The Worthington advance., 1881-02-24


Rose Ho'twick Thorpe, in Detroit Free
Press.
THE WIDOW IN THEL.
1t had been Mrs. Butterkin's doingS'
letting the T.. Mr.. Butterkin had
objected to the proceeding, but mildly,
US was becoming in the good -humored
husband of a ''whimmy' wife. so prone
to tears that there seemed some foun-
tlation for her pet apprehension that
her s. blood was turning to water.'
GrievOusly tormented by nerves, she
longed for womanly sympathy, and on
Mr.. EbbeSOn's deceaSe. nothing would
do but his widow should sell her farm
and occupy the Butterkin l., for had
not Ruth and she been dear friends
from girlfoOd =? After due delihera-
tion Mrs. Ebbeson came, having first
secured life lease of the building.
y busy little woman was Ruth Eblrc-
.On, us she had to be, her intcmperate,
worthless husband having left her
barely enough to make both ends
meet. If she would lap them com.
fOrtaDly, it must be by her own eXer-
tions with the needle. And as she
sat cheerily stitching by her invalid
mothers couch, Mrs. Butterkin would
often run in with beans to pick over
or apples to pare, while on rainy days,
obcdient to his wife's suggestions,
Mr.. Butterkin did many neighborly
turn i'll the way Of carpentry. The
two families were almost as one. In.
deed, the letting Of the l. seemed Il
PrOvident arrangement for both par
TO be rid of her farm it was we'll that
her mother should bc within easy &C.
cess Of a physician.
Especially was it of advantage to
Mrs. Butterkin to enjoy cheerful com.
panionship. and whatever was Of adj
vantage to Mrs. Butterkin necessarily
affected Mr.. Butterkin.
Thus years giidcd OH, bringing men,
tai vigor to the nervc-diseased Mrs.
Buttcrk,n. She had never seemed il,
better health than in that fatal spring
when she was Frustrated by pneu-
lnonia, death.strickcn from the first.
"The Lord wills it, Ruth. and l
don't feel to murmur," she whispered,
with dying grace; but "husband:ll
miss me, / know. You'll keep an eye
Oh him, won't you, when am gone,
and make him comfortable e.
Mrs. Ebbeson sobbed a promise but
after Mr.. Butterkin's bereavement she
found the covenant embarrassing, for in
this sublunary world of ours a widow
who "keeps her eye" OH il widower
challenges unpleasant comment, and
little Mrs. Ebbeson deprecated the
speech OF people. Consequently,
though she conscientiously ministered
to A1r. Butterkins comfort, it was in
unobtrusive ways not suspected by
him. and hardly realized by the niece
who kept the house. The door
between the two sitting rooms no
longer, as formerly, stood invitingly
ajar, hut was hasped upon the widows
side. She never passed through it
now, save in the gentleman s absence.
when she occasionally assisted the
inexperienced Esther in compounding
his favOrite dishes, or surreptitously
possessed herself of his fine mending.
With his wife s demise the old free and
easy life had ended. They were two
distinct. households, growing further
and further apart, as the weed upon the
Widowcr's hat waxcd rusty beneath
accumulated months of mourning. 1t
could scarcely have been otherwise.
The closed door was but Il symbol of
the barrier which, in the very nature
Of things, must exist between the
bereavcd Mr.. Butterkin and the
similarly bereaved Mrs. Ebbeson.
When a right hand glove has lost it's
mate, and the left has met with like
calamity, one naturally desires to fit
the remaining two together, if hap]y
they may make a pair. and the widow
shrumk sensitively at the thought of
the neigl,bors thus mentally matching
herself and Mr.. Buttcrkin. As far as
in her lay she tried to make it appar-
ent to them that the twins were two
odd ones, which could by no possibil-
ity be mated.
But not 50 the gentleman in question.
That people should gossip never en-.
tered his head. Ifin Roxana's life
time. to please her. he had done her
dear Ruth frequent ncighborly favors
all the more he would do them now
that ROxana lay cold in death. And
as day after day went by. and he felt
more and more closely drawn by the
cheerful. bright-eycd widow, the
simple man believed this was solely
for his departed wife sake. She had
heen dead year and u day. when
Mrs. Ebbeson whiskcd out upon the
doorstep one warm July morning
shake the table cloth. )
"Oh, my stars!'' calculated she.
looking not into the armament. but
straight carthward at her hens dart
ing hithcr and yUn for breakfast
crumbs. In the midst of tho flock
bristlcd two Brahmas. with sullen
eyes and feathers on end, cluckins
for chickens that were not.
Anything wrong, Mrs. Ebbeson p
MIR. Butterkin paused OF his way
from the barn with the milk.
"Only these Drahmas, Mr.. Butter.
kin. I've broken them uD, but they
will SET Mr.. Ebbeson had been
reared in Il rural part of New England
where hens never "sit.")
Well. why not let EN- p
In July! Now, Mr.. Butterkin.''
"Then supposing you tied red yarn
about their feet p
"Why. thoy'b peck my eyes out
laughed the widow. dexterous]y fold
ing the tabiecloth in it's former
creaSeS. ri,
" She was sorry the moment she had
said it. for Mr.. Butterkin offered ut