1884 numbers of the Bay state monthlyBe the first and subjects of first 10 volumes and List of por.

The Granite monthly, a New Hampshire magazine, devoted to literature, history, and state progress (Volume 53) online

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shoot then. This is a principle,
and I may as well die for it.

Aunt Polly (In despair finds knob
and rings): Operator! This is
Airs. Walker talking. I want
Emergency ! Emergency ! Don't
you understand ? E-mer-gen-cy !
What kind of a place is this? Oh,
you're emergency too. Yes, I said
this is Mrs. Walker talking. Mrs.
Walker, yes, at the Reynolds farm.
I want you to inform the proper
authorities that I have captured the
man they are hunting for single-
handed. And that he is at present
in my persession. Yes, that's what
I .said, in my persession. I want
them to come and get him at once.
At once ! Rightaway, do you un-
derstand ? Thank you ! Oh, it was
nothing at all. It was very simple!

Van Deuten: (Echoing): Yes,
quite simple !

Aunt Polly (Hanging up the re-
ceiver) : Susan! O Susan! (She
opens the door to the kitchen and
calls loudly.) Well, where have
you been? (Susan appears) Sus-
an, I've caught him, do you under-
stand ?

Susan (Eyeing the revolver) :
Caught whom ?



Aunt Polly (Waving the revolv-
er) : The man who escaped! And
I've got him locked up right over
there in that cupboard !

Susan: You don't say, Aunt
Polly! How jolly!

["a;/ Deuten: Yes, very jolly!

(Susan starts at the sound of the
voice.)

Aunt Polly: Don't you let me
hear a yip from you again, young
man! Do you understand? (She
waves the revolver) Or I will
shoot ! The idea of his mocking
us !

Susan (Running up to her and
whispering) : Oh, do be careful.
Aunt Polly! It might go off. Tell
me, what does he look like ?

Aunt Polly: Oh, you'd know the
instant you saw him that he's an
escaped lunatic. (Groans from the
the closet) Striped shirt and
trousers and no hat, and great nails
as long as that in his shoes. And
his face — you ought to see his face !
He looks like a criminally insane
person if I ever saw one. (Moans
from the cupboard) Imagine ! —
When I came down the stairs, he
was dancing around with that im-
modest thing in his arms! (Points
to Betty)

Susan: Say, you're a brick, Aunt
Polly ! You're a heroine ! Did he
struggle at all?

Aunt Polly: How could he? In
an instant I had the revolver at his
head. "If you move a muscle,"
I says, "your brains'll never give
the world any more trouble !" And
he wasn't so crazy but what he un-
derstood that !

Susan: Oh dear! I'm so sorry!
Oh, what a vexatious thing!

Aunt Polly: What do you mean,
child? What is there to be sorry
about? I'd like to know. I guess
you'd have been sorry if it hadn't
been for me !

Susan: Oh, what a vexatious
thing! If I had only been here —
Just think ! — I could have thrown



ALL ALONE IN THE COUNTRY



245



the dough-ball right at him in
earnest ! Wouldn't it have been
jolly?

Aunt Polly: I hope it will be a
lesson to the entire family never to
stay another night in this house
without a loaded revolver.

Susan: I really think hereafter
we'll make father carry one when
he goes out to milk the cows.

Aunt Polly (Pacing up and down
the floor) : I telephoned the au-
thorities and I expect they'll be
here for him most anytime now.
I hope so !

Susan: Now, Aunt Polly, you
ought to know the country authori-
ties better than that.

Aunt Polly (In a low tone) : I
shall want to change my dress be-
fore they come, Susan. I should
hate to have them find me like
this. So I want you to take this
revolver, Susan, and stand here on
guard. (She hands her the re-
volver which Susan takes ginger-
ly.) The door is securely locked,
and he has strict orders not to move
in the slightest degree. If he does,
call me at once. Be very careful
of the revolver. I always hate to
see anybody use one who ain't used
to it.

Susan: Oh, I quite understand.
You needn't have the slightest fear.

