The Plymouth Democrat. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1869-1941, 1870-10-20

herg IF she has, won't put up with it
Mrs. Whalen sha'n come TO my house to
be aggravated"
Dinner-time came.
"You've got an excellent soup, Mrs
Whalen, ma'sm. l don't know as Calista
ever beat IT," said Mr.. Means, turning
about the savory fragments with the Ia
die. "Why, where's the pork, left out
for your uses l don't find it."
81 threw it into the soap gressel" was
the defiant answer; for Mrs. Whalen,
with all her ambition and all her
weakness, was woman, and wouldn't
bear watching any moro than a boiling
pot.
Young Amos Means muttered "Jollyl"
under his breath. Mr. Means looked up
in surprise.
"You don't say soap-grease, maam? :
There was an awkward pause.
LUCKILY haven't offered myself yet, "
thought Mr.. Means, looking at his tasci-
mating vis q v,S with paBg of renuncia-
ton. "She's spry, capable piece, but
don't understand saUing"
AT the same time Mrs Whalen gazed
ruefully at the genuine silver fork near
her plate, and said to herself:
"The house and furniture ere just to
my mind; but there, it's of no use, can't
stand it! Of all men, preserve me from a
Bettyl"
The willy host observed that she frowned
into his cup as che passed it, and forgot to
put the sugar in so with an ingratiating
smile, which was meant to be broad and
deep enough to drown all memory of
pork rinds, he remarked:
| You do make prime bread, Mrs. Wha-
len. l most wish | hadn't let my daugh.
ter go visiting this vacation, it would have
done her SO much good to take lessons Of
you"
Mrs. Whalen passed the sugar with
renewed sweetness.
"But" added Mr. Means, relapsing into
| frugality, You needn't be afraid to set on
the small pieces for me. Pity they should
go to the hens"
This was crumb too much. Mrs.
Whalen choked. Just as she was clear.
ing her throat for a spirited reply the
door opened, and Moses Pitcher walked
in.
Thought you might DE wanting your
mail" said he, producing > letter some
what the worse for splash 3 81 mud.
The widow took it, glanced at the su-
prescription with some surprise, blushed,
rose from the table, and absently passed
her folded napkin through the handle OF
the teapot.
handwriting rather agitates her." ex-
planned young Pitcher, as she hurriedly
left the room, and was heard to go up
stairs
"Whose handwriting ?" demanded Mr..
Means, fiercely. "What do you know
about it?'
POSTMASTER said 'twss Squire Linton's,"
replied Master Paul Pry. "Why, how
nice you look here, Uncle Means al
ways said Mrs. Whalen was just the
woman for you"
$50 she tsp thought Mr.. Means, with
an inward groan. $50 she is. And eco
nomical enough. always thought Calista
was little grain too saving"
"But if what l hear is true, you wont
keep her long, uncle. The squire is on
your track"
"You hear a great many things,
Moses" retorted Uncle Means, snsppishly,
land talk altogether too much fer
yodngster."
Moses retreated, looking back longing
" Was St ching thh 9Wsfthe his esip Amos
grave face. While Mrs. Whalen, seated
in the sacred solitude of her own chamber,
with the door locked and her back turned
upon il, opened her letter. 1t was very
brief-only four lines-yet Mrs. Whalen
had not finished reading it in half an
hour.
Dear Mrs. Whalen," it said, business
takes me to Malburg next week on Thurs
day; and if not an intrusion, l wish to
call upon you. Please drop me line if
this will not be agreeable to you, or you
are permanently engaged"
Mex, week on Thursday? Why, to-
day WIS Thursday The letter was dated
week ago, and had ibeen mellOwing in
metody's pocket ali this time. SO it
was too late now to decline the call if she
had wished to do so.
Mrs. Whalen went down stairs, feeling
as though her brain was tied in double
bow-knot, like the strings of her best cap,
unusual care.
"Oh, about that cheeser' said Mr..
Means, as soon as she appeared. (which
one was you calculating I'd better sell
I'm going over to the store, if the rain
holds up, between shutdown and dark, and
I'll take it along. Brown spoke to nee
about furnishing him with some. Pick
out as likely one as you can, for 1t viii
be kind Of try cheesc, seeing it's the
first I've let 'em have since Calista's
| make"
EYES," replied the relict of the late
Peter Whalen, still musing ON the mother
less young LintOns; "thore are six of
them, of all ages, from two to thirteen"
WHAT What do you say?" exclaimed
the astonished proprietor OF the cheeses.
Mrs. Whalens face glOwed like G. ma
pie tree in October.
"What did you say? l guess 1 must
have had my mind on something else,"
said she, in manifest confusion.
| "Why," said Mr. Means CHANGING at her
flushed face suspiciously. 81 was asking
you to select o cheese-one of your best
oDes-for me to take to the store as q
specimen. And you needn't be particu-
lar to scrape it off if there's any mould
or grease, or whatever, on the outside
Calista never did 1T will weigh some.
thing she used to say, and every little
helps"
All, the mould was heavier than he
knew. 1t outweighed six small children !;
though helped in the balance by a "cistern,
pump, and Mushroom down cellar"
81 don't believe that letter was from
the Squire. Moses is master-haRd TO
conjure up things" thought the sanguine
MIR. Means, though rather uneasily; but
with rare delicacy refrained from asking
any questions.
"Ill risk it," concluded he, as he started
for the village after tea. "She has a
smarter turn than Calista, and beats her
on cheeses. l intend to marry the woman
but I've no notion of coming to the point
yet. She's been expecting it for the last
x weeks; but | understand the softer
| &c lat DaY,, hot hx,
I'm, they're apt to give themselves airs.
Get up, DollyP
1t may be Mr.. Means look of amused
condesceDsiOn would have given place to
one of dismay If he had known who was
riding up to his door from the river. road