The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1881-08-24
MISCELLANY.
WIFE OR DRUDGE.

Ten o'clock and the lunch basket not
ready to take to the field As usual p grunt-
ed Farmer Brewster, as he threw himself in
to the rocking chair in the kitchen and fan
ned his flushed face with his straw hat. GA
quarter of an hour wasted, very likely, wait
ing here. Right in the midst of as fine hay
day as one would wish to see Now, my mother
used to have her lunch ready to the minute
whenever we came for 1t, and don't see
why"
His jeremiade was checked by the appear
ance of his wife, who came out the pantry
tugging along the great lunch basket, almost
too heavy for her strength.
Farmer Brewster was a young man in spite
of his grumbing. Only twenty-three, tall,
straight, healthy, with blue eyes, rosy cheeks,
fair, curly hair-and handsome face when it
was not darkened, as now, by scowl of dis
content.
An only son, he had Inherited a large and
handsome farm, clear of mortgage and debt,
which supplied all the wants oil his household
most literally and gave him nice little sum
of money to deposit in the bank each year.
There was no reason why he should be
mean, and yet misery habits were gradually
growing upon him far faster than he knew.
Nor was there need of grumblng over the
household arrangements, since the wife of his,
choice was farmers daughter who knew
well how to work, and who had taken delight
in setting her home in faultless order when
first she came as a bride to the pleasant
Brewster place.
The same order reigned still, from garnet to
cellar of the old square house but Mrs.
Brewster went through her tasks mechani-
cally now, or with nervous haste and hurry
that made them almost uncomfortable some
times.
The constant drop of water will wear away
a stone and the constant fault finding in
which her husband saw fit to indulge had
nearly worn the patience, the hope and the
endurance out of the young wife's heart.
The comfort and happiness of that home
hung upon thread which frayed more and
more, hour by hour under the pain of I'M
merited blame.
Yet George Brewster saw nothing of this
until the morning of which / write.
ssThete is the lunch and It is exactly five
minutes past ten, ;" said Mrs Brewster, setting
the basket down with some emphasis at his
feet. 81 was delayed that much with the
butter. 1t had to be seen to before the sun
got too high"
"My mother always churned before break
FAST" observed George, rising slowly to his
feet.
His wife said nothing, but the color rose
holly in her cheeks, till the last bloom of her
airlhood seemed to have come back again,
and she raised her eyes to his with look that
startled him. is 80 fst4 stef
Very handsome eyes they were--soft, dark
and velvety, with world of love and tender
ness In their depths. Yet now they met his
own coldy and sternly with such an express
sion that he exclaimed
"Good gracious, Lefty You look as if
you hated me y
"rm afraid j do, 2 was the astonishing re-
ply.
And with swift glance at the clock, Lefty
hurried down into the cellar with knife and
pan to make her preparations for dinner for
six hungry haymakers. .
"Afraid she hates met My wife She
that was Lefty Grover p muttered he to him
self, in his bewilderment. Why, what on
EARTH She must be going crazy or some
thing or other.
aLetty p he called at the cellar door.
cit is ten minutes past TEN" she answered
from the depths of the cellar. If don't
see about the dinner now, it won't be on the
table at twelve to the minute, as your mother
used to have it, can't come"
"Wen, if this don't beat all y said be to
the maltese and-white cat who assembled from
the cellar and rubbed against his legs.
A shout from the bayfield, reused him to
the recollection Of the days business.
He went out and dispensed the treasures
of his basket among the hungry men, who
praised Lettys excellent cooking with every
mouthful they swallowed.
cit is enough to make an old bachelor like
me sit down and cry to eat such raspberry
short-cakes as that, said Solomon Wyse,
wiping tie crumbs of the feast from his lips,
before he drank sweet cider from the jug.
"Tell you what it is, George, you drew q
prize when you went counting"
n.