The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1881-07-04
THE PRESS.
boston Courier.l
Marthy's Wooing,
The Romance Of Winters Evening.

flashed in our eyes all day under the warm
sunshine, and whose lights, red and glanc-
ing, cheered our sense of isolation on lonely
nights. We were isolated indeed. There
was no house near us ON either side
The village at our back was as far away as
the city in our face, and on either side of us
were waste lands, through which ran the
wide, white turnpike, climbing high hills,
and getting lost between tall trees as it left
the river. In the daytime wheels rum5led
busily enough along its track in summer,
and in winter sleigh and farm
sleds with their merry bells. But af-
ter nightfall few vehicles passed the house
with the exception of the belated stage,
which, with its cleaning lanterns. was an
enchanted spectacle to us children as it
rolled away into the unseen country be-
yond. No travellers weresabroad, especially
in the winter evenings, with the exception
of tramps, but these were sometimes numer-
GUS; and as our house stood upon the top of
high hill its lights were seen at a long dis
tance, and beckoned all sorts of Migrants to
our door.
1t was wild February evening with a
fierce northeaster hurting binding sheet of
snow against the windows, hiding and muf-
fling the city noise and lights, and obliter-
ating all signs of the highway in its drift
anu CclllS dS TGulONeQ from
the world as if we were keeping light
house on desolate island, the family were
congregated in the wide, low-walled sitting
room, which was cheerful enough with
lamp-light and fire, in spite of the impris-
oned feeling which snow storm will give
even those who live in thickly populated
neighborhoods. One played on the piano
the fitful, half sad, half merry strains of an
old waltz. One worked with an air of alb
sorption in bright colored worsted, while all
the others, with the exception of us chill
dren, were contentedly walled behind books
and papers. Having been kept in the house
all day by the storm, we were beginning to
find pictures and books and dolls rather
monotonous, and not being alive to the
beauty of passionate strains of Chopin, we
retired to the kitchen, hoping to find
''Marthy" or chief "help'' in a story telling
mood. But one glance assured us that the
situation was hopeless. Her fingers were
engaged in too solemn operation to allow
such frivolous use of her tongue at the same
time. She was sewing Methodist buttons
on to Methodist apron with strong, even
Methodist thread. That is to speak more
intelligibly, she was making an apron for
the fair in aid of the Methodist church a.
cross the river. of which she was member,
with buttons and thread which came from
the store of a Methodist brother. Marthy
scorned to sew with secular thread; she
seemed to think that her labors would not
be blessed in this case, and as for buttoning
her own garments with secular buttons, i
was not to be thought of for moment. So
though the buttons which she was fastningt
to the child's apron were much too large
and coarse for the delicate blue cambria of
which it was fashioned, that they came
from the Methodist brothers establishment.
and the orphan whoswas destined to wear it
would not be buttoned out of the gospel
were sufficient reasons to her for using
hem instead of procuring more suitable
ones at another shop.
Marthy-she would not allow any one to
pronounce her name Martha, was always do
ing things in the gospel. Fifteen years ago
when she bought her black silk-she still
called it her new black silk-my mother adj
vised her to discard the frail and extremely
unsuitable buttons which she bought at
Turner's, the Methodist store, for those of a
better quality which could be procured at
the largest establishment in town.
"Should like them better buttons, Mis-
JONES'" said she, 'sthe best is allus cheapest
in the end, L catilate, but don't hold to buy
in of 'em out er the gospil, N Turner carn't
afford to keep no better. Folks in our
meetin' is poor, you know"
"But you bought your dress at Hunt's,'
said my mother, half puzzled, half amused.
"Yis, / he'd to do tibet or go without the
gownd. Turner don't never hev silk. but
I'm kinder 'fraid twas extravagant buyin'
OF it at all; n sinful, too, to pay so much
money out o. my own meetin'. Goodness
knows Pm keerful enough as gineral thing
about payin' out anything for what haint
strictly useful, though, an do kinder injoy
the silk Sundays, for it's the fust one ever
he'd. Even the elders wife thet's the salt of
the airth N dretful unworldly wears one.
But, Mis- Jones, eff should buy the buttons
at Hunts, too, 1 should feel as if was but
toned clean out O. the gospil, true's you live.
You see Hunts gains go to sport worldli-
ness N frivolity, but Turner's, what he gifts,
poor soul, goes to the gospil."
Ny mother did not exactly understand
this, as it was all well known that poor
and butter were spent by his dissolute son
in riotous living, but she said nothing, and
Marthy wore long lengths of purple Metho-
dist ribbon to hide the ugly buttons
when merry, shall merry in the Cos
ph," she very frequently said with an air of
uncomfortable determination. And she
was still preparing for matrimony as she
had been for thirty years and more (she was
past so now with the most matter-of-course
zeal and prudence. The stock of house
hold linen which she was storing away from
year to year was something remarkable. and
though great deal of it had grown yellow
with age, she was very fond of displaying
it to her admiring friends, and was not in
the slightest degree disturbed by any I'M
founded and ill-natured insinuations that
she might never have any use for these
household treasures.
Marthy had not been without her oppor-
tunities, it is true. She was not beautiful
to look upon, her featuresihaving the appear
ance of being unnaturally elongated, like a
face in the bowl of spoon, queer candle
mould figure, and skin both red and
wrinkled, like that of a frost-bitten apple.
But she was industrious as bee, neat as
wax, and her friends remarked, ''if she was
kinder orkard built she was spry as crick-
ket, n didn't pear no older than she did
twenty years ago." Then, though she did
work for living, she was by no means
obliged to do so. She possessed quite for
tune, well invested in bank and railroad
stock, and was quite famous in her smeet-
in" as woman of means. In the first
place, the railroads had seen fit to cross one
corner of the snug little piece of land by the
river, which her father left her when he
died twenty-five years before. Then they
took a. notion to build wharves on the re-
mainder of the land as the little city in
creased in size, and Marthy shrewdly held
on to her possessions until nearly all the
commerce crept up in that direction. Then
she got what price she saw fit to demand
for it; and found herself richer and of more
than she had ever dreamed of
being, even in her extrayagant youth, when
she wildly aspired to marry a presiding eld-
eri
'sBut faint no sign, that should set'n
twiddle my thumbs coz I've got little
she said, and still kept house for
Deacon Hobbs, who lived out in the conn
try and was widower with seven children.
Deacon Hobbs expressed himself of the
opinion that they had better marry, they got
along SO well together, but Marthy felt
obliged to differ with him on this point
81 couldn't never feel testified in merryin'
out o my own meetin'," she sighed eff
you was deacon O. the Methodist church.
stead of the Baptist, 1 might consider the
matter"
Since she had lived at our house, a period
OF sixteen years or SO, the household on sew
eral occasions had fallen into quite panic
for fear of losing this neat deft-handed SER
want. AT one time it was a sturdy young
farmer from the back country; at one time
it was the stage driver who had taken shell
ter from wild storm in her kitchen, and
had fallen in love with her squash pies.
And at another time it was tin peddler,
between whom and Marthy the rag trade
had progressed with tender smoothness
which was amazing, considering the native
sharpness of both.