(Aunt Polly goes out at left
front. -Susan follows her to the
door and listens until she is sure
Aunt Polly is on the stairs. Then
she struggles with the revolver un-
til she has opened the barrel, when
she picks out the cartridges one by
one and hides them under a pillow
on the sofa.)

Susan: There! That's much
safer. (She then strides up toward
the cupboard door and levels the
weapon at it.) Hello, the cup-
board !

Van Dcutcu: Susan, open up, will
you? That's a good girl! I've
played 'coop' here about long
enough.



Susan: So it was Dick! (Ad-
dressing him) I understand, sir,
that you are a very desperate char-
acter.

J 'an Dcutcu: Susan!

Susan: That you are a criminal,
and that (snorting with glee) one
has only to see your face to know
at once —

Van Dcutcu: Wait till I catch
you !

Susan: To know at once that
you are an escaped lunatic !

Van Dcutcu: I'll make you sorry
for this!

Susan: Not a word in there!
Not a yip from you, young man, or
your brains will spatter the cup-
board ! Do you understand that
you are a prisoner? (Chortling) A
prisoner? Answer me!

Van Dcutcu: I've done nothing
for the last half hour but answer
bullying women like a school-boy !

Susan: It was high time that
somebody took you in hand, young
man. I have known that for

months.

Van Dcutcu: Oh, I say, Susan,
I want some air and sunlight in my
cell.

Susan: You are absolutely and
indisputably in my power, and you
have no recourse. (She taps on
the door with the revolver.) I
know from past observations of you
that you won't even start a hun-
ger-strike.

Van Dcutcu: If you don't let
me out. I shall make it known pub-
licly that this utter fool of a woman
is a relative of yours.

Susan: Oh, I should love to
hear you when you make it
known publicly. I can just hear
you at the postomce of an even-
ing. (Mocking) "Here, was I,
Dick Van Deuten, the artist, out
for "me daily trot" after a morn-
ing's hard work with the brush. I
was wearing my running costume —
nothing crazy about the costume,
gentlemen, I submit — when all of



246



THE GRANITE MONTHLY



a sudden a perfect fool of a woman
holds me up with a revolver and
assures me that I am an escaped
lunatic. What utter rot, gentle-
men ! She is from the city, a rela-
tive of the Reynolds famly, which
of course tells you what an ass she
must be. And this woman, after
insulting me and repeatedly declar-
ing that my features belong to the
criminal type, this woman locks me
up, gentlemen, at the point of a
revolver. Locks me up in the cup-
board, gentlemen ! Of course it is
obvious that the whole affair is
preposterous and that the Reynolds'
and all their relatives, are perfect
asses." What sympathy will be
aroused among the people waiting
for their mail! I fairly weep!

Van Dcutcn : You hyena-woman !
(Pounds on the door)

Susan: Oh, but vengeance is
sweet ! And now shall we have a
look at the prisoner, or shall we
keep him in confinement until the
authorities arrive? (She rattles
the lock as if unlocking it, while
Van Deuten thumps on the other
side of the door.) Not just yet,'
young man. The opportunity is
too glorious not to prolong it. Do
you forswear all vengeance?

Van Dcutcn: I'll be hanged if I
do.

Susan: Half an hour longer then !
Do you confess your crimes?

Van Dcutcn: No, but I confess
my criminal intentions.

Susan: Two hours longer then.
Do you admit your lunacy?

Van Dcutcn: Yes, willingly.

Susan: Then, as is the custom in
this country, we will give you
freedom. (She unlocks the door
and Van Deuten hobbles out.
Susan is convulsed with laughter.
Van Deuten blinks at the light and
holds aloft a jar of jam he has
taken from the cupboard.)

Van Dcutcn: Who said hunger-
strike?

Susan: Oh, what an obvious



criminal ! Notice the striped cos-
tume with its murderous shoes.
Mark closely the hard lines on the
face, the meager brain capacity,
and the low slanting forehead !

Van Dcutcn: Susan, I'm nearly
famished ! All this has come on top
of a five-mile run. I went over to
Rumney and back across the pas-
tures in 55 minutes today.

