The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1882-05-12
WIDOW APPLEDORES RO-
NANCE.

GA man that thinks of nothing but
pep'mint oil an price of wheat No!
Emma Jane, my life has been humdrum
enough, without my ending it with Dea-
con Bliss. 1 shap't have him |"
swell, well, Rosetta, if you won't l
don't knows anybody's goin' ter try an
make you," chirped plump, rosy Mrs.
Phlox, looking up from the stout blue
wooden sock she was knitting. dispose
the deacon thought he'd right to ask
you, bein' it's free country. Caleb
Appledore was awful nice man, but
SOS the deacon. Lone wimmen are put
ON. Job Whittamore neglects your gar
ding, an just see what work you have
with your fires winters an keepin' roads
broke out.
"Pm not going to marry just to have
some one tend to the garden and do the
chores" said Mrs. Appledore. "Tve
never found fault with them that's dead
and gone; but know what it is to live
with person who does not care two
pins for the things do, and if ever do
marry again it will be some one who can
sympathize with me. can't say L
swallow all 'Lias Bradshaw says about
the marryin' of souls and affinities, but
there's some truth In it you may depend.
Besides, I'd like little romance to my
life before L die"
Romance is all we'll 'nuff," said
Mrs. Phlox; "but you're 80 next March,
Rosetta, an sech a mar as Deacon Bliss
don't grow on every bush. Bein' agood
provider, an splendid farmer, an
deacon, an a pillar in the church may
not he romantic, but they're good re-
concentrations in man you're thinkin'
of marryin'. / hope you'll think
twice."
''I have thought, and 1 shan't marry
the Deacon" said Mrs. Appledore deci-
sively IAN if that's being romantic,
I'm not ashamed of it.
The little widow did not look roman
tic. Her complexion was a dull white,
and her hair was a dull brown. Dull,
too, were her large cray eyes that blinked
behind short-sighted glasses, but her
form, though meager and devoid Of
curve, was not without grace, and she
had clear, sweet soprano voice, which.
though it was unframed, she could use
with taste and feeling. The Harmoni-
cum, the Dixville musical association,
made her the head of all their commit
tees, and relied upon her to sing all the
solos. Indeed, without her it could not
have existed. The wheezy melodeon,
which was a dozen years old before il
became the property of the society, had
at last collapsed under the energetic
finners of Prof. Jackson Jones,
who did the accompanying, and
they were trying to buy a
piano. They had given concerts and
had oyster suppers till Dixville was
tired, when DIR. Ollapod suggested q
lecture. 1t was whispered that the doc
tor had expected the committee to invite
him to read one of his papers on the
Semitic tongues; but if he did he was
disappointed. They correspondent with
many popular lecturers, who all declined
to visit Dixville on the plea of engage
whom they knew nothing save that he
had lectured in the neighboring villages,
to address them. The professor had
suddenly appeared in Dixville mounted
on fine gray horse. The next day he
was seen to enter the postoffice with q
green bag on his arm, and the gossips
Immediately reported that he was
wealthy and had come from Boston. He
at once accepted the invitation of the
Harmonicum committee, and announced
that his lecture would be on the Phi
losophy of Art" The meeting house
was hired, and Mrs. Appledore,, with a
select few, began practicing some music
for the occasion.
It was the afternoon before the lect-
ure, and Mrs. Appledore had invited her
sister to spend the day with her. Do
nestle duties seemed to be just what
Mrs. Phlox was made for. Her husband
and sister usually did all her thinking.
In return she served them with her
hands: but the few notions that did
creep into her round head she chung to
pertinaciously.
"The worst kind of fool is beetle
headed one," she said, after long
pause can putin thiss and that to-
gether, Rosetta. think you're preparin
with your romancin to be just that
kind Of one."
"I don't see how sisters can be so un.
like" and Mrs. Appledore drummed q
harsh accompaniment TO her words on
the middle @ of her piano. TO be
sure, you are the oldest; but age need
not make ones soul clod."
1t wonld be well for you to remem.
Der that all the advantages are not on
your side." cried Mrs. Phlox, rising
with dignity. "There are bodies, yes
and dispositions, that are clods," and
Mrs. Phlox jerked on her calash and
vent home.
The meeting house was full, and tn,
nex, day the Dixyille Times declared