File:Outing (1885) (14579663368).jpg

Identifier: outing55newy (find matches)
Title: Outing
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: Leisure Sports Travel
Publisher: (New York : Outing Pub. Co.)
Contributing Library: Tisch Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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equatelysheltered under a leafless shrub. Con-versation languished, grew weaker, anddied away entirely. We sat in silence,listening to the dreary drip-drip of therain. A man, bestriding a dun mule, passedalong the road; he was noticeably underthe influence of the vile liquor they sell in that section; otherwise we could nothave explained his being hatless andsinging loudly in the pouring rain.When opposite the house, he whoopedlike an Indian, waved a hand derisively,and kicked the mule into a sloppy lope. He ought to have made two loadsout of that one hes taking home, ob-served Packard wearily. Our hithertoapathetic hostess was standing in thedoor behind us as he spoke. That was my son Amos, she saidbluntly. Hes gone to the dogs andwe dont allow him on our place. Thatsthe reason he whooped like that; he al-ways does it. For once Packard was at a loss forwords, a state in which I loyally sup-ported him, which did not escape theperception of the lady. It unaccountably broke the crust of
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CONVERSATION LANGUISHED, GREW WEAKER, AND DIED AWAY ENTIRELY. EUPHEMIA OF THE LINGERING YOUTH 163 ti * : d her reserve and she became talkative.Talkative, did I say? Nay, more. Shebecame a sparkling fountain of words.She tapped the reservoirs of knowledgefor our benefit, and she was custodian ofthe gates. At her finger tips reposedthe intimate history, the personal andprivate annals, of every individual with-in a days journey, and the data werearranged, indexed, and classified forready reference. Hers was a mind gifted with a quaintand picturesque philosophy, and herwarehouse of facts seemed inexhaustible.Poetry, humor, romance? Ill leave itto Packard; he is contesting the pointno longer. And of all the goodly feastin which we reveled that November day,while the rain pelted and pattered, Pack-ard was most enthralled by the tale ofEuphemia, albeit she was but one ofmany. Shorn of introduction, our host-ess told it thus. Just beyond the knob of the hillthere, she said, is the schoolhous

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