American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1876-04-29

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"In July? Now, Mr.. Butterkin!"
"Then supposing you tie red yarn
about their feet?'
"Why, they'd peck my eyes out, ~
laughed the widow, dextrously folding
the table-cloth in its former creases.
She was sorry the moment she had
said it, for Mr.. Butterkin at once offer
ed to assist in the girdling process.
Why should he not? Yet as he held the
hens, first one and then the other, while
she bound about the right leg of each
the anti-incubating anklet, she was in
wardly agitated, and could not help be-
ing thankful it was early morning, and
they were not likely to be seen of pass
ers-by.
No such feeling perturbed Mr.. But
terkin. He was honestly glad to help
Roxanna's friend-because she had
been her friend, he would have said if
he had thought about the matter at all !;
and in the kindness of his heart he pres
emily asked if the chickens bran was
not getting low. He was going to the
village; should he call at the millp
Or, if you have any errands, can
take you over as well as not" he add
ed, as an afterthought, and was mildly
bewildered mt seeing the sudden flush
on her face as she hurriedly answered
that she had no errands.
Picking up the milk pail, in which
the froth had perceptibly settled, he
walked away with a troubled express
sion. He hoped Ruth hadn't any hard
feeling toward him. What could have
made her color up SO? And then it &C.
Cured to him that though he had asked
her often, he was sure, she had not rid
den with him for a long while-not
since-why, not since Roxanna died!
and his own face flushed under the dawn
of a new idea. Ruth was afraid the
neighbors might talk. Strange he hadn't
thought of it before. Dear! dear! what
a timid little woman she was!
As he logged lonesomely along in the
great wagon which used to carry two,
and seemed dismally empty with one,
he could not Danish her from his mind,
and he began gradually to realize how
constantly she had been in it of late.
What had made her manner so distant
these months past? Was it fear of vii
lage gossip, or did she really dislike
him? He wished he knew; yes, he did
wish he knew! and he jerked the reins,
unwittingly wounding the feelings of
his faithful roam, conscientiously trot-
ting her best.
Turning in at his own gate, a rebel
lious clamor from Mrs. Ebbeson's hen
merry greeted his ear. Alas for his vain
attempt to overcome maternal instinct!
Hardly had he left their sight when the
clucking Brahmas sought their nest,
where the little widow found them bill
to bill, the scarlet ankle-ties hidden be-
meath the straw. Six times she dis
lodged them; six times they reinstated
themselves; and now at noon there they
sat brooding over the pile of bricks she
had heaped in their nest, winking their
small round eyes at her in lazy triumph!
1t was too much. Was an immortal
woman to be outwitted by couple OF
finite hens! The little widow renewed
the conflict, but not daring to lay hands
again upon the belligerent bipedss she
resorted to the discreet expedient of
poking at them through the open win
dow, thus affording to Mr.. Butterkin,
as he rounded the corner, a confused
vision of agitated calico dancing about
a. distracted rake handle.
"What! setting again, Mrs. Ebbe-
son?''
The small lady, till then unconscious
of the gentleman's proximity, hastily
withdrew her head from the window
and looked down in some confusion
from her perch on an inverted barrel.
"Yes, they're setting again; but it's
just as well-just exactly as well," said
she, rather incoherently, narrowed by
the fear lest she was displaying her
ankles.
Now, now, we must see about this, -
responded Mr.. Butterkin, fishing in his
pocket for ball of Irvine he had
bought that day for stringing the toma-
toes, and meanwhile glancing over his
shoulder, apparently to assure himself
that the orchard was where it should
be. He would have liked nothing bet
ter than to lift the little widow down,
but his instinct told him she would pre-
fer to descend by herself, unobserved,
and he was a man capable of self-sacri-
fee. Gwen tie the hens to the fence, ="
he added, presently, conscious of a
thrill of delight as he pronounced the
"we."
He knew himself better than in the
early morning, and could not disguise
the fact that he felt personal satisfac-
ton in entering into even the humblest
partnership with Mrs. Ebbeson-a sat
isfaction evidently not shared by the
Brahmas, who, resenting his continued
interference, tore his coat mercilessly
1t was jagged rent, from pocket to
hem, in his Sunday garment too, which
in Roxanna's time had never gone to the
village on weekday; but who was
there now to watch over Mr.. Butterkin's
apparel? Not Mr.. Butterkin, surely, to
whom the distinctions of dress we're
but as sounding brass and q tinkling
cymbal.
"What a wicked, wicked shame!"
cried Mrs. Ebbeson, in distress. 'sBut
I'll darn it just as well as CAM
No, no, thank you; it's of no con-
sequence" replied Mr.. Butterkin, with