The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1876-05-11

repair-but he felt reluctance to being
dependent upon Ruth for menial SER
| vice, when it was now the growing de-
sire of his heart that she should lean
upon him.
| Seeing him color, Mrs. Ebbeson, out
of sympathy, colored too, and such a
vivid and lasting crimson that her
| mother at dinner mildly chided her for
going out without her bonnet.
Busy over his coat That afternoon,
Ruth naturally thought of Mr.. Butter
| kin, while he, wedding the late turnips,
| recalled her bushes, and clumsily tried
to analize them. On the whole, he
couldn't believe she went so far as to
dislike him. And SO night came, the
mended coat hung in its place, and, un-
der the fence the undiscouraged Brah-
mas brooded above imaginary eggs.
Next morning they brooded there still,
and there, had they been his own, might
they have continued to brood, forgotten
by Mr.. Butterkin, who, as his late wife
often said, complainingly, never charged
his mind with hens but these especial
Brahmas possessed peculiar interest as
giving him audience with the charming
widow. Accordingly, in the days that
followed, he hovered about the Iackiess
bipeds like a bird of prey. He bought
the latest treatitr on hens, and patient
tu frIp in hn
ments therein suggested for subduing
the wills of obdurate sitters, Mrs Ebbe-
son assisting, as in common gratitude
she must. This without producing the
least effect upon the Brahmas. It was
the widow that grew restive, conscious
of the absurdity of Mr.. Butterkin's sud-
den and ostentatious regard for fowls.
She knew the very momeL5 when his
heart turned toward her, but whether
hers inclined similar ly toward him
wasn't for her to say till he asked; yet,
coy little woman, she gave him no
chance to put the question.
And, such is human perversity, the
more she seemed not to care for him,
SO much the more was Mr.. Butterkin
resolved that she should care for him.
Before July was ended he had fully
made up his mind to propose, inwardly
assured that his late wife would sane
ton the proceeding, not if she were re-
turned to the flesh, of course-in that
case he could not ask it-but rs shade
she could not wish to stand between
him and her beloved Ruth. Of Mr.. Eb-
beson's shade he scarcely thought,
doubling, perhaps, whether a man on
earth destitute of moral substance could
at death attain the dignity of n heaven
ly shadow. But there is vast differ
ence between purposing to propose and
proposing. Mr.. Butterkin learned this
to his chagrin after repeated abortive
attempts at giving his frequent inter-
views with Mrs. Ebbeson a sentimental
turn. At each advance of his she sped
away as shyly as girl, and in the Sc
cure retreat by her mothers couch was
as unapproachable as If seated aloft i'll
the chair of Cassiopea. In regard to a
written declaration of love, Mr.. Butter
kin would sooner have attempted an es-
say on protoplasm. August still found
him waiting for an opportunity. He,
usually SO prompt and unhesitating-
tie first selectman of the town The
better he loved the widow, the more he
despised himself, till one soft twilight,
when the zephyrs were whispering ten
der thoughts to the leaves, he rose with
desperate resolve, and strode boldly
round to the open door of the l.. Mrs.
Ebbeson sat just within the sitting
room, but he was too crafty to enter.
eff you'll kindly step this way mo-
ment," he said, GIVE another expert
ment we might try on those hens"
But having lured her to him, his next
words were wide of the mark
81 came to ask--that is, I wanted to.
known fact, wanted to have @ Sc
rious talk with you"
She believed in free-wiI, he in fore
ordination but his ssseriops talk
would not SAVIOR of theology, she knew.
She nervously essayed to confne it to
poultry.
"Really, Mr.. Butterkin, you take too
They
''Nothing I do for You, Ruth, is
trouble. -
They're fairly rheumatic from
standing in that barrel of water, and,
for all that, they're not cured of set
ting"
Gas I was saying, Ruth
'tDon't say any more about 'em, Mr..
Butterkin, beg
'I'm not speaking about hens, Ruth"
Here Mr.. Butterkin wiped his brow
with his handkerchief-a widower's
grimy kerchief. 'sI came to talk about
you. Don't go. Your mother didn't
call. Why won't you marry me,
Ruth p
She gave him a dozen reason on the
spot; but the fallacy of feminine logic
being provebial, Mr.. Butterkin was not
the man to heed them. At least this L
know; before the snow came the widow
Ebbeson had become Mrs. Butterkin,
and frosty evenings she and her hus-
band might have been seen carefully
sheltering two late broods of chickens.
for in the end the Brahmas had their
way-Hdrper's Basar.