The Brookhaven leader. [volume] (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1883-1891, 1883-07-05
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,
if 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 il" pursued
the lady, wringing her mop. Isn't that
the horse that balks?
Being in the act of emptying four
gallon bucket of soap, the good man
vouchsafed no reply. When the iellied
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.
They'll upset! they'll be killed. Run
after EN-. Do something" shrieked
Mrs. Clutter.
Don't get excited, wife; they're all
right now. That girl drives like a
man.
And picking up his bucket, the mod
crate deacon marched off for a second
supply of soap. But though the little
in.ident had failed to shake his nerves,
it did make him obliviou> of his wife 5
wash-tub poised on the land NO of the
dim stairway, and, rs natural conse-
qucnce, he put his foot in it. The tub
rolled; the deacon swayed like pes.le
in a mortar; there was lively success
ion of bumps, followed by a catter and
thud and deacon, tub and bucket
strewed the cellar floor.
'Adab and Abihu." calculated the
fallen saint, with sinful energy.
Whats up, uncle?" cried an anx-
ious voice overhead.
Il can tell you what's down." was
the grim response Come and brace
me while | try to step
The owner of the voice, 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 groan.
Il must have sprained my ankle,
Harvey. IfTdpostponed this tub-race
till after I'd been my rounds, 'twould
have been better calculation"
"Oh, l wouldn't worry about nv
rounds, uncle. What's the hurry"
My customers expect me to-day,
that the point. | hate mastery to
break my word. Now there s the widow
Cleaves waiting for me to take her
ashes, so she can scrub after me with
the boiling suds, and up at Kendall's
they're clean out of soap"
And not clean without it, eh?"
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 stead?'
You, in your fine clothes / should
smile, mumbled Mrs. Clutter, with
the stopper of the camphor bottle be-
tween her teeth
why can't my uncle's mantle fall
upon me, auntie? was intending to
borrow the frock.''
We'll, if | do say it, you've got the
Vance commOn-sense. Some young men
of your bringing up would be ashamed
to drive soap-cart."
"Humph! Some young men would
be fools, said the deacon, with warmth
Nobody has any call to be ashamed to
deliver such soap as L make. If you We
mind to run the team to-day. Harvey
shall be obleeged to you"
Fifteen minutes later the worthy dea
con was extending his aching length
upon the sitting-room lounge, and gaz.
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
jounced and creaked an empty ash bin,
flanked by two covered barrels of soap;
but the swinging seat was clean and
comfortable, commanding a fine view
of the surrounding country.
A half-mile and more the road wound
through his uncle's fertile acres, fol
Deacon Clutter was withal a farmer
Farming, indeed, was his chief voca.
ton, sOap-boiling being an accessory
venture growing out of sundry exten.
sive experiments in the use of leachec
ashes as a fertilizer. 1t was one o.
those tuneful mornings in early june
when all nature joins in glad doxology
The newly arrived bobolinks, tipsy with
glee. carOled in the meadows. TIL,
orioles, hanging their hammocks in tn,
elms, could scarcely work for singing
Cav bFepZeg whiSnered love IN he orra %