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


No such feeling perturbed Mr.. But
terkin. He was honestly glad to help
Roxanna's 8 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 presently
asked if the chickens bran was not get
ting low. He was going to the village !;
should he call at the mill?
''Or, if you have any errands, I can
take you over as well as not" he added,
as an afterthought, and was mildly be-
wildered at 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 troubled expression. He
| hoped Ruth hadn't any hard feeling
toward him. What could have made
her color up so? And then it occurred
to him that though he had asked her
often, he was sure, she had not ridden
with him for long time-not since
| why, not since Roxanna died and his
own face flushed under the dawn of
| new idea. Ruth was afraid the neigh
bors 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 con-
| stantly he had been in it of late. What
had made her manner so distant these
months past? Was it fear of village gos-
sip, or did she really dislike him2 He
wished he knew yes, he did wish he
knew and he jerked the reins, unwit-
tingly wounding the feelings of his faith
full roam, conscientiously trotting her
best.
Turning in at his own gate, rebel
hous clamor from Mrs. Ebbesons 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 dislodg-
ed them six times they reinstated them
selves and now at noon there they sat
brooding over the pile Of bricks she had
fhai1 L 4I,o;,.
round eyes at her in lazy triumph ! It
was too much. Was an immortal woman
to be outwitted by a couple OF finite
hens The little widow renewed the
conflict, but not daring to lay hands
again upon the belligerent bipeds, 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 dis
tracted rake handle.
"What ! setting again, Mrs Ebbeson2"
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.
eyes, they're setting again ; but it's
just as well-iust exactly as wei " said
she, rather incoherently, narrowed by
the fear lest she was displaying her
ankles.
'Now, we must see about this" res
ponded Mr.. Butterkin, fishing in his
pocket for ball of twine he had bought
that day for stringing the tomatoes, and
meanwhile glancing over his shoulder,
apparently to assure himself that the
orchard was where it should be- He
would have liked nothing better than to
lift the little widow down, but his in
stinct told him she would prefer to de-
scend by herself, unobserved, and he
was a man capable of self sacrifice
"WeIl tie the hens to the fence he
added, presently, conscious of q thrill
of delight as he pronounced the sswe."
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 a weekday; but who was
there now to watch over Mr. Butterkin's
apparel2 Not Mr.. Butterkin, surely,
to whom the distinctions of dress were
but as sounding brass and tinLling
cymbal.
"What wicked, wicked shame p
cried Mrs. Ebbeson, in distress. tBut
I'll darn it just as well as can.''
''No, no, thank you it's of no conse-
quence," replied MIR. Butterkin, with
manly Indifference.
''But Esther can't mend broadcloth."
"Can't? You don't say so!''
Imbued with the masculine supersi-
ton that incapacity with the needle be-
tokens idiocy, Mr.. Butterkin looked
aghast.
''No; she's young, you know, and
not used to sewing. Besides, I'm re-
sponsible for this rent. Let me attend
to it, please"
He removed the garment without a