Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1876-05-16

tinkling cymbal.
"What a wicked, wicked shame y
cried Mrs Ebbeson in distress. "But II
darn it Just as we'll as can"
mo, no. thank you; it's OF no conse'
quence," replied Mr.. Butterkiu. with
manly Indifference.
"But Esther can't mend broadcloth.
Cant? You don't say SO !"
Imbued with the masculine superstition
that incspacity with the needle betokens
idiocy, Mr.. Butterkin looked aghast.
No; she's young, you know, and not
used to sewing. Besides. I'm responsible
torthis rent. Let me attend to il, please
He removed the garment without q
word, his face flushed like moose-berries
in autumn. Not at tho thought that,
since Esther was incapable, he must be
indebted TO the widow for past iavors
with the needle-indeed, he would have
unblushingly declared that this was the
first occasion since RoXana's decease that
garment had needed repsir-but he felt
a reluctance to being dependent upon
Ruth for menial service, when il was
now the growing desire oi his heart that
she should lean upon him.
Seeing him color, Mrs. Ebbescn, out OF
sympathy. colored too, and such 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 oil Mr.. Butterkin,
while he. wedding the late turnips, recalled
her bushes. and clumsily tried 10 analYze
them. On the whole, he couldn't believe
she went 50 far rs 10 dislike him. And
so night came. the mended coat hung in
its place and under the fence the discour-
aged Brahmas brooded above imaginary
eggs. Next morning they brooded there
still, and there, had they been his own.
might they have continued to brood. for
gotten by Mr.. Butterkin, who, as his late
vile often said, complainingly, never
charged his mind with hens; but these
especial Brahmas possessed peculiar in
terest as giving him audience with the
charming widow. Accordingly, in the
days that followed, he lowered about the
luckless bipeds like bird oil prey. lie
bought the latest treatise on hens, and
patiently tried in succession all the ex-
periments therein suggested for subdulng
the wills OF obdurate sitters. Mrs. Ebbe-
son assisting, as in common gratitude she
must. This without producing the least
effect upon the Brahmas. IL was the
widow that grew restive, conscious of
the absurdity OF Mr.. Butterkin's sudden
and ostentatious regard tor fowls. She
knew the very moment when his heart
turned toward her, and whether hers
inclined similarly toward him wasn't Tor
her to say ill he asked; yet. coy little
woman, she gave him no chance to put
the question.
And, such is human peryersity, the
more she seemed not to care for him. So
much the more was Mr.. Butterkin resolv-
ed that she should care for him. Be-
tore July was ended he bad fully made
up his mind to propose, inwardly assured
that his late wife would sanction the pro-
ceeding, not if she were returned 10 the
flesh, OF course-in that case no would
not ask it-but as shade she would not
wish TO stand between him and her be-
loved Ruth. OF Mr.. Ebbeson's shade he
scarcely thought doubling. perhaps,
whether q man on earth destitute OF mora
substance could at death attain the dignity
of heavenly shadow. But there is
vast difference between purposing &c
propose and proposing. Mr.. Buiterkir
learned this to his chagrin alter repeated
aboriive attempts at giving his frequent
interviews with Mrs Ebbeson q senti'
mental turn. At each advance OF his she
sped away as shyly as girl. and in the
secure retreat by her mothers couch was
as unapproachable as il seated aloit IL
the chair of Cassiopea. In regard to q
written declaration Of love, Mr.. Butterkir
would sooner have attempted an essay OF
protoplasm. August found him still
waiting for an opportunity. He. usually
so prompt and unhesitating-the first
selectman OF the town. The better h
loved the widow, the more he despiset
himself till one soft twilight, when tb'
zephrys were whispering tender thought
TO the leaves, he rose with desperate re
solve, and strobe boldly round TO th
open door OF the L. Mrs. Ebbeson sa
Just within the sitting-room, but he Wa
too crafty TO enter.
at you'll kindly step this way a mo
ment," he said. live another experimen
we might try on those hens"
But having Jared her to him, his mex
words were wide of the mark.
II came 10 ask--Ihat is, wanted t
KNOWN fact. wanted to have serieu
talk with you"
She believed in free-will he in fore
ordination; but his "serious talk" woul
not SAVIOR of theology, she knew. ST
nervously essayed to confne it TO poultry
Really, Mr.. Butterkin, you take to
much trouble about those hens. They
"Nothing 1 do for you. Ruth, is