The Village Watch-Tower

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Wiggin Kate Douglas Smith. The Village Watch-Tower

THE VILLAGE WATCH-TOWER

THE VILLAGE WATCH-TOWER

TOM O’ THE BLUEB’RY PLAINS

THE NOONING TREE

THE FORE-ROOM RUG

A VILLAGE STRADIVARIUS

THE EVENTFUL TRIP OF THE MIDNIGHT CRY

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It stood on the gentle slope of a hill, the old gray house, with its weather-beaten clapboards and its roof of ragged shingles. It was in the very lap of the road, so that the stage-driver could almost knock on the window pane without getting down from his seat, on those rare occasions when he brought “old Mis’ Bascom” a parcel from Saco.

Humble and dilapidated as it was, it was almost beautiful in the springtime, when the dandelion-dotted turf grew close to the great stone steps; or in the summer, when the famous Bascom elm cast its graceful shadow over the front door. The elm, indeed, was the only object that ever did cast its shadow there. Lucinda Bascom said her “front door ‘n’ entry never hed ben used except for fun’rals, ‘n’ she was goin’ to keep it nice for that purpose, ‘n’ not get it all tracked up.”

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“He ain’t,” said old Mrs. Bascom, “so you needn’t look; can’t you see the curtains is all down? He’s gone up to the Mills, ‘n’ it’s my opinion he’s gone to speak to the minister.”

“He hed somethin’ in the back o’ the wagon covered up with an old linen lap robe; ‘t ain’t at all likely he ‘d ‘a’ hed that if he’d ben goin’ to the minister’s,” objected Mrs. Jot.

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