American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1876-04-29

not used to sewing. Besides, I'm re-
sponsible for this rent. Let me attend
to it, please"
| He removed the garment without a
word, his face flushing like moose-ber-
ries in autumn. Not at the thought
that, since Esther was incapable, he
must be indebted to the widow for past
favors with the needle-indeed,h he would
have unblushingly declared that this
was the first occasion since Roxanna's
decease that garment of his had needed
repair-but he felt a reluctance to being
dependent upon Ruth for mental 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
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 analyze 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 Nm
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 MIR. 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 lowered about the luckless
bipeds like bird of prey. He bought
the latest treatise on hens, and patient
ly tried in succession all the expert
ments therein suggested for subduing
the wills of obdurate sitters, Mrs. Ebbe-
she must. This without producing the
least effect upon the Brahmas. 1t was
the widow that grew FESTIVE, conscious
of the absurdity of Mr.. Butterkin's sud-
den and ostentatious regard for fowls.
She knew the very moment when his
heart turned toward her, but whether
hers inclined similarly 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 as a shade
she would not wish to stand between
beson's shade he scarcely thought,
doubling, perhaps, whether a man on
earth destitute of moral substance could
at death attain the dignity of a heaven
" 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 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 in
the chair of Cassiopea. In regard to
kin would sooner have attempted an es-
say on protoplasm. August still found
him waiting for an opportunity. He,
usually SO prompt and unhesitating-
the 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 strobe boldly
round to the open door of the L. Mrs.
Ebbeson sat just within the sitting
room, but he was too crafty to enter.
elf you'll kindly step this way mo
ment," he said, "I've another expert
ment we might try on those hens"
| But having lured her to him, his next
words were wide of the mark:
al came to ask-that is, wanted to
KNOWN fact, wanted to have a Sc
rious talk with YOU
She believed in free-will, he in fore
ordination; but his "serious TALK
would not SAVIOR of theology, she knew.
She nervously essayed to confine it to
poultry.
"Really, Mr.. Butterkin, you take too
much trouble about those hens.
They
"Nothing 1 do for you, Ruth, is a
trouble"
"They're fairly rheumatic from
standing in that barrel of water, and,
for all that, they're not cured of set
ting"
Gas was saying, Ruth
"Don't say any more about 'em, Mr..
Butterkin, L beg"
"I'm not speaking about hens,
Ruth" Here Mr.. Butterkin wiped his
brow with his handkerchief-a widow
er's grimy kerchief. 81 came to talk
about you. Don't go. Your mother
didn't call. Why won't you marry me,
Ruth?''
| She gave him dozen reason on the
spot; but the fallacy of feminine logic