Ah, Love nor cared nor knew!
Charlotte Becker.
THE DESPOT
By Johnson Morton
It was the boast of the summer dwellers in Roscoe that they had not spoiled the place. Mr. William Bangs was reiterating this to his wife’s niece, who stood regarding his potato patch rather disdainfully through the glamour of a lorgnette.
“You see, Annie, my house is no better than my neighbors’, my land not so good,” he went on. “We keep no servants, in the accepted sense, only the girls whom you have seen—farmers’ daughters from the mountain road—or, as your aunt Mary will put it, ‘We look to the hills whence cometh our help.’ And the outside work is done by Paterson Roscoe and myself, with occasional aid in haying time. The Smiths live in quite the same fashion, the Jacksons, with all their money, just as simply, and the Babbits and Thomases follow the lead. As a result”—he dug his hoe into a hill of potatoes and Miss Jenkins drew back a high-heeled slipper from the contact—“we have an ideal community. The villagers haven’t lost their proper sense of democracy and equality. And we—the outsiders—have learned much from meeting these plain, simple folk on their own ground. So I don’t really approve of this plan of yours. It’s a tremendous innovation. We’ve got on quite well enough for nearly four years without entertainments, save those which are, so to speak, indigenous and natural. I don’t at all like the idea of vaudeville, and I abhor a raffle!”
“But the church does need the money so much, Uncle William,” the girl interrupted, “and it’s a Unitarian church, so the raffle doesn’t matter. Mr. Blythe says he sees no objection to it if it’s conducted properly, and everyone is so interested. All the Pungville people will come in quite a procession, and Tom Mason is to drive the performers over on his coach.”
“Oh, if Tom Mason’s the reason”—uncle William’s hoe rested helplessly—“there’s nothing more to be said.” Annie frowned behind a smile. “But we’ve been thanking Heaven every night of our lives that nineteen stiff miles lay between us and that barbarous Pungville.”