Susan: Poor man! We'll get
him some tea right away! (She
goes out to kitchen.)

Van Dcutcn: (Opening up the jam
and sniffing) Now a feller might
enjoy himself, I should say, pro-
vided that she-loon stays upstairs.
And provided we're not visited by
the authorities! So she's from the
city! The most fragrant Reubs
I've ever seen hailed from some
side-street in Boston or New York!
(Seeing the revolver which Susan
has laid down.) By the way, why
shouldn't I make her stay upstairs?
(He thinks for a minute while the
idea grows and then steps with de-
termination to the hall door, opens
it and growls loudly) Er-err-r !
woman, you move a step at your
peril ! Prepare to di-ie. I have cut
the jugular veins of three black
calves, and now I shall seek the
old cow herself ! Er-er-rr-r !

( Loud screams are heard from
upstairs. Susan rushes in from
kitchen.)

Susan: Dick! You'll give her
hysterics! (She pushes him aside
and calls) It's all right, Aunt Polly!
I have him completely in control.
It'.s perfectly safe. (To Van Deu-
ten dubiously) I think she's com-
ing down.

Van Dcutcn: I've a good mind to
take the gun and drive her into the
cupboard just to show her what its
like !

Susan: You'll do no such thing!

(He beats her to the table,
snatches up the revolver and covers
Aunt Polly as she enters.)

Win Dcutcn: Er-r-r ! Not a



ALL ALONE IN THE COUNTRY



247



word there! Into the cupboard
with you !

(There are wild shrieks. Susan
chases Van Deuten about the room,
crying, "It isn't loaded, Aunt Polly !
Don't be afraid !" Van Deuten
keeps up a mock growling- which
quiets as he finally allows Susan to
take the revolver away from him.)

Susan: There's really nothing to
fear. You see I let him out !

Aunt Polly: You let him out!

Susan (thinking hard): Yes, you
see I — I had to get the tea things.
We have to serve tea at four o'clock,
you know, every afternoon !

Aunt Polly (Her attention dis-
tracted from Van Deuten by this
remark): Serve tea! Y r ou don't
mean you serve tea out here in the
country !

Susan (Opening the door to kit-
chen and pulling out the tea
wagon): Yes, we have to relieve
the country life, you know, as much
as we can. so we always have a cup
just before we do the milking.

Aunt Polly: Well, I never!

I an Deuten: You've no idea how
much easier it makes the milkine!

Aunt Polly: And you have a real
tea-wagon !

Susan: I made it myself. Not
bad, is it? (She pours the tea.)

Aunt Polly: I feel awfully kind
of funny !

Susan: You mustn't mind him
(nodding at Van Deuten.) As
soon as I saw him. you know. I
recognized him.

Aunt Polly: You don't mean it!

Susan: Yes. he used to live up
this way. I'll introduce him to you.
Let me make you better acquaint-
ed with Mr. Van Deuten, Mrs.
Walker.

Van Deuten (bowing) : I hope
we're quite.

Aunt Polly (Acknowledging the
introduction wide-eyed, but unable
to address him) : But what did he
mean when he shouted like that?



Susan: Oh, he jus* has fits of
talking in that way. It doesn't
mean anything, but it gave him an
awfully bad reputation.

Aunt Polly: I should think it
would.

Susan: Sit down now, Mr. Van
Deuten, and enjoy your tea. (Van
Deuten glares at her, but the temp-
tation to obey is too great, and he
sits down in the lounge-chair where
he devours the sandwiches and
cakes hungrily.) (To Aunt Polly)
Yes, it's a sad story. I'll tell it "to
you. (Whispers) You know he is
the descendant of a very famous
Dutch family.

Aunt Polly: You don't mean it.
Susan: Yes, one of the original
patroons.

Aunt Polly: I thought he looked
kind of dark-complected !

Susan: He used to live over
here in the valley on the Kearsarge
road ; but it got him in the end.

Aunt Polly: What do you mean?
What got him ?

Susan: Oh, the loneliness of New
Hampshire life ! The bleak, de-
serted hills! And the utter and be-
wildering loneliness!

