Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1883-05-04

uuSoIs vi TIC pai6-IaCeu Vile, - the
hours went on, her feet in the mean
time keeping up a ceAseless rock, rock,
rock, with the swaying cradle.
Harry Harcourt was uneasy. Per-
haps it was his supper, perhaps it was
his conscience. But his stomach sud
his conscience were alike impervIous
t. ordinary disturbances, and I leave
the reader to guess the cause of bis
uneasiness. He raised up on his elbow
and gszed out into the room where his
wife was sewing.
Stitch, stitch, stitch; rock, rock, rock.
Would that stitching and rocking never
stop?
"But pshawl" thought Harry Har-
court. what right have I to be I'M
easy? A woman's work is nothing. Let
her site. and let her rock. It's what
women are made for"
Still he could not help reclining there
and watching her.
The clock struck eleven, and still her
silent, weary work went on; and, as
Harry Harcourt gazed, he fancied that
her entire brain and bedy became tram
sparent, and he could see himself re-
fiected in her thoughts as he had never
seen himself before. eyes, yes" she
soliloquised, and her mental thoughts
thrilled him like electricity, "Harry
thinks he is the head of this family,
and its only provider, stay and support.
But bless him, he doesn't know. Iguess
I'll retire from the firm and give him a
much-needed lesson"
And she bent low over the cradle
and kissed the sleeping baby, and even
while he gazed at her she disappeared.
What had become of her?
Harry Harconrt arose from his couch
and put on his clothes and approached
the cradle reverently and cautiously.
Near it was her low rocking-chair, and
by it's side the heaped up work-basket,
and her scissors, spool and thimble.
On the floor which was yet damp from
the after supper mopping it had receiv.
ed when himself and chil1ren were in
bed, lay a promiscuous array of old
clothes washed, ironed, patched and
mended by her patient fingers. He
gathered up the worn garments one by
one, and IS he touched them, felt that
they were warm with the wasted life
forces of his pale-faced wife.
The night passed away, morning
roseate and radiant beamed in at the
curtained windows where Harry Har-
court sat watching. The baby awoke
and began its usual wailing cry. He
tried hard to pacify it with the nursing
bottle his wife had provided the night
before, but it refused to be comforted-
He remembered seeing its mother shake
1t into few extra screams, followed
by season of quietude, but when he
tried the experiment it did not succeed.
What was he to do?
The older children were up by this
time. clamoring and hungry and cold.
He knocked them to the right and left
with his open hands and scolded them
into trembling silence.
where's my mama?"
The unanswerable question was re-
peated over and over until Harry Har-
court grew frantic with suspense and
grief and bewilderment.
The pile of mending had not been
all completed, and the many missing
buttons made it very announcement for
him to dress the children properly for
Sabbath school.
The breakfast was complete fail
ure. The children could not eat his
primitive cooking, and the baby's wall
ing cries rscked his nerves-strong and
healthy as he was-till he was desper-
ate enough to almost strangle it.
Dinner was more perplexing meal
for him to prepare than breakfast. He
whipped Ben and Billy to make them
wash the dishes, and whipped them
even harder when they broke half of
them into shapeless mass by letting
the dish-pan fall.
Monday came at last, and after q
sleepless night with the wailing baby,
Harry Harcourt went once more
through tie perplexipg work of the
morning IN the kitchen.
And then came the washing.
A wearier, crosser man than Harry
Harcourt never sat down to cold
dinner
The children skulked in the corners,
and fairly forgot to play at tandem
teaming. In u few days their clothes
wore out again, and he could not patch
them, nor could he get away from the
house to earn or even buy new ones.
His ewn garments grew buttonless, and
his food was unexpectedly indigestible.
When Harry Harcourt looked in the
glass, he found himself growing pale,
like his vanished wife. "No wonder she
grew white and thin, poor thing" he
sighed sadly. 81 shall die before many
days if l have to carry all the respon-
sibility on my shoulders without assist
snce."
"Nobody ever helped mamma" said
Billy, and he lodged behind the cradle
to avoid buffet for his temerity.
"That is true" thought Harry Har-
court.
And then his health began to fail,
and his strength forsook him, and his
head ached, and his temples throbbed,
and his feet grew sore and weary, and
he felt himself sinking, sinking, sink
ing into the grave.
"What will become Of the poor chill
dren when | am gone?' he thought
next Saturday evening, rs he YEARLY
stitched, stitched, stitched till midnight.
"But l deserve no better fate than my
present lot, and l have no reason to
complain if / do suffer. l never appre-
ciated Fanny. Poor thingl If l only
had her back I'd give her free and
equal possession and use of everything
on the plantation. She should have
help-plenty of it-and all the money
she needed to spend or save, as her
own sense would dictate, and I'd never
call myself the responsible head, pro-
wider and supporter of the family, nor
accuse her Of having nothing to do
no, never. But it's too late now. She's
gone, aud Tm left t. carry the load
that would never acknowledge was a
load when she had to carry it."
The baby cried harder and louder
than ever, and Harry Hsrcourt felt
himself sinking lower and lower in
health and strength, till finely he fell
sprawling on the floor, from which he
arose at last, rubbing the ',crszy-bone'
of his right elbow, and staring around
the room in state of somi-conscious-
| ness.
"What in the worlds the matter
Harry Hsrcourt2" asked his pale-faced
wife in alarm.
care you really there, Fanny2' he
asked, esgerly. al thought you were
dead, darlingl'
"No, Harry, I'm not dead yet, but ]
shall be before long at this rate" was
the despairing reply. I've been mend
| ing the children's clothes for three