The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1876-05-11
VOL. %.
THE WIDOW IN THE L.


jected to the proceeding, but mildly, as
was becoming in the good-humorcd
husband of ''whimmy" wife, SO prone
to tears that there seemed some founda-
ton for her pet apprehension that her
''blood was turning to water" Griev-
ously tormented by nerves, she longed
for womanly sympathy, and on Mr.. Eb-
beson's decease, nothing would do but
his widow should sell her farm and oc-
cupy the Butterkin L; for had not Ruth
and she been dear friends from girl
hood After due deliberation, Mrs
Ebbeson came, having first secured
life lease of the building.
A busy little woman was Ruth Ebbe-
son, as she had need to be, her intem-
perate, worthless husband having left
her barely enough to make both ends
meet. If she would lap them comforta-
bly,, it must be by her own exertions
with the needle. And as she sat cheeri-
ly stitching by her invalid mothers
couch, Mrs. Butterkin would often run
in with beans to pick over or apples to
pare, while of rainy days, obedient to
his wife's suggestions, Mr.. Butterkin
did many neighborly turn in way of
carpentery. The two families were al
most as one. Indeed, the letting of the
L seemed provident arrangement for
all parties. 1t was relief to Mrs. Eb-
beson to be rid of her farm it was well
that her mother should be within easy
access of a physician. Especially was
it of advantage to Mrs. Butterkin to en-
| joy cheerful companionship, and what
ever was of advantage to Mrs. Butterkin
| necessarily affected Mr.. Butterkin.
Thus years glided on, bringing men
| tai vigor to the nerve-G diseased Mrs But
terkin. She lad never seemed in better
health than IN that fatal spring when
she was prostrated with pneumonia,
death-stricken from the first.
''Ihe Lord wills it, Ruth, and don't
feel to murmur,' she whispered, with
dying grace ''but hush, nd'l miss me,
[ know. You'll keep an eye on him,
won't you, dear, when I am gone, and
make him comfortable %
Mrs. Ebbeson sobbed promise but
after Mr. Butterkin's bereavement she
found the covenant embarrassing, for in
this sublunary world of ours widow
who 'skeeps her eye" on a widower chal-
lenges unpleasant comment, and little
Mrs. Ebbeson deprecated the speech of
people. Consequently, though she con-
scientiously ministered to Mr.. Butter
kn's comfort, it was in obstructive ways
not suspected by him, and hardly real
lied by the Diece who kept his house.
The door between the two sitting-rooms
no longer, as formerly, stood invitingly
ajar, but was hasped upon the widows
side. She never passed through it now,
save in the gentleman's absence, when
she occasionally assisted the inexperi-
enced Esther in compounding his favor
ite dishes, or surreptitiousIy possessed
herself of his fine mending. With his
wife's demise the old free -and-easy life
ended. They were two distinct house
holds, growing farther and farther apart
as the weed upon the widower's hat wax
ed rusty beneath accumulated months of
mourning. 1t could scarcely have been
otherwise. The closed door was but
symbol of the barrier which, in the very
nature of things, must exist between the
bereaved Mr.. Butterkin and the SINH
right-hand glove has lost its mate, and
a left has met with like calamity, one
naturally desires to fit the remaining
two together, if haply they may make a
pair, and the widow shrank sensitively
at thought of the neighbors thus men
tally matching herself ard Mr.. Butter
kin. AS far as in her lay she tried to
make it apparent to them that the twain
were two odd ones, which could by no
possibility be mated.
But not SO the gentleman in question.
That people should gossip never entered
his head. If IN Roxanna's lifetime, to
please her, he had done her dear Ruth
frequent neighborly favors, all the more
would he do them now that Roxanna lay
cold in death. And as day after day
went by, and he felt more and more
closely drawn to the cheerful, bright
eyed widow, the simple man believed
this was solely for his departed wife's
sake. She had been dead a year and a
day, when Mrs. Ebbesor whisked out
upon the door step one warm July morn
ing to shake the table-cloth
'tOh, my stars % calculated she, look
ing out into the armament, but straight
earthward at her hens darting hither
and yon for the breakfast crumbs. In
the midst of the flock bristled two Brah-
mas, with sulien eyes and feathers on
end. clucking for chickens that were not.
''Any thing wrong, Mrs. Ebbeson ?''
Mr.. Butterkin paused on his way from
the barn with the milk.
''Only these BrahDlas, Mr. Butterkin.
I've broken 'em up and broken 'em up,
but they sciu set.' (Mrs. Ebbeson had
been reared in a rural part of New Eng
land where hens never ''sit. y
"Well, why not let 'em r.
''In July2 Now, Mr.. Butterkin l''
''Then supposing you tie red yarn
about their feet %
why, they'd peck my eyes ont,
laughed the widow, dextrously folding