Aunt Polly: Poor fellow!
Susan: He used to shell beans
for instance until eleven o'clock at
night just for the sociability of it.
And at three o'clock in the morning
he used to tell me, it was such a
relief to meet the cows again! All
day long he used to hoe the wearv
rows of corn without meeting even
the postman. And in the winter
the unending stretches of dazzling
white snow maddened him so that
when he met a man one day, he
didn't know how to behave and so
he killed him. (Van Deuten's face
is a study during this recital.)

Aunt Polly: How little we realize
tragedies like that in the city !

Van Deuten: I was in the city
once, but I shall never be able to go
again.



248



THE GRANITE MONTHLY



Aunt Polly: Isn't it pathetic?
Really, my dear, when I think of
his sufferings, I can hardly make
up my mind to turn him over to
the police. Perhaps if he only had
a few months of real living in the
city, he would recover.

Susan: That's what the doctor
said.

Aunt Polly: You don't mean it?
The doctor said that? (The honk
of an automobile is heard in the
yard. Aunt Polly starts up.)
Here they are now after him.
Quick, young man ! There is only
a minute! (She fairly raises him
by the sweater collar.) Take that
door and run for your- life. (He
slips his .shoes on some way as she
hurries him toward the front door.)
Hide in the woods; and if you can
only get to the city, inquire for the
Y. M. C. A. They will give you a
bed and take care of you. Per-



haps you can still be a useful citi-
zen. Run !

Van Deuten (Going): Madam, I
shall always remember you in my
prayers. (Exit)

Aunt Polly (Closing the door be-
hind him): Tell them he got away
from us, Susan. Tell them he took
the other road, down through the
pasture.

Susan (Looking out of the win-
dow) : Why, it wasn't the police.
Aunt Polly! It's Mother and Dad
back from the Field Day !

Aunt Polly: Your mother and
father ! You don't mean that you
own a motor?

Susan: Why yes. Aunt Polly.
Nearly every farmer has one now-
adays. You see, we have to have
to have something to relieve the
terrible loneliness of country life !

(Curtain)



PIPES OF PAN

By Elizabeth Hope Gordon

"Come into the woods," call the pipes of Pan,

"'Come into the fields and play."
Shrill and sweet on the wind float the notes to me,

"Come into the woods," they say.

"Afar by the brook lies your childhood, lost

With the coming of care and of pain ;
If you pass through green cresses and over the moss.

You may be as a child again.

"For the new baby leaves are unfolding their hands,

With wee wrinkled palms outspread ;
The arbutus breath is astir on the breeze ;

In the swamp maple torches flame red.



"So come to the woods with the soul of a child,

Come into the woods away.
See, the .soft grasses bow to Pan's twinkling feet-

Ah, the lure of the pipes that play !



GUY RICHARDSON



By Fanny Runnclls Poole



In East Haverhill, New Hamp-
shire, is a thrifty white farmhouse
within view of the picturesque
Moosilauke where Guy Richardson
was born about forty-five years ago.
After a few years, his father, George
W. Richardson, who had served
four years in the Civil War, moved
to the village, keeping the general
store thirty years, the post office
sixteen years, and twice represent-
ing Haverhill in the State Legisla-
ture.

His mother, Ellen Ruddick Rich-
ardson, a native of St. John, N. B.,
was twenty years president of the
W. C. T. U. of New Hampshire,
also a member of many charitable,
patriotic and religious societies,
much sought as a public speaker,
greatly valued as a friend. It is an
ideal childhood that Mr. Richard-
son recalls, when his love of liter-
ature and natural history was en-
couraged by helpful parents. Mrs.
Richardson died in March, 1919.
The father, active in the G. A. R..
lives at Concord, N. H. "No one
could have chosen his parents with
greater discretion," as Miss Betham-
Edwards loves to quote in her
"Mid- Victorian Memories.''

When Guy was a little boy he
had a unique library, a printing
press from which issued a family
paper replete with vivid observation
and imagination.

