New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1883-12-05
FOR LOVE OF HER.

dong nOW!'
'..He's planting string beans. father!'
sweet voice answered.
Mr.. Chudwell, in his anxiety to per-
sonally superintend the progress of his
teamwork, had nearly twisted himself
out of his chair, with both elbows on
the window-sill, and his wrinkled, care
worn old face peering between the
heart-shaped leaves of the morning.
glories.
Justine, his daughter, was washing
the blue-edged dishes in the adjoining
room, a tall, brown-cyed girl, with lux
uriant dark locks waving away from
her forehead, and a healthful shade of
sunburn on her cheek.
.'String- beans! string-beans! Nom
sense, nonsense!' impatiently exclaim-
ed the farmer. ''What's all this gar
den truck for, except to pamper your
appetitesp It's the corn ought to be
got into the ground and the potatoes
and the parsnips and those things that
sell well in the market! Oh dear! oh
dear! things don't go as they used to
in my time! There's the bars of the
maple meadow down, and I'll go bail
the COWS will be in the cabbage-patch
before you can say Jack Robinson
''The COWS aren't in the maple mead
ow to-day, father" said Tiny gently.
''They are off on the blackberry pas
ture lot
''And who said they was to be chang
ed?' snarled Mr.. Chudwell, growing
especially cross, as a sharp rheumatic
pang seemed to be tying a double bow
knot in the muscles of his leg. Fam I
the master of this place, or amt Il?
Heyp Answer me that"
Joseph Fielding says that the fences
are badly out of repair in the maple
meadow said Iiny;, 'tand he thinks
Thinks, does hep growled Farmer
Chudwell, screwing up his features as
the double bow-knot seemed to unite
itself again, with lingering throes of
PAIN .sWelIhe amt no business to
think. He's only my hired man, after
all! I'm able to do the thinking for
myself, yet awhile, guess!''
''He's doing the best he can, father"
pleaded Tiny.
':And it amt your place to be maxim
excuses for him; neither" added Mr..
Chudwell. ..Eh! Hello! What's that
he's bringin' across the garden?"
Tiny leaned out over her fathers
shoulder to see.
''It's the tiger-lilies!'' she cried joy
ously. MRS. Bruce has given me some
roots of those beautiful tiger-lilies!
And Joe is going to plant them at the
south doorstep!
She went singing back to her work,
for Tiny ChudwellI had all a woman's
fondness for beautiful things, and dur
ing her fathers administration, not so
much as a daisy root or blue larkspur
was allowed to encroach on the garden
ground.
The very hollyhocks whose scarlet
heads nodded over the wall of the door
yard were only tolerated because it was
too much trouble to dig their long tap
roots up!
But Joseph Fielding liked flowers as
we'll as Tiny. He had planted Mich
igan rose by the well and sowed sweet
pea seeds under the kitchen window
and here, at last, were the tiger-lilies
her artist-soul had so coveted! And, in
her minds eye, she could already see
the great orange darlings, their fiery
petals blotched with black, nodding
like spots of vivid color in the July sun
shine.
She had always wanted bunch of
tiger-lilies by the porch. She had
looked longingly at them as they bios
somed in her neighbours yards - she
had fancied how orientally lovely they
would look among the clustering pale
green southernwood = and now her
dream of beauty was TO come true at
last!
But Farmer Chudwell had his ideas
on the subject. also. He had never
been what the world calls ga pleasant
man. in his palmiest days, and it
seemed as if he grew crustier and sourer
than ever, when misfortune crept slowly
upon him.
First the old mill-stream which had
turned the wheel for generations un-
counted, went dry probably, as Mr..
Chudwell bitterly remarked, ''in conse-
quence o. them waterworks, as every
body was taxed for, and nobody want
ed, and the mill business had to be
abandoned.
And then there was year of mildew
in the corn, and subtle rot in the potato
fields, and just as the apple crop ripen-
ed in profusion of crimson and gold,
the price of apples fell SO that it was
hardly worth while to gather them into
barrels.
II won't sell 'em!' roared the farmer.
I'D sooner dig 'em into the ground to
fertilize the soil! It's swindle! The
markets are in league against met
And the vineyard of young grape.
vines which he had planted so carefully
on the rocky terraces at the south side
of his farm, succumbed to prolonged
drouobt and an embryo cyclone oar