Litchfield enquirer., 1879-04-10
Hope he's resigned to his loss.

nope so, the glrl replied. 'Fear he is, and a-lookin' round agin, Betsey said to herself.
 Prudence now rose to leave, expecting MT. Dawson to walk home with her. but he was too much abstracted to notice her, and Betsey, delighted to thwart any sentimental project of Prudence, stepped quickly into the back kitchen loudly calling Tom, the sleepy farm | boy. She knew we'll that poor Prueence never opposed anything, and when the Dea- con recovered himself he quietly gave her up to Tom. | CHAPTER II.
 | The letter kept Mary awake. She had led so secluded a life that the expected advent of l a young man into their family was exciting enough, but such man the like of whom she l had never seen, only read about. His world was as different from hers as if he had dropped from another planet Was he handsome Would he look down on her and the dear, ugly old farmhouse? Was he still grieving for his wife? And was her brown merino dress | good enough to put on evenings, or must she wear her Sunday dress ? Then when Sab- bath came what should she do? Joe Brown always knew what she had on, but then he kept dry goods Lord Orville never cared what Eveina wore-perhaps George Mans field mightn't. Finally she fell asleep and dreamed that he was helping her feed the turkeys in swallow tailed coat and canary | kids.
 Betsey aroused her betimes next day, and if ever house had to undergo beating, dust ing and furnishing, that long, sloping- -roofed farm m-hense did Like the war-horse, Betsey scented the battle afar off, and every time she wet her brush afresh in the wax and oil she was using to polish the mahogany parlor table, she felt that she would like to rub up Mans
 field if he had designs on Mary. Her con- science smote her for this thought, and then she epitomized the whole duty of woman upon the great brass andirons She assigned Mary the finer touches, such as wiping Cowpers Task" and putting it at right angles with Baxter's Saints Rest and Pilgrims Progress. | Shakespeare, compressed into duodecime she ordered to be put away in the cupboard over the mantel-shelf. Mary demurred at first, as she loved some of the plays; but when very young she had acquired the habit of obeying Aunt Betsey
 Shall call him Mr. Mansfield or Cousin George?" Mary suddenly inquired. showing
 where her thoughts were, as Mansfeld's name had not been lately spoken. Betsey paused in the act of gouging a fly speck out of the l left eye of the Father of His Country and wiped his nose instead sShe knew of no snare so spacious for young people as that of cousin ship. She reverted to husking frolic forty years before when Jeremiah Jones whispered to her, Come, Betsey. let's drop cousin and try man and wife" ''He ain't yer own cousin, I'd call him Mr. Mansfield, and see how it works '" she finally answered.
 ''How it works you mean if his grandship won't let us say cousln" No response. 'I wonder how he looks aunty?"
 Well, Eve an idee he's dark completed and kinder peaked, like my brother Slocum. Mebbe he uses more grease on his hair and parts it in the middle like that M iton they say grammar lessons on in school, or like Isaacs ! the peddler."
 Poor Mary rarely lapsed into ideal portrai- 1 ture. but brother Sl0cum with his chronic snitf1e and doubtful pomatum was too bad. | She wished for Prudence, who would sympa- thizc with any amount of fancy sketching but then, Prudence leaned toward widowers and she didn't. That was the only drawback to Cousin George-Mr Mansfield" say ing the name softly Betsey heard her, and sharply ordered her to see if Tom had in oven wood enough
 Mary was the one thing on earth Betsey really loved. Once year she pinned up tight her stuff" gown. put on pair of her deceas- ed husbands heaviest but now motheaten- stockings, and fought her way through bram- bles and briers till she reached gray stone where, under the head of a grinning, obese cherub, the virtues of Jeremiah Jones were re- corded Nobody knew of these pilgrimages- and she always came home resolute and quiet after thinking it all up, because Jerry was at all, let it be to one of their own kind of folks, and not New York high1yer. The next mail (they had one a week. brought the deacon another letter from Mans
 fields sister, saying George was better, but he wanted to visit them, and would come the next Saturday that her brother, when the right time came would marry rich widow, a Mrs. Norton, a most desirable connection Betsey smiled grimly at this item, the nearest approach to hilarity of which she was ever known to be guilty. Mary wondered at her change of manner, and left off pitying the widower for the death of his young wife, if he | was soon to take another. 1 On bleak November afternoon the lum- bering old stage brought George Mansfield to the farmhouse. Mary, watching from an | upper window, saw tall, muff1ed figure with fur collar over his face, step rather feebly out. He drew off his glove to pay bis fare, and h1s hand was small and white. She look ed at her own. ''Oh, dear how red and rough" she thought then she entered the par Tor and put her little rough palm into his, as he called her "Cousin Mary" II am trying | to right myself I came here more than twenty years ago, before you did," said he, looking smilngly at her, 'and find memory only confuses me-"
 ''Yes you were a little chap, then, but don't you mind the corner cupboard-and I guess most of the chana's there still," Mr. Dawson said, pointing to it.
 'Yes, sir, think 1 do but there was a serv-a housekeeper, l mean, who never let me approach this sacred spot,'. He just saved himself from uttering the objectionable word, and Betsey came forward, saying in her most benignant tone, Don't ye mind the shakin' l give you one day fur throwin' stuns at my ducks?"
 He looked at her, laughed and answered Yes, and promised never to do 80 again." ''We'll call it quits, as you got the worst ont" the old woman answered. Mansfield was soon on easy terms with Mary, and interested her by talking of her mother, conquering her shyness so much he caught glimpses of her inner life. Her sim- pie earnestness pleased him. He was tired of conventionalities, but he often found himself thinking how much little social training would improve this rustic beauty. She was by no means uneducated, and the delicate perceptions she had for books would teach her artificial graces native ones he knew she possessed. She was tender nurse, and when he had to lie on the slippery haitcloth sofa, studded with brass nails, she read to him, and often surprise him by some happy crti- cisnl. She made pretty picture when the freight sparkled in her gray eyes and dancing shadows passed over her earnest face. Betsey was toe busy to watch the young people, and the deacon preferred his big arm chair by the kitchen fire; so they were much together. One evening Betsey said to Mr. Dawson, ''What about the widder we heard about ?''
 What widder ?" he exclaimed impatiently. thinking she was again setting him against some woman whom she feared wanted to rlar- " him.
 Don't git riled. I don't mean you; mean them in there," pointing to the parlor where Mansfield and Mary sat, their heads close together looking over some engravings he had brought from Europe. 'Taller can dles don'tallers make feller keep his dis tance, even when they drip bad. See there !"
 ''What of it Don't you know George is to be married soon ?"
 That's jest it. Mebbe he'll make the girl believe he ain't."
 MT. Dawson pondered moment and then into fha b,,t oI,c