I thought of those early years
when I listened, last January 16th.
to his lecture, "The Love of Ani-
mals," in the crowded hall of the
Boston Public Library. I follow-
ed the student, eager to improve
his time, completing the college
preparatory course at Tilton Semi-
nary in 1892, gaining his A. B. at
the College of Liberal Arts, Bos-
ton University, in 1897. After ex-
perience on the staff of several New



England newspapers, it was the
natural outcome that George T.
Angell should choose him his as-
sociate in editing Our Dumb Animals,
also secretary both of The Ameri-
can Humane Society and the Mass-
achusetts S. P. C. A. After the
death of Pres. Angell in March.
1909, he became chief editor of
Our Dumb Animals, the first and
largest-circulated periodical of its
kind in the world. Mr. Richardson
has studied the treatment of ani-
mals in European countries ; has
appeared before Chautauquan as-
semblies and many humane socie-
ties here and in England. Ever
seeking new channels for his tire-
less researches, he is concerned
with forces that construct and up-
lift, as shown in his editorials. His
pet hobby is the success of the Jack
London Club which now numbers
176,093 members.

In 1915, Mr. Richardson was ap-
pointed Division Commander of
the Sons of Veterans, U. S. A. of
Massachusetts. in 1917 chosen
National Patriotic Instructor of the
Order, being much in request for
Grand Army addresses. This year
he was Memorial Day speaker in
Leominster, Mass. He is editing
many books for the Humane So-
ciety ; is one of the promoters of
the 'national BE KIND TO ANI-
MALS WEEK, observed this year,
April 11-16, and HUMANE SUN-
DAY, observed April 17th for the
seventh time. In a recent week he
gave five lectures in Massachusetts
schools. A thorough worker, Mr.
Richardson is a worthy kinsman of
his uncle, William Ruddick, M. D.,
late of South Boston, whose liberal
sympathies and active charities are
so" well remembered.

In reading Our Dumb Animals
one is glad to note an underlying



250



THE GRANITE MONTHLY




Guy Richardson



GUY RICHARDSON



251



fondness for the best in literature.
One finds few editors, emerging
from the incoming tide of verse,
who have the courage to confess
a real love for poetry; but just the
other day our editor introduced
me to these delightful lines fr m
"Enchanted" by John Masefield,
one of his favorite modern masters
of verse :

O beautiful is love and to be free
Is beautiful, and beautiful are friends.
Love, freedom, comrades, surely make

amends
For all those thorns through which we

walk to death.
God let us breathe your beauty with our

breath !



All early in the Maytime when daylight

comes at four,
We blessed the hawthorn blossom that

welcomed us ashore.
O beautiful in this living that passes like

the foam
It is to go with sorrow yet come with

beauty home.

This love for nature and poetic
values is entered into by Mrs.
Richardson, formerlv Miss Nina L.
J.ynes of Everett, whom he first
met in the Massachusetts S. P. C.
A. offices, and who is an enthusias-
tic companion in her husband's
travels and studies. Their home i.s
in Robinwood avenue, Jamaica
Plain.



MY BABY

By George A. Foster

I've had a gift, a precious boon,
From Heaven it came to me.
As fragrant as the breath of June
Beside the Summer sea.

She brings me peace and vast content
This little baby girl,
Before she came, my steps were bent
Upon a giddy whirl.

Now I'll not ask for greater gifts
Than her soft hands in mine ;
And when her gaze to me she lifts
'Tis like a look divine.

My baby! Ah, what magic lies
Within those words concealed,
'Tis like a bit of Paradise
That's just to me revealed.



I've had a gift, a precious boon.
From Fleaven it came to me.
As fragrant as the breath of June
Beside the Summer sea.



"LOOKING THE FIRST ONE OVER



?>



By T. Wise Chaplin.



We were on our way to the
World's Series. I was located then
in the East, where the people liter-
ally lived on baseball: — morning,
noon and night, it was the food for
conversation at every meal. Any
of the Rig League stars could have
been elected mayor of the city for
life if one decided to live there.

