Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1871-01-26
get all want for mere trife. Do give

Got no money to waste on fine CHR T."
returned the farmer. ''By-the-wayn-
looking from the door-"Jones and Lee
arc coming to give me a helping hand.
want to get the south meadow down to-
day, if can; it's famous crop; so
shall bring them in to dinner. Oh, and
the Hubbards want six pounds Of butter
tonight; don't forget to have it ready
With these words. Mr.. Robert Thomp-
son had marched of, leaving his wife to
her long, weary days work, darkened and
made distastcful by her disappointment.
She was both grieved and angry. It was
a little thing, perhaps, but it is the little
things of life that delight or annoy.
Existence seemed very bare and home
y to Jane Thompson that summer day.
With her love of ease and beauty, and
symmetry, how rude and coarse. and
hard. looked all her surroundings. 1t was
| only long monotonous round OF homely
toll, unrelieved by any of the little sweet
nesses and graces that might make even
toll pleasant She did not often think of
it, but she remembered that day, with the
faintest little air of regret, that she might
have been far differently situated; and as
she looked up to the pretty French cottage
on the hill, embowered in perfect forest
OF blossoming vines. and caught the cool
gleam of urn and fountain. something
like sigh trembled on her lips.
esquire Burnham's wife does not have
to beg for paltry bit Of money to set out
her table decently," she thought, rebell-
iously. cei}af
What business had she to marry Robert
Thompson she asked herself, her slender
wrists beating away at the butter for the
Hubbards. For in the green and gloomy
light that Mrs. Thompson looked at things
to-day, she quite forgot the fact that she
had fallen in love with the honest, steady
and good-looking young farmer, choosing
him in preference to Joe Burnham, whom
she might have had. Joe had a patrimony
of his own-two hundred year at least
and good bit Of land, which he rented.
and was called esquire" as his father had
been before him. He wanted to marry
Jane Lawrence, and she would not likes
and dislikes cannot be controlled, and she
| cared more for Robert Thompson's little
finger than for the whole of poor, UNDER
| sized Joe. Squire Burnham found another
| wife, and Mrs. Thompson this weary day
was fariously envying her. Mrs. Burnham
would come amidst the rest of the sewing
club, too, and see the miserable shabbiness
of the mulberry ware, and the home gen.
orally. The unfinished butter got beaten
savagely at the thought.
Robert Thompson was not an nnkind
man. only thoughtless. He was a type Of
very large class, more especially farm
ers, who do not feel the need Of life's
rugged pathway being softened with flow
erS.
Absorbed in his stock, his crops, his
money-getting. he did not realize how
monotonous was his wife's life at home.
He had his rccreations: the weekly mar
ket; gossip with his brother farmers pol
itics. She had nothing but work and care
He did not realize the truth that the worn,
shabby home told upon her; that she
needed some Frightening to come to it as
yearning want of life. And so, as the
years had gone on, she grew dissatisfied
at heart, hardly understanding what she
wished for or what she did not wish the
intensely unlOvely, prosy, dull life some
what sOuring her spirits. Now and again,
when she gave back short or bitter re-
tort, Robert wondered; she used to be SO
sweet-tempered
All through the long forenoon, Mrs.
Thompson nursed her wrath. Robert was
selfish and unreasonable, and she did not
care who knew it. She would not have
the sewing-club at the farm, come what
might. The potatoes got boiled; the big
piece of beef was simmering ON the fire
Before twelve O'Clock had well struck, she
saw her husband and his two friends COM
ing through the orchard, with red and
hungry faces. Mr.. Thompson always
wanted his dinner boiling hot; and she
hastened to lay the cloth in the cool room
oil the Kitchen. Frank and Charley, her
two boys, came rushing in from school,
each striving to claim her attention. She
was tired, heated, and very cross.
'Why isn't dinner ready P" demanded
MIR. Thompson, not seeing it actually on
the table when he entered. II told you
we had no time to waste to-day" he ad-
ded, angrily, in his hurry and hunger. ..If
hadn't anything to do all the forenoon
but get dinner, I'd have it ready in time. I
know"
A bitter retort was springing to her lips.
but ere it could be spoken Charlie clamor-
ously interrosed, pushing his new copy
book before her eyes.
Look, mother! am going into SEN
tences now, like Frank It's my first copy.
The master wrote it; and he said was to
get it by heart, too, and always remember
it. Do read it, mother"
| Mrs. Thompson, her arms full of the
Si"eneN huAoOAis PlotCS, PduoSu uO-
ment to let her eyes fall on the new copy
"A soft answer turneth away wrath, +" was
what she read. 1t was not that the prov
erb was new she had read it scores of
times; but there was something in its ap-
propriateness to the present moment that
fell like cool, sweet wind on her heated
pulse.
Il will have it ready in moment, Rob-
ert," she said, quietly.
Mr.. Robert Thompson looked up. Evil
IDENTIFY he had not expected so pleasant
reply. If the truth must be told, he had
thought a good bit that morning about
the white ware. Not in the way OF grant
ing it, but that she would probably be sulky
over it when they got in to dinner.
lit doesn't feel here as it does in that
blazing meadow" he remarked to his
friends, as they went into the cool north
room to dinner. Folks that can keel.
in doors this weather have an easy time OF
it. fhev don't know what heat Is. p"