The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1884-12-05
A LACoNIC Wo0ER.

Mrs. Abigail Widgin, a buxom widow
of four and forty, sat sewing in the win
ter sunlight which fell through the
stand of geraniums and petunias before
the sitting room window. A cheerful
wood fire burned on the hearth, its
flames reflected in the ~glistening brass
fire dogs glistenlng only less brightly
than the sunbeams themselves.
Mrs. Widgin was a roly poly little
woman, with swapping black eyes,
cheeks like Baldwin apples, and hair
in which only q few white threads dis
turbed the raven gloss. There was an
air Of determination, it is true, in her
firm lower jaw, but this was 20 over
shndowed by the general rosiness and
jolity of her face as to be hardly per-
ceptible, and even a close observer
would have pronounced Mistress Abigail
as she sat placidly sewing in the after
o sunlight, q dame as gracious as
she was comely.
The clock in the corner licked mo-
notonously, the cat on the hearth rug
alternately slept, and then, awakened
by a sudden snap of the fire, awoke to
purr Justify until drowsiness again ov-
ercame her. The widow sewed on with
perfect composure, and scarcely even q
frmer curve of the mouth betrayed the
fact that she was keenly debating some
important matter in her mind. Only
from time to time her glance was raised
to the dial, and when at length the
sound of footsteps crunched on the
snow without was heard, the quick,
comprehensive survey which the black
eyes made of the room indicated some
desire that everything should be right
and trig for the coming guest, and
showed, moreover, that the newcomer
had been expected.
A moment later and lilly, the tim
maid, had ushered into the room a dap
per little man with a markedly legal
air, shrewd, twinkling eyes, and shin
ing bald spot on the top Of his head.
Good afternoon, Mr.. Sharperson,"
the widow said briskly, rising with hos
pitable alacrity. II began to fear you
We're not coming"
Good afternoon" the gentleman re-
turned, allowing his hand to be shaken
vigorously.
"Sit down by the fire." pursued the
widow, bustling about with the desire of
doing something. yet not quite knowing
exactly what to do. ut must be a
cold day for all the sun. The snow
crunches too much for one not to know
that. You found it so, didn'tyou?" she
concluded, knowing by experience moth
ing short of direct question was likely
to elicit a response from the taciturn
lawyer.
eyes," he answered briefly.
"Uncommon cold, L should say"
went on Mrs. Widgin. seating herself
opposite her guest and spreading out
her plump hands to the blaze, as if
talking of the temperature made her
mere sensible of it. colder than usu-
al for the season, don't you think so?"
"Perhaps."
"Oh, it certainly is; much colder"
No response.
"But then it is, after all, the time of
year when n expects severe wealth
err"
Still no reply.
"'The days begin to lengthen,' you
know the proverb, the cold begins to
strengthen"
Still unbroken silence on the part of
the lawyer, and the hostess was forced
to abandon the weather for a more prom
Using topic.
"You brought the papers for me to
sign. I suppose, Mr.. Sharperson ?"
"Yes."
OF course you know that they are all
right. I trust all in your hands. 1
never did know anything about mort
cages"
1t was in Mr.. Sharperson's mind that
for n who knew nothing about legal
documents the widow had managed
her property with remarkable shrewd-
ness, but it not being his custom to
waste superauous words by putting his
thoughts into speech, he made no re-
mark
II will sign whatever you tell me to"
his client continued with really touch
ing confidence. It is hard for q woman
to have nobody but herself to lean upon.
I'm sure l don't know what I should do
without you"
Again no response.
II quite depend upon you"
Still nc reply, unless a faint sniff
more or less %scornful, might be so con-
sidered.
"Where are the papers?"
MI. Sharperson rose with great de-
liberation, and from the green baize
bag, which, on entering, he had depos-
tied upon the table, produced q small
package of legal papers. He turned
again to the widow and the fire, his eye
dwelling approximately upon the CHEEKY
proportions of both, as, without speak
ing, he handed the documents to Mrs.
Widgin.
Are there four of them? 2" she asked,
with some appearance of surprise. *
only expected three"
-Four" lie said, but he volunteered
no further information.
The widow unfolded the papers while
the lawyer watched with professional
narrowness, and as she looked them
I'VE the color flushed yet more high in
her somewhat ford cheeks.
did you really succeed in selling
that ten acre lot to Mr.. Woodhoflea?'
she exclaimed. Glow perfectly SPLEEN
did! Why, Mr.. Sharperson, / am pos
lively getting to be quite an heiress.
Isn't there some mistaken"
"No."
And the sale is really made?"
"Yes."
aFor three thousand?'
yes"