The Princeton union., 1881-02-17
stition that incapacity with the needle
betokens idiocy, Mr.. Butterkin looked

aghast.
ssNo; she's young, you know, and
not used to sewing. Besides, I'm res
ponsible 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-inde
he would have unblushingly declared
this was the first occasion since Rox-,
annals decease that garment of his
had needed repair-but he felt a re-
luctance to being dependent upon Ruth
for a menial service, when it was now
the growing desire Of his heart that
she should lean upon him.
Seeing him color, Mrs. Ebbeson, out
of sympathy, colored too, and such a
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.. But
terkin while he, wedding the late tur-
nips, 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
under the fence the undiscouraged
Brahmas brooded over imaginary eggs.
Next morning they brooded there still,
and there, had they been his own,
might they have continued to brood,
forgotten by Mr.. 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 audi
ence with the charming widow. Ac-
cordingly, in the days that followed,
he lowered above the luckless bipeds
like a bird Of prey. He bought the
latest treatise on hens, and patiently
tried in succession all the experiments
therein suggested for subduing the
wills Of obdurate settlers, Mrs. Ebbe-
son assisting, as in common gratitude
she must. This without producing
the least effect upon the Brahmas. 1t
was the widow that grew restive, con
scious of the absurdity of Mr.. Butter
kin's sudden and ostentatious regard
for fowls. She knew the very mo-
ment when his heart turned toward
her, but whether hers inclined similar
ly toward him wasn't for her to say
until he asked; yet coy little woman,
she gave him no chance to pop the
question.
And such in human peryereity, th
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, inward
ly assured that his late wife would
sanction the proceeding, not if she
were returned to flesh, Of course--in
that case he would not ask it-but as
a shade she would not wish to stand
between him and her beloved Ruth.
OF Mr.. Ebbeson's shade he scarcely
thought, doubling, perhaps, whether
a man on earth destitute of moral sub
stance, could at death attain the dig
nifty Of q heavenly shadow. But there
is vast difference in purposing to
propose and proposing. Mr.. Butterkin
learned this to his chagrin after re-
peated attempts at giving his frequent
interviews with Mrs. Ebbeson senti-
mental turn. At each advance Of his
she sped away as shyly as a girl, and
in the secure retreat by her mothers
couch was as unapproachable as if
seated aloft in the chair Of Cassiopea.
In regard to a written declaration of
love, Mr. Butterkin would sooner have
attempted an essay on protoplasm.
August still found him waiting for an
opportunity. He, usually 80, prompt
and unhesitating- 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 tender thoughts to
the leaves, he rose with desperate re-
solve, 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.
''1f you'll kindly step this way a 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:
s'I came to ask-that is, want to
KNOWN fact, I want to have a seri-
GUS talk with you.''
She believed in free will, he in fore
ordination but his 'sserious talk y
would not SAVIOR of theology, she knew.
She nervously essayed to conine it to
poultry.
Really, Mr.. Butterkin, you take too
much trouble about those hens
They
Nothing do for you, Ruth, is a
| trouble
ssThey're fairly rheumatic from
standing in that barrel of water, and,
for all that, they're not cured of set
ting
g AS was saying, Ruth
Don't say any more about 'en, Mr.
| Butterkin, beg.
'I'm not speaking about hens,
Rnth. Here Mr., Butterkin wiped
| his brow with his handkerchief a
widower's grimy handkerchief, g I
came to talk about you, Don't 60.
| Your mother didn't call. Why won I
! you marry me, Ruth!
She gave him q dozen reasons on
the spot; but the fallacy of feminine
logic being proyerbial, Mr.. Butterken
was not the man to heed them, At
| least this / know; before the snow
came the widow Ebbeson had become
l P,,ff