The Fillmore Elderberries

"The Fillmore Elderberries" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a charming tale that explores themes of family, community, and the passage of time. Set in the fictional community of Fillmore, the story revolves around the lives of the elderberry farmers and their interactions with each other, the land, and the changing world around them. Through vivid characters and rich storytelling, Montgomery weaves a narrative that highlights the beauty of rural life and the enduring bonds that connect people across generations. The book is infused with her characteristic warmth, humor, and insights into human nature, making it a delightful read for fans of classic literature.

• Short story

								
"I expected as much," said Timothy Robinson. His tone brought the
blood into Ellis Duncan's face. The lad opened his lips quickly, as if
for an angry retort, but as quickly closed them again with a set
firmness oddly like Timothy Robinson's own.

"When I heard that lazy, worthless father of yours was dead, I
expected you and your mother would be looking to me for help," Timothy
Robinson went on harshly. "But you're mistaken if you think I'll give
it. You've no claim on me, even if your father was my half-brother--no
claim at all. And I'm not noted for charity."

Timothy Robinson smiled grimly. It was very true that he was far from
being noted for charity. His neighbours called him "close" and "near."
Some even went so far as to call him "a miserly skinflint." But this
was not true. It was, however, undeniable that Timothy Robinson kept a
tight clutch on his purse-strings, and although he sometimes gave
liberally enough to any cause which really appealed to him, such
causes were few and far between.

"I am not asking for charity, Uncle Timothy," said Ellis quietly. He
passed over the slur at his father in silence, deeply as he felt it,
for, alas, he knew that it was only too true. "I expect to support my
mother by hard and honest work. And I am not asking you for work on
the ground of our relationship. I heard you wanted a hired man, and I
have come to you, as I should have gone to any other man about whom I
had heard it, to ask you to hire me."

"Yes, I do want a man," said Uncle Timothy drily. "A man--not a
half-grown boy of fourteen, not worth his salt. I want somebody able
and willing to work."

Again Ellis flushed deeply and again he controlled himself. "I am
willing to work, Uncle Timothy, and I think you would find me able
also if you would try me. I'd work for less than a man's wages at
first, of course."

"You won't work for any sort of wages from me," interrupted Timothy
Robinson decidedly. "I tell you plainly that I won't hire you. You're
the wrong man's son for that. Your father was lazy and incompetent
and, worst of all, untrustworthy. I did try to help him once, and all
I got was loss and ingratitude. I want none of his kind around my
place. I don't believe in you, so you may as well take yourself off,
Ellis. I've no more time to waste."

Ellis took himself off, his ears tingling. As he walked homeward his
thoughts were very bitter. All Uncle Timothy had said about his father
was true, and Ellis realized what a count it was against him in his
efforts to obtain employment. Nobody wanted to be bothered with "Old
Sam Duncan's son," though nobody had been so brutally outspoken as his
Uncle Timothy.

Sam Duncan and Timothy Robinson had been half-brothers. Sam, the
older, had been the son of Mrs. Robinson's former marriage. Never were
two lads more dissimilar. Sam was a lazy, shiftless fellow, deserving
all the hard things that came to be said of him. He would not work and
nobody could depend on him, but he was a handsome lad with rather
taking ways in his youth, and at first people had liked him better
than the close, blunt, industrious Timothy. Their mother had died in
their childhood, but Mr. Robinson had been fond of Sam and the boy had
a good home. When he was twenty-two and Timothy eighteen, Mr. Robinson
had died very suddenly, leaving no will. Everything he possessed went
to Timothy. Sam immediately left. He said he would not stay there to
be "bossed" by Timothy.

He rented a little house in the village, married a girl "far too good
for him," and started in to support himself and his wife by days'
work. He had lounged, borrowed, and shirked through life. Once Timothy
Robinson, perhaps moved by pity for Sam's wife and baby, had hired him
for a year at better wages than most hired men received in Dalrymple.
Sam idled through a month of it, then got offended and left in the
middle of haying. Timothy Robinson washed his hands of him after that.

When Ellis was fourteen Sam Duncan died, after a lingering illness of
a year. During this time the family were kept by the charity of
pitying neighbours, for Ellis could not be spared from attendance on
his father to make any attempt at earning money. Mrs. Duncan was a
fragile little woman, worn out with her hard life, and not strong
enough to wait on her husband alone.

When Sam Duncan was dead and buried, Ellis straightened his shoulders
and took counsel with himself. He must earn a livelihood for his
mother and himself, and he must begin at once. He was tall and strong
for his age, and had a fairly good education, his mother having
determinedly kept him at school when he had pleaded to be allowed to
go to work. He had always been a quiet fellow, and nobody in Dalrymple
knew much about him. But they knew all about his father, and nobody
would hire Ellis unless he were willing to work for a pittance that
would barely clothe him.

Ellis had not gone to his Uncle Timothy until he had lost all hope of
getting a place elsewhere. Now this hope too had gone. It was nearly
the end of June and everybody who wanted help had secured it. Look
where he would, Ellis could see no prospect of employment.

"If I could only get a chance!" he thought miserably. "I know I am not
idle or lazy--I know I can work--if I could get a chance to prove it."

He was sitting on the fence of the Fillmore elderberry pasture as he
said it, having taken a short cut across the fields. This pasture was
rather noted in Dalrymple. Originally a mellow and fertile field, it
had been almost ruined by a persistent, luxuriant growth of elderberry
bushes. Old Thomas Fillmore had at first tried to conquer them by
mowing them down "in the dark of the moon." But the elderberries did
not seem to mind either moon or mowing, and flourished alike in all
the quarters. For the past two years Old Thomas had given up the
contest, and the elderberries had it all their own sweet way.

Thomas Fillmore, a bent old man with a shrewd, nutcracker face, came
through the bushes while Ellis was sitting on the fence.

"Howdy, Ellis. Seen anything of my spotted calves? I've been looking
for 'em for over an hour."

"No, I haven't seen any calves--but a good many might be in this
pasture without being visible to the naked eye," said Ellis, with a
smile.

Old Thomas shook his head ruefully. "Them elders have been too many
for me," he said. "Did you ever see a worse-looking place? You'd
hardly believe that twenty years ago there wasn't a better piece of
land in Dalrymple than this lot, would ye? Such grass as grew here!"

"The soil must be as good as ever if anything had a chance to grow on
it," said Ellis. "Couldn't those elders be rooted out?"

"It'd be a back-breaking job, but I reckon it could be done if anyone
had the muscle and patience and time to tackle it. I haven't the first

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