Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1872-03-16
AUNT DEBORAH,S CONSPIRACY.

AUNT DEBORAH'S CONSPIRACY.
"Now, Aunt Deborah, - said the widow
Warren, tell me your honest opinion !;
what on earth is really the matter with
our poor dear Maria?"
"Well, there's a good deal. or maybe
there amt don't know. Sometimes
/ think it's about everything, and
then again | think it amt nothin'
at all. Leastways. she keeps her bed
an seems to be wastln' away like. Doc
tor Jones can't make it out"
"Poor dear And I've known SO
many just such cases. The doctors
seem to be all at fault nowadays"
The pretty widow sighed deeply as
Deborah's oracular answer; but al
though she repeated her inquiry in all
the multiplicity of forms suggested by
her natural friendly interest, she failed
10 observe anything more definite from
the careful discretions of Tom Brace
mans spinster aunt. AT last, after once
and again expressing her sympathy, not
only for "dear Maria" but for "pcor
Ton" himself, she brought her daily
visit to an end, and Aunt Deborah was
left to her own devices. A good old
soul was she, and, with all her strong
love for her nephew, and her pity for
his invalid wife, she was as keen as ~
razor and as deep US a well.
Busy as she seemed over her knitting
that summer afternoon, her thoughts
were buster than her fingers, and more
than once her shrewd old face flashed
with the light of new ideas hut though
her firm lips worked and quivered and
smiled, not a sound escaped them until
she heard the feet of Doctor Jones on
the doorstep. Then, indeed, she broke
out with the exclamation:
81 will ask him will know the
whole of it, and see if | amt right"
See him she did, before ever he went
into the sick chamber, and again when
he came out, and a good long talk they
had of it, for they were kindred spirits,
Aunt Debby and the doctor.
"Will it do to break the matter to
Tom ?" asked the doctor, just as he was
going.
"No, indeed = was the reply. ''Least-
ways, not yet. You see We can't tell
how it may turn out. Maria may just
sink under it, for all we know. We're
on dangerous ground, doctor, and we
must keep our secret
And so the doctor went away, leaving
Aunt Deborah looking more inscrutably
keen and solemn than ever.
The front room in the second story of
Tom Bracemans home was one which
he loved to enter always, and whenever
he could, and yet, for all its books and
flowers, and what might have been its
beauty, its brightness and its refinement,
it was the shadow-room and disappoint-
ment of the young mans life. Tom
tried hard not to see or feel the shadow.
but it was always there, and even love
could not lift it, so long as his young
wife lay on the white bed in the corner,
in that strange, fretful, lingering incom-
prehensible illness,
They had been married but two years,
and, though the first had been shol t
enough, the second seemed to Tom a
troubled sort of eternity, for during al.
most the whole of it Maria had been
pining and wasting away on the bed in
the corner!
So slowly she had wasted, too, getting
up, every now and then, daily, for weeks
at a time, and only seeming more
wretched than when she was in bed
and poor Tom was often at his wits end
with the dubious and unconsolatory in
iofmatIoh Vouchsaleo MN Dy the doc,
tor. He had no doubt of the skill and
science of the old physician, not a
doubt, but he did wish that something
might be done for Maria, and so he
brought her more books and flowers.
and went away later and came home
earlier, and still his wife pined and fret
teo away anu 'alheo Oh oelhg burden
w. mn, a'it even suggested once or
MiIe, 'haV NC ilisii' one oay oe haPpiel
WIN some one eise, rather lhan such a
heip'ess lii'",iu NJ: as I'erSei,
uoh thlnk l snail trouble you
iohg' ION, sa.o sne, mourniuily, on
tne morning a'tef aunt Deborah 5 talk
WIN the toc'or: MOI very long.
Vh' Maria sroaned lom.