In the Sunset League .series that
year, the race was nip and tuck.
Winter hung on and made the
opening late, but after they once
got going, every afternoon found
on the average a thousand fans
gathered at the playground. They
were great family gatherings with
bankers brushing against stone-cut-
ters, and lawyers, ministers, doc-
tors, merchants and shop-workers
all mingling together, shouting as
with one voice, and holding their
breath when old Bill Sullivan slid
into second. There's nothing like
it on this planet. It is democracy
at its best.

There were six teams in the race
that year : — the Green-Legs, the
Crescents ; the Independents, the
All Stars ; the Walkovers ; the
W T anderers. At the middle of the
season, they were fighting it out
with only four games separating the
Green-Legs who were in the lead
and the Wanderers who occupied
the cellar position. Then sudden-
ly things began to stir. Under
the guidance of a new comer among
us the Wanderers climbed up the
ladder and fought like Trojans to
go into the lead. This new leader
was a lame, but well-built fellow
who gave his services to the Wan-
derers as coach. His name was
Bill Randall. The team fielded like
lightning ; the members played like
lads who were born on a diamond.
Then came the day when after a
hard twelve inning game with the



Green Legs, the Wanderers came
through and won the pennant.

Early in the season, I offered to
take as my guest to the World's
Series, the captain of the winning
team. The Wanderers insisted
that Randall go, so that's how it
came about that we were bowling
over the roads to the Middle West
on what I believe will remain for-
ever the trip of my life.

We planned our journey so that
we would pass through Randall's
home town up in the shadows of
the Adirondack Mountains. He
told me that he wished to see his
mother. But — I did most of the
visiting with her while he went
walking in a woody place with a
girl he adored. His mother was a
white-haired woman who loved to
tell of the time when the woods
were filled with deer, and the bear
and her cubs came often into the
raspberry patch ; of the time when
Bill's father tramped four days
and three nights on snowshoes
over the crusted snows lost in the
big woods on the other side of the
mountain. She told me of the
great-grandfather of Bill, a pioneer
who, with his young bride, plodded
over the trail from Concord, New I
Hampshire to Fort Dummer now I
called Brattleboro, Vermont. The I
trail was a mere bridle path then, |
and every now and then the pioneer
was compelled to stop and blaze
the trail anew. As she told me the
story I could see that ever-increas-
ing procession as it came over the
snows of Winter and under the
blue skies of Summer forever
journeying on toward the Land of
the Sunset. She told me how when
they reached the winding Connecti-
cut River, they learned of the going
North of Eleazer Wheelock with
his two companions and laborers,



LOOKING THE FIRST ONE OVER



253



who were pushing their way up in-
to the hills to lay the foundations
of Dartmouth College. When the
young hride of sixteen summers
heard the wives of the settlers tell
how Madame Wheelock had fol-
lowed her husband a few weeks
later and had gone on toward the
North, the flame of the pioneer
spirit was kindled anew within her
and she was ready to cross over
with her husband to the shore of
Lake Champlain.

"Do you know," Bill's mother
said, "William gets something be-
sides his red hair from his great-
grandmother. From her he in-
herits that persevering .spirit that
helped the college win last spring."

Perseverance — why, that must
have been his middle name. "Never
say die" was his motto. But this
mention of winning a college game
was news to me, so I asked for the
explanation.

The little white-haired lady pok-
ed the logs together on the and-
irons and then sat with hands fold-
ed on her little lace apron while
her mind went back over the old
worn trail of memory, living again
in the days that had gone. At
length, she turned and asked, "Are
you tired?" And then, after I re-
plied in the negative, her face shone
as she said, "I love to let my mind
go wandering in the green pastures
of memory." Her heart was over-
flowing with a great joy, and I —
well, I just couldn't wait for her
to go on ! The fire sent up a show-
er of sparks, while the cat arose,
arched its back, climbed up on the
sofa and resumed its nap that it



Online Library1884 numbers of the Bay state monthlyBe the first and subjects of first 10 volumes and List of porThe Granite monthly, a New Hampshire magazine, devoted to literature, history, and state progress (Volume 53) → online text (page 26 of 57)