The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1879-01-16

| twOuld be company for you when your
husbands gone. You must be awful
onesome."
Il don't have time to think whether /
am or not" said Mrs. Blake, smiling.
"Do tell! Now that's queer. Why, the
old house is enough to give anybody the
blues, to begin with"
MY husband intends to build new
one before long," said Mrs Blake.
"Jest the way poor Mrs. Chauncey
used to talk" said Polly.
who was Mrs. Chauncey?
The woman that lived here before
you come; she looked sight like you,
| too"
Mercy" exclaimed Mrs. Skidder;
"there couldn't be two folks more diff
ferent."
eve don't all see alike said Polly /;
ssbut, as was saying, she couldn't bear
this house. She said it seemed jest like
a tomb; and good reason why it should,
for they do say there was somebody
killed here once and buried in the Gel
ar"
"Sho! what's the use O. telling over
all that nonsense?" said Mrs. Slidder.
"You may call it nonsense" said
Polly, "but there's plenty that believes
it, and there's strange things been seen
here. Well, she hated the house, and
her husband kept promising to build a
new one. [ don't s'pose he ever meant
to. Anyway, he never did, and bime-by
she kind O. pinned away ana died; twas
curious about it, too, for there didn't
seem to be anything the matter with
her."
I'm sure there was nothing strange
about it at all, said Mrs. Skidder; "she
died of consumption, poor thing, as a
good many others has"
Its well enough to call it So" said
Polly, "but in my opinion consumption
covers multitude of sins, as the Bible
says. Well, she died a disappointed
woman-you'n allow that But, then,
everybody's disappointed fust or last
this is disappointing world"
"That depends on how you take
things" said Mrs. Blake, cheerfully
but Polly had now gone off on new
tack.
why, there's DR.. Balls sulky stand
ing at the Lumkins' door! I wonder
who's sick. [ guess it's gran ma am, or
p'raps it's one of the children; guess I'll
go over and see. Good-by, Mis- Blake;
l shall run in often and cheer you up.
I know you must be lonesome. Good
by, Mis- Skidder."
shes poor talking creeter, with
nothing to do" said Mrs Skidder, when
Polly had gone. "Don't mind what she
says"
sha'n't as long as she threatens me
with nothing more substantial than a
ghost" said Mrs. Blake, laughing
Polly was as good as her word, and
went IN to see her new neighbor often,
but somehow, the acquaintance did not
seem to advance very rapidly.
AS Polly said, Mrs. Blake was
always civil enough, but she was awful
close-mouthed. For her part, she
thought it looked suspicious when
folks kept things to themselves 50. And
then Mis- Blake didn't seem to feel any
interest in what was going on in town.
Now she, Polly, always calclated to do
as she'd be done by, and if she was
going into strange place, she should
want to know something about the
folks there; but Mis- Blake didn't seem
to care who was who, or what was what.
AS to Mr.. Blake, though she'd lived
nigh neighbor to him going on three
weeks, she hadn't seen anything of him
but the end of his coat tail flying out
one door as she came in another"
One n1rbt Do11x, xx,oo :.
from Mrs. Skidder's, where she had
been relating some of these grievances,
she noticed bright light in Mrs.
Blake's front room.
Um-company, I guess" said P POLLY;
wonder who it is?"
Thus soliloquizing, she crept stealth
lily beneath the window, intending to
look in; but the lower half of the old
fashioned shutters was drawn, and, twist
her head which way she would. there
was not chink through which she
could get so much as glimpse of what
was going on inside.
She then stole round to an end win
dow. That shutter was drawn also. but
close beside it was trellis on which
grape vine had been trained, and, by
means of this, she was enabled, though
with difficulty, to climb up and look
over the top. The position was not
comfortable, but it was slightly.
In one corner sat Mr.. Blake and Dea-
con Spollet, talking together; by the table
sat Mrs. Blake and the deacon's wife,
the latter knitting, the former darning
stockings. At the other end of the
table sat two young lads, playing cards
70 be sure, it was game of authors,
but this Polly could not see; they were
cards, and that was enough for her.
One of these boys was Philip Blake,
the other Nathan Spollet- deacon's
own son-playing cards under the dea,
cons very nose!
"The old hypocrite! I'll tell it all
over town before tomorrow night! Such
things ought to be known. And he &C.
cused me OF stealing pumpkin once.
! Which 10 wuc' r rr-oy,Jor 4o 4,1~o -,