The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1883-06-29
LOVE In ASHES.

"Scant OF nine, and the washing all
out, unused thrifty Mrs. Clutter as
she scrubbed the porch. deacon, I'll
get you TO set the big tub down cellar,
ii you will"
Certain, wife, Responded the deacon
from his cart in the door-yard.
There comes Kendall's new basket
wagon, with two women in it, pursued
the lady, wringing her mop. "Isn't that
the horse that balksP'
Being in the act of emptying a four
gallon bucket Of soap, the good man
vouchsafed no reply. When the jellied
mass had quivered and splashed into
the barrel in waiting he looked up just
in season to see the gay little pony shy
at the cart and 60 tearing down the
road. xnrv srrr
They'll upset! they'll be killed!. Run
after 'em! Do something!" shrieked
Mrs. Clutter 4 }b}C 4TIffiF if4Y
Don't get excited, wife; they're all
right now. That girl drives like q
man. Il Tf&tH t
And picking up his bucket, the mod
crate deacon marched off for a second
supply Of soap. But though the little
incident had failed to shake his nerves,
it did make him oblivious of his wife S
wash-tub poised on the landing of the
dim stairway, and, as natural conse-
quence, he put his foot in it. The tub
rolled; the deacon swayed like a pestle
in mortar; there was a lively success
ion of bumps, followed by q clatter and
thud, and deacon, tub and bucket
strewed the cellar floor.
"Adab and Abihu!f calculated the
fallen saint, with sinful energy.
whats up,Auncle?'' cried an anx-
ious voice overhead l&8 Af&8
81 can tell you what's down." was
the grim response. 'Come and brace
me while l try.t step.9S N
The owner of the voice, o fine-look-
ing youth of one and twenty, was al
ready cropping his way among the de-
bris, his aunt in the rear with the cam
phor.
The deacon's attempted locomotion
resulted in a groan. fhibf H8
II must have sprained my ankle,
Harvey. If I'd postponed this tub-race
till after I'd been my rounds, 'twould
hGNO bOGh bGblCI CdlCOldIlOu.
"Oh, l wouldn't worry about nv
rounds, uncle. What's the hurryPn
MY customers expect me TODAY.
that's the point. | hate mastery to
break my word. Now there's the widow
Geayes waiting for me to take her
ashes, so she can scrub after me with
the boiling suds, and up at Kendalrs
thpV'Pp clean Out of SOoD -
"And not clean without it, ehP"
laughed the young man. ''See here,
uncle; since You are going to feel so I'M
easy about disappointing the people,
why not send me in your steadP'f
"You, in your fine clothest / should
SMILE" mumbled Mrs Clutter, with
the stopper of the camphor bottle be-
tween her teeth.
'Why can't my uncles mantle fall
dpon me, auntieP / was intending to
borrow the froek."
'Wen, if | do say it, you've cot the
Vance common-sense. Some young men
OF your bringing up would be ashamed
to drive soap-cart,
"Humphl Some young men would
be fools, said the deacon, with warmth.
Nobody has any call to be ashamed to
deliver such soap as make If you've
a mind to run the team to-day, Harvey.
l shall be obleeged to you"
Fifteen minutes later the worthy dea-
con was extending his aching length
upon the sitting-room lounge, and gag
ing through the open window after his
youthful proxy, who, duly initiated into
the mysteries of the calling, was driving,
away in the big blue cart. Behind
lounced and creaked an empty ash-bin,
thanked by two covered barrels of soap;
but the swinging seat was clean and
comfortable, commanding fine view
OF the surrounding country.
A half-mile and more the road wound
through his uncle's fertile acres. for
Deacon Clutter was withal farmer.
Farming, indeed, was his, chief voca-
ton, soap-boiling being an accessory
venture growing out of sundrv extern
sive experiments in the use of leached
ashes as fertilizer. 1t was one of
those tuneful mornings in early June
when all nature joins in a GLAD doxolooy.
The newly arrived bobolinks, tipsy with
glee, caroled in the meadows. The
orioles, hanging their hammocks in the
elms, could scarcely work for singing.
Gay breezes whispered love to the grace
full young clover, then danced away to
fiirt with the coy hillside birdhes. Every
where were life and motion irradiated
by the benignant sun. For Harvey
Vance's study-weakened eyes there was
too much glare, too much flutter. He
lost no time in putting on his blue cog
who cares if they do make me look
like frog?" unused he. as he settled
them astride his aristocratic nose
Thanks to them, and to change Of air.
my poor optics are undoubtedly improv,
Ing. l shall be back to college bY fall.
Ia! ha! if the fellows could only see me
owl"
And here, to the infinite surprise Of