The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1884-01-12
MORE WAYS THAN ONE.
BY MARJORIE BURNS,

Farmer HaskelPs three stout daugh-
iers put their hands on their hips and
gave three simultaneous shifts of super
lative scofn, before they began their dis
cussion of the stepmother whom their
father had brought that evening to the
weather beaten farmhouse that stood
well up the side of Bald Mountain.
Was he demented when he married
this little city exotic, who had the most
hazy ideas on the subject of the relative
merits of peach-leather and picked
mangoss, and had actually confessed.
without blush, that it was an article of
faith when a chiidt that butter grew upon
the trees yclept butternut?
Hannah aud Eliza returned all EN-.
phatic affirmative TO this question, pro-
pounded by Mary, the third member of
the trio. But when Mrs. Hastings
capped the climax of her inconsequence
by bestowing the Eighty name of Lucille
upon the wee, fair babg, and then dying,
each registered mental vow that the
morsel Of humanity should be brought
up in the bousewlfely way che should go.
But although the most energetic women
may propose, circumstances wilt occa-
siOnally dispose of those propositions.
Lucille evinced an unconquerable de-
termination not to stir marmalade, and
evoked ready floods of tears at the bare
sight of dish towel; and when the
three sisters went, one by one, to the
homes of neighboring farmers, they
gave up all attempts TO direct her edu-
cation. So she attended the village
school, roamed at her own hayward will
over the farm, paper and pencil in hand,
lotting down leaf, bud, bird-anything
that took her fancy, went to boarding
school, and finally returned from her
postgraduate art course, and married
fagner.
d Train mp child in the way she
should go, murmured Hannah, BEAM
ing with satisfaction at the thought that
her persistence in teaching Lucille to
make currant Jelly against her viii had
&C length borne fruit.
8ut the remaining sisters shook their
heads, like a couple Of New England
CassaGdras; and when they went on
their first official visit to inspect the
workings of Lucliie's management, Han
nah herself became inoculated with M
belief and joined IN the prophecy OF a
tram OF disasters, concluding with tab
lean vivant of cover the Hill to the
Poor House."
"a pretty farmers wife," said Mary,
as the trio walked into the kitchen,
where their father was taking his mid
morning lunch.
"What has the child done now?' in
quired Mr.. Haskell, as ne swallowed the
last crunb of spicy, yellow gingerbread,
and washed it down with O generous
draught of buttermlk.
"Done? Nothing That's just the
trouble. Her idleness and extravaganza
will ruin Harry Jocelyn, If he is the
richest farmer round about Milfordp
snapped Hannah.
"a penny wasted day by day will
melt the Rothschilds' wealth away. "
added Mary, emphasizing Hannah's
doleful augury with one of the little
moral couplets of her childhood
Ten o'clock, and she had just got
1pi One of the girls asked us up to
Mrs. Jocelyn's boo-dore. and there she
lay on the sofa, looking pretty enough
to tat, but as good-for-nothing as wax
dol, having her hair brushed by her
nialdp' burst IN Eliza, with sarcastic
emphasis upon these two words so an
tagonistic to Yankee prejudice and In
dependence. 81 asked her if she was
going to try for the prize offered for the
best pound of butter at the county fair.
and she opened those blue eyes of hers
till they we're most as big as her new
tangled sa$lce- plates, and said that Harry
didn't marry her becauce she was q
good butter maker And then she be-
gan talking of a picture that she was
painting for his birthday, and said that
she wanted to make home pleasant for
him. Pleasant for fddestickI' she
conclut.ed. with scorntul snort.
Hum ha what can do about it ? ~
stammered Mr.. Haskell, as he rescued a
perlshlng fly from the oregs of his bnt
termjlk.
Do? Why demonstrate, father .
promptly replied Jane.
30, although Mr.. Haskell would have
rather gone to the gallows than to have
dimmed the blue eyes so like that other
PAIR, In whose sweet depths he had lost
bis heart, he screwed his courage to the
sticking point, fully convinced that If
he failed IN his duty he would become
responsible for all the ills that might
follow, and went to demonstrate"
"Ten o'clock, and just up? Pretty
late hours for farmers wife-hey, lit
tie girl ?" he said, awkwardly, as he was
ushered into the rose-red boudoir. in
whose pink gloom Lucille, in her white
negilgee, looked like pearl in the
heart of a rose.
The nights are so warm that / don't
get asleep until late," said Lucille, with
pretty, deprecatory pout, as she put
up her face for kiss.
But the boo-dore-why is it neces-
sary?" looking around the cosy room
with a perfunctory severity, "And
why a maid he continued, waving his
bandana with would-be severity at the
deft little maiden who was brushing
Luclile's flowing hair with golden floss.