The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1877-06-22
Putting Asunder.

"Any letter? asked the Widow
Wadsworth, turning from the counter
to the corner by the window, over which
swung a sign "Post Office" upon it, and
glancing through her spectacles at a
small row of jars which were made to
do duty as letter-holders. "Any lie tiers
for our house, Mr.. Bristol ?''
Mr.. Bristol, the senior of that name
who was too rheumatic to weigh grocer
les, was deaf as a post, and had, perhaps,
the natural talent for the rending of du-
bious scrip that could be found in the
person of any living man, and besides
this, could never find his spectacles-
reused himself from nap in which he
had been indulging, looking bewildered,
and seemed for a moment dubious as to
what he should do next.
But seeing that Mrs. Wadsworth's
eyes were fixed upon the jars, he de-
cided that she wanted a letter, and
reaching up slowly, took few of them
down, and, with much deliberation,
spread them before her like pack of
cards.
'Tve put my specks som'rs," he said,
"but where, L dunno. Look 'em over
and sort out what's yourn, Mrs. Wads-
worth"
This was old Mr.. BristoPs usual style
of performing the business of country
postmaster; and, as it was an honest
place, little harm came of it.
Often people carried their neighbors'
letters to them, when they happened to
pass their gates, and the only registered
letter that ever yet had been sent to
Kornhill was considered an insult to
the community at large.
'They might ha' knowed no one
would ha' meddled with it," said the
postmaster.
And the farmers talked the matter
over as they logged home side by side
in their wagons, and the summer visitor
who had done the strange thing was
made to feel the indignation of her
hostess.
But that was long after the evening
on which Mrs. Wadsworth asked if
there were any letters for "her house,
Peering over the little row spread be-
fore her, she saw that there was one-a
small envelope-addressed in a delicate
hand to flames Wadsworth."
"Tha3s Jim," said the old lady, "who
can have writ to him 2"
There was no more. She put her sim
gle epistle into her pocket, pushed the
rest toward Mr.. Bristol, and nodded at
him.
Mr.. Bristol nodded in reply, re-iarred
the letters, perched himself upon his
stool, and went to sleep again.
Then the younger Bristol helped the
old lady into her chaise, handed in her
basket of groceries, and she drove away,
with the letter in her pocket, and a
queer feeling, half fear and half anger
at heart, as she said over and over again,
talking aloud to herself as the old white
horse plodded along the lonely road,
"Who has writ to Jim, wonder ?"
Maggie, the maid, came out to carry
in the basket, when Mrs. Wadsworth
stopped at her own gate, and she her
self walked into the kitchen. There
was a great fire there, and on it the
kettle was boiling, steam rushing from
its spout in one long stream. Before
this fire Mrs. Wadsworth stood and
warmed her hands.
81 wonder who has writ to Jim," she
said. ''If thought it was that girl, I'd
throw it into the fire."
Then the story she had heard Of some
one who feloniously opened an envelope
by holding it over the steam of kettle
occurred to her mind.
'I wonder whether it would open
that way ?" she said. "I couldn't be of
any great harm Just to satisfy myself
that it isn't from her. Jim is but a boy
and Pm his mother. | think, accord
ing to law, I'd have right; 1 ought to,
anyhow"
Then the hand which held the letter
outstretched itself. The stream of steam
beat against the flap of the envelope.
In moment or so it hung loose, limp
and wet in her hands.
"Tll go and put my bonnet away,n
she said, in an unnatural sort of a tone,
and hurried upstairs.
"P % his MOTHER" she said again, as
she sat down in her chair and drew the
letter from the envelope. "Its right
that should know"
Then she cast her eyes over the writ
Ing. There was not much of it-just
this:
"DEAR JAMES:-I know, after my con-
duct, it is my place to write first. Please
forgive me. Isn't that humble enough ?
And if you do, come and take me to the
picnic Tomorrow. Your own
"NELLIE."
'It is from that girl" said Mrs. Wads-
worth. "It's from her. And things
have gone so far and he hasn't told his
mother word. Oh, how hard it is to
bear. That girl! don't want Jim to
marry but OF all giil~, not that one."
And she rocked herself to aud fro.
''and she's writing this to make up. If
he never got it, he'd never speak. I
know his pride! She comes of a bad lot.
hate her! She's poor wife for Jim. I
think it's my duty not to give it To him.
I will think it over"
Then she opened the drawer of the
bureau In which she kept valuables or
money, and thrust the letter in and
locked it up.
She had time to think the matter
over before Jim came in, for he was
late, and "that girl" grew more distaste-
full TO her every moment
"Going to the picnic, Jim ?" she asked,
as they sat over their tea.
And Jim answered that be hadn't
thought of it.
"Id go If was you, and take your
cousin, Miranda" said the old lady.
''She expects it, think.n
Jimi only moved by the remembrance