The Middlebury register and Addison County journal. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1883-1885, 1883-06-22
LOVE In ASHES.


out" unused thrifty Mrs. Clutter, as
she scrubbed the porch. deacon, I'll
get you to set the big tub down the
cellar, if you will"
"Certain, wife," responded the dea-
con from his cart in the door yard.
"There comes Kendalrs new basket
wagon, with two women in it," pur-
sued the lady, wringing her mop
"Isn't that the horse that balks p"
Being in the critical 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 locked
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 'em Do something 7"
Shrieked Mrs. Clutter.
"Don't get excited, wife, they're all
dght now. That girl drives like a
han."
And picking up his bucket the
moderate deacon marched off for a
second supply of soap. But though the
little incident had failed to shake his
nerves, it did make him Obvious of
his wife's washtub poised on the land
ing of the dim stairway, and as a
natural consequence he put his foot in
it. The tub rolled, the deacon swayed
like pestle in mortar; there was a
lively succession of bumps, followed by
clatter and thud, and deacon, tub
and bucket strewed the cellar floor.
"Adab and Abihuw calculated the
fallen saint, with sinful energy.
"What's up, uncle?" cried an anx-
iOus voice overhead.
81 can tell you what's down." was
the grim response. Come and brace
me while try to step"
The owner of the voice, a fne-look-
ing youth of one-and-twenty, was al
ready cropping his way among the
debris, his aunt in the rear with the
camphor.
The deacon's attempted lccomotion
resulted in groan.
81 must have sprained my ankle,
Harvey. If I'd postponed this tub
race till after I'd been my rounds,
'twould have been better calculation. {"
"Oh, 1 wouldn't worry about my
rounds, uncle. What's the hurry?"
"My customers expect me to-day,
that's the point. l 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
Kendalls they're clean out of soap"
nd o1n oh
laughed the young man. "See here.
uncle; since you are going to feel so
uneasy about disappointing the peo-
pie, why not send me in your stead ?''
"You, in your fine clothes 1
should SMILE" mumbled Mrs. Clutter,
with the stopper of the camphor bottle
between her teeth.
"Why can't my uncle's mantle fall
upon me, auntie? l was intending to
borrow the frock"
"Well, if l 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've mind to run the
team to-day, Harvey, / shall be obleeged
to you"
Fifteen minutes later the worthy
deacon was extending his aching
length upon the sitting room lounge
and gazing 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 comfort
able, commanding a fine view of the
surrounding country.
A half nile and more the road WOUND
through his uncle's fertile acres, fol
Deacon Clutter was withal 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 leache(
ashes as a fertilizer. 1t was one o.
those tuneful mornings III early Jun,
when all nature joins in glad doxol
ogy. The newly arrived bobolinks
tipsy with glee, carroled in the mead
ows. The orioles, hanging their ham
mocks in the elms, could scarcely worl
for singing, Gay breezes whispere,
love to the graceful young clover, theI
danced away to Airt with the coy hill
side birches Everywhere were lif
and motion irradiated by the benig
nant sun. For Harvey Vance's study
weakened eyes there was too mucl
glare, too much fiutter. He lost n
time in putting on his blue goggles.
Who cares if they do make me loo
like frog?" unused he, as he settle
them astride his aristocratic nost
"Thanks to them and to change of all
my poor optics are undoubtedly in
proving. 1 shall be back to college b
fall. Ia ha if the fellows could onl
see me now !"
And here, to the infinite surprise @