The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1876-05-20

"Then supposing you tied red yarn
about their feet 2"
"Why, they'd peck my eyes out"
laughed the widow, dexterously folding
the table cloth in it's former creases.
She was sorry the moment she had said
it, for Mr.. Butterkin at once offered to
assist in the girdiDg 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 inwardly
agitated and could not help being thank
ful it was early morning, ard they were
not likely to be seen by passers.by.
No such feeling perturbed Mr.. Butter.
kin. He was honestly glad to help Rox.
annas fricnd-becauso she had been her
friend, he would have said if he had
thought about the matter at all and 10
the kindness OF his heart he presently
asked if the chickens bran was not get.
ting low. He was going to the village /;
should be call at the mill
"Or, If you have any errands, | 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 a troubled expression. He
hoped Ruth hadn't any hard feeling to-.
ward him. What could have made her
color up so2 And then it occurred to
him that though he had asked her often,
he was sure, she had not ridden with him
since Roxanna died and hi- 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 timid little
woman she was
AS he logged lonesomely nlong in the
great wagon which used to carry two, and
seemed dismally empty with one, he
could not Danish her from his mind, and
be began gradually to realize how con.
stantly she had been in it of late. What
had made her manner so distant these
months past ? Was it fear Of village
gossip. or did she really dislike him He
wished 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, rebel
lious clamor from Mrs. Ebbeson's hennery
greeted his ear. Alas for his vain al.
tempt to overcome maternal instinct |!
Hardly had he left their sight when the
clucking Brabmas sought their nest,
where the little widow found them bill
to bill. the scarlet ankle.ties hidden be.
meath the straw. Six times she dislodged
them ; six times they reiustated them.
selves; 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 I?
The little widow renewed the contest, but
not daring again to lay hands upon the
bclligerent bipeds, she resorted to the dis.
Greet experiment of picking at them
through the open window, thus affording
Mr.. Butterkin, as he rounded the corner,
a confused vision of agitated calico dane
ing about distracted rake handle.
What setting again, Mrs. Ebbe.
son 2"
The small lady, till then unconscious
Of the gentleman's proximity. hastily
withdrew her head from the window and
looked down in some confusion iron her
perch on an inverted barrel.
"Yes. they're setting again; but it's
just as well-just exactly as WE'LL" said
she, rather incoherently, narrowed by the
fear lest she were displaying her ankles
"Now, now, we must see abou. this"
responded Mr.. Butterkin, fishing 10 his
pocket for ball of twine he had bought
that day for stringing tho tomatoes, and
meanwhile glancing over his shoulder, ap.
parently to assure himself that the orchard
was where it should be- He would have
liked nothing better than to lift the w;d.
ow down, but his instinct told him she
would prefer to descend by herself, uu.
observed, and he was q man capable Of
self.sacri6ce. "We'll tie the hens to the
fence" he added, presently, conscious of
thrill of delight as he pronounced the
1--WE.
He knew himself better than in the
early morning, and could not disguise the
fact that he felt personal satisfaction in
entering into even the humblest partner.
ship with Mrs. Ebbeson-a satisfaction
evidently not shared by the Brahmas,
who, resenting his continued interference,
tore his coat mercilessly. 1t was a jag.
ged rent, from docket to hem, in his Sun.
day garment, too, which in Roxanna's s
time had mover gone to the village on a
week day but who was there now to
watch over Mr.. Butterkins apparel
Not Mr.. Butterkin, surely, to whom the
distinctions of dress we're but as sounding
brass and tinkiDg cymbal.
"What a wicked. wicked shame ~
cried Mrs, Ebbeson, 10 distress. "Bui
I'll darn it just as well as can"
mo. no, thank you; it's Of no conse.
quercs," replied Mr. Butterkin, with
manly Indifference.
But Esther can't mend broad cloth" ,"
Can't ? You don't say so"
lmbued with the masculine supersti.
tion that incapacity with the needle be.
tokens idioey, Mr.. Butterkin looked
aghast,
mo; she's young, you know. and mol
used to sewing. Besides, I'm response
BILE for this rent, Let me attend to it
please"
He removed the garment withou. :
word, his face flushing like moose berries
in autumn. Not at the thought that
since Esther was incapable, he must b,
indebted to the widow for past favor
with the needle-indeed, he would hav,
unblushingly declared that this was tn,
fret occasion since Roxannas deceas,
fhat aarmant &c h,a IA .ooIol