The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1882-07-27
@sick, are your asked Mrs. Bon

/ uey.
/ "Pm not very well, acknowledge
Alice.
'.Ah," said Mrs. Bonney, q
thought sor'
what do you meanF' asked
Alice.
why you've been killing your
self by inchesr' said Mrs. Bonney
"as fast as you could. I've seen il
all. I'm not your next door neigh
Dor for nothingp
| 81 am trying to do my duty, y
pleaded Alice, with filing eyes
I'm trying to be like my husband IS
first wifer'
"Fiddlesticks! !" said Mrs. Bonney.
Like Dorothy Parker, indeed ;
: by, she was nothing on earth but
a household drudge, and finally
drudged herself to death, without
anybody being particularly sorry
for her. She never visited, she
never read, she never kept up with
the progress of life's march around
her. Any machine could have filled
her place"
"Mrs. Bonney, you ought not to
talk so," said Mrs. Perry, uneasily.
''It's the truth, ''said Mrs. Bonney.
However, do as you please. It's a
privilege which people generally
claim, 1 have observed; kill yourself
if you like. Perhaps the third Mrs
Perry will be little more sensible" :"
So Mrs. Bonney put the bouquet
of tea-rose buds, which she had
brought, into water, and tripped
laughingly home, while Alice clasp
ing her hands over her throbbing
temples, tried to ask herself which
was right, herself or Mrs. Bonney,
and in which direction her path of
duty really and actually lay.
And it was at this critical mo-
ment that she heard the nasal, mo-
notonous voice of her mother-in-law
downstairs talking to her husband,
and uttering the sentence which
opens our sketch.
"She amt the same sort as your
first wife, Henry" said Mrs. Perry,
sr. 'And she never will be, let her
try as she will. She hasn't got the
faculty, you see."
She lay there quite still and
quiet, with closed eyes. She never
opened them when Henry Perry him
self tiptoed into the room, and, be-
lieving her asleep, tiptoed out again,
muttering to himself:
"Poor little daisy, she is entirely
done upr'
The next morning, however, Alice
rose and dressed herself with care.
"Bless me-" said Mrs. Perry, ST.,
"where are you going, Alice" sne,
''To the village" answered Alice.
"What for3' cross-questioned the
elder matron.
"To engage a dressmaker and
seamstress first" said Mrs. Perry,
jr., ''and to get strong girl to do
the hOusewOrk next"
"A-Girlr' screamed the old
lady. Dorothy never"
NO" said Alice; 81 know she
never kept servant. But Dorothy
cleaned and churned and sewed
herself out of the world. I've no
intention of settling my own career
in that sort of a way. / find that l
can't do the work Of this farm my
self without breaking down my
health, and shutting myself out of
the world of books and science. L
do not think my husband desires
such a sacrifice"
"Of course l don't" said Henry,
promptly. "The house has been as
lonely as q convent since you buried
Yourself in the kitchen and dairy.
1 married you for companion, not
a drudge. Have half dozen ser
wants, if you like, Alice, only let us
have books and music and pleasant
woodland walks again"
"Thank you, dearest" said Alice,
as she kissed his forehead.
Mrs. Perry, ST., rolled up her eyes
and clasped her hands, and declared
soto vocs she didn't know what this
world was coming to.
Mrs. Bonney was feeding chickens
at her own door when Alice Perry
returned from her walk to the vii
lage.
"Are you better?' asked this
young red republican, smiling cordi-
ally. ..
"Thanksl" Alice answered, Il
am much better. 1 have just en-
gagged a sewing woman and stout
Swedish servant girl to do the house
work at the farm. 1 am no longer
ambitious to do as Dorothy did"
And Mrs. Bonney waved her sun
bonnet in the air, and exclaimed:
''Bravo! There will be no third
Mrs. Perry after ALL"
And her words were prophetic
Rural Press.