The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1859-07-29

Did you!" lie looked at her half
amused. Il did not know ladies ever EN-.
ployed themselves now adays.'
Il am a capital cook" said Amy. "We
are obliged to study economy somewhat,
and 50 am my own house-mai -
Then YOU don't belong to the rose-lea(
sort Of ladies', who think it horrible to
touch their white fingers to a cooking uten-
| SIP
mo, indeed!" she said, opening her blue
eyes in astonishment 1T keeps me heal
thy and happy; and as Charles has to
work hard in the store all day, it is only
fair that | should do my part"
"Nany are foolish enough to think sucll
things below them," he said, almost with
sigh.
81 don't" said she smiling. q think
nothing below me that helps to make my
husband happier, OF to brighten my
home"
It was simple little saying, but May
nard pondered on it long. Was it the
secret of household bliss?
lie looked at her little etarge of well Sc
lected books-thc guitar and pile of music
IN the corner-the exquisite drawings
hanging on the wall which Wllford proud
ly told him We're Amy's own-the pine
cone temples and moss baskets, and little
womaniy trifies she had amused herself
with-the bits of embroidery-t stand
Of geraniums and heliotrope--eyen the
piled UP work basket-and thought with
in himself how true woman graces and
glorifes everything on which her hand
may rest
Finally, she came in from the kitchen
beyond, the white apron exchanged for a
timer one of black silk, and sat down by
the table to work, every now and then
joining in the CONVERSE with zcst and
spirit that seemed tie life and spirit of the
whole. How proud Wiford was of her,
How he appealed to her judgment on
every occasion! and how fondIy his eyes
rested on her blooming face, She wasn't
! doing crotchet work; she wasn't embroid-
ering web like muslin--she was Just darn
ing her husbands stockings; and as the
shining needle cleaned in an out among
the interlacin% warp and woof-Mavnard
thought he had never seen a prettier or
more graceful employment.
For Amy brought spirit and soul to
her homely work that would have made
the coarsest fabric bright with the tint of
Persian looms.
And when at length Maynard took his
leave, the reflection, "What a happy fell
low Wilford is was accompanied with
something very like sigh. lis home
was different, far
| He breakfasted alone the next nom
! ing--his wife had been out late at ball,
and seldom rose before eleven o'cIock--
The coffee was cold and muddy, even in
the frosted silver urn; the toast was burn
ed, the steak sodden and raw; the fire
smouldered away under its accumulations
of ashes, and he read the morning paper
alone, with no bright face opposite 10
share his interest i'll each paragraph
| The button was off his wristband, but
no matter. Clara must not be disturbed
he could Just pin it over for the day; bis
toes peeped out as he changed slippers for
boots, but never mind, he would ask Clara
to night where the others were. Pshaw,
he could not tie the crayat to suit him,
and dragged it into limp knot; there
was no little wife to stand on tip toe and
arrange it, and then get kiss for her
pains.
lie went silently away, with no light
footsteps tripping after him to the door;
the shadow OF no sweet ''good bye fol-
lowing him like guardian angel on his
way-tor Clara was a fashionable wife.
At dinner time he came home, half ho-
ping that there would be a glance and a
smile like Amy's to greet him--a home
influence around his luxurious apartments.
"Where's Clara!"
She lounged on a damask sofa, the rings
flashing on her slender fingers, and her
delicate figure arrayed in folds Of Iustrous
silk, whilst the sIppered foot peeping from
beneath, seemed fit only to tread the ro-
ses of life. She hardly glanced up from
the novel she was reading as he entered
why should she?-he was only her hus
band.
lie sat down andbecan drummingcarc-
IcssIy on the table with his fingers.
isn't dinner nearly ready"
II don't know. It's the cooks bust
ness
'But she ought to be more regular"
said he.
Il can't help that. Iwish you wouldn't
plague me about such things.'
The tone was a little pctti,h, as Clara
brushed away her brown curls, and resum-
e ! her book, and Maynard relapsed into
silence again.
Presently another idea struck him.
Can't you play something to night,
Clara? The piano has not been opened
for an age. Come sing me some Of the
old ballads"
Il can't she said IistlcssIy; 'I'm out
Of practice entirely. DO let ne read"
IF you'll lay aside your book after din
ner, and have good old fashion5d even
ing Of talk and music gossip"
"lmpossible, I'm engaged for every mo.
ment after seven--the opera first, and then
the fancy ball"
Couldn't you let them 90 for one
EVENING"
40 no, it would never do"
lie was silent--but there was duh
dead pain at bis heart-somc void which
art could never fill.
| The silent dinner was over; she went
! forth in her sHiniuc robes and peafls in