and shown us the way. Let
us ask Him to bless our undertaking.”

They all knelt, in their blue and white check, home-made linen gowns,
on the white sanded floor, and when they again stood up, looking into each
other‘s faces, there was not the shadow of a doubt anywhere remaining.





. ._,_ . _ -.,.._____._.-... ._. __...__..___.-,,_.._...... . . . . ... ., ,.


“Now go home and prepare food for our midnight meal,” said Madam
Vaughn, who was a born leader, and Tabitha added: “And I will heat my
chimney oven, and you can bring your food here and cook it when it is

This was done; and while the brown bread and beans were baking, and
the beef, pork and Indian pudding were boiling, they prayed, asking the
Lord for strength of body to do the work, and strength of mind to carry out
their purpose.

The lords of creation came home, as they were expected to, very much
the worse for liquor, and tumbled into bed. The women milked the cows,
made everything snug, and taking their sickles and their food, started for the

As they reached the border of the great grain field, Madam Vaughn said:
“Away among the German Alps they have the pretty custom of blessing the
harvest. They have a priest, to be sure, who sprinkles incense upon a tire of
fagots kindled upon a rock, and with a green branch sprinkles holy water in
the air. It is beautiful always to show our dependence upon God; and this
we feel, and while we work we may lift up our hearts in silent prayer, with
the certainty that our supplications will be heard, and that this harvest the
Lord will surely bless.”

Then, one by one, silently and swiftly, they set to work. There was no
talking, and there could be no racing, for there were so many obstacles that
each one worked as she could.

At midnight they ate their dinner, and never meal tasted sweeter than
that by the light of moon and stars.

Then they got to work again, and as the first cock crew, away in the clus-
ter of low houses in the bend of the brook, the grain was flat, and they made
haste for home, all agreeing to kindle a fire and to go at once about breakfast,
under the pretense of the men having a hard day before them and needing an
early start.

It was not yet sunrise when the men of the neighborhood set out for the
mountain, each man with a stone jug and a sickle.

They were cross from the excesses of the day before, and bragged and
boasted and bet as to who would do the most, and argued as to who should
strike in first, as if they were to reap on the smooth velvet sward of the

As they reached the great flat rock where the women had eaten their

lunch they set their jugs in a row and “chose up,”

with two smooth sticks, to
see who should have the first stroke.

It fell to \Vill Battles, and, as he seized a reaping hook and ran for the
field, he swore a great oath that no man should hit his heels.

One after another they rushed after him, so that he should not get a





stroke ahead; but stopped, appalled, at the edge of the field, for not a single
golden head of grain was standing to nod a welcome to the rising sun. The
great black stumps and logs were everywhere, and all about among them the
rough ground was covered with a carpet of yellow sheaves.

“This field was never cut by hand of man,” said Colonel Emerson. “I'Iow
short the stubble is! Tab Wells and Madam Vaughn must have reaped it
with their tailoring shears. It is witches’ work.”

“We will see,” said old Gideon Fisk. “Witches work always proves
itself. Grain reaped by witches cannot be bound. It comes ‘heads and
butts—heads and butts.’ That is how the ‘witch shears’ cut.”

“That is right,” said Sam Fletcher, who was “master pious" when he
had been drinking. “It must have been cut by the angels. Some one has
been prayin’. ”

“So they have,” said little Ed Trask, the youngest one in the company.
“I heard them yesterday when I came up from the distillery after dad‘s jugs.
There was a powerful meetin' at Tab’s. I heard Madam Vaughn pray that
confusion might take the rum jugs, and that the harvest might be made
without liquor.”

“Well,” said Sam Fletcher, “I will tell you what I think. That prayer
must be answered. We won’t say a word to the women folks, but we will
leave the jugs where they are as long as the hill shall stand, and we will go
to work and bind this grain, and never as long as we live let the women know
that we found it cut for us.”

So to work they went with a will—and soon the women, looking out, saw
rows of sheaves dotting the edge of the field, and they could see that the men
were piling the logs into heaps about the stumps.

When at length they came to dinner, the women were gratified, but not
surprised (for they had prayed in faith), to see by the deportment of the men,
young and old, they had absta