The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1885-01-07
A LACONIC W0OER.

II OC1Ll'
Mrs. Abigail Widgin, a buxom widow
of four and forty, sat sewing in the win
ter sunlight which fell through the stant
of geraniums and petunias before he
sitting room window. A cheerful Woo
fire burned on the hearth, its flames re
fected in the glistening brass fire dog:
glistened only less brightly than the sun
beams themselves.
Mrs. Widgin was q roly poly littlt
woman, with swapping black eyes, cheek:
like Baldwin apples and hair in which
only a few white threads disturbed TIL
raven gloss. There was an air of dc
termination, it is true, in her firm
lower jaw, but this was so overshadowet
by the general p~osiness and jollity of hel
face as to be hardly perceptible, and ever
a close observer would have pronounced
Mistress Abigail, as she sat placidly sew
ing in the afternoon sunlight, a dame a
gracious as she was comely.
The clock in the corner licked monot
onously, the cat on the hearth rug al
ternately slept, and then, awakened b,
a sudden snap of the fire, awoke to pur
Justify until drowsiness again overcam'
her. The widow sewed on with perfec
composure and scarcely q tirmer curv'
of the mouth betrayed the fact that sh'
was keenly debating SOM
important matter in her mind
Only from time to time her glanc,
was raised raised to the dial, and wher
at length the sound of footsteps crunchet
on the snow without was heard, TIT
quick, comprehensive survey which thu
black eyes made OF the room indicated
some desire that everything should bt
right and trig Tor the coming guest, anc
showed, moreover, that the newcomer
had been expected.
A moment later and lilly, the trim
maid, had ushered into the room a dap
per little man with 4 markedly legal air,
shrewd, ~twinkling eyes, and a shining
bald spot on the top of his head.
"Good afternoon, Mr.. SharperSon,'
the widow said, brisklv, rising with hos,
pitable alacrity. 81 began to fear You
were not coming"
Good afternoon" the gentleman re-
turned, allowing his hand to be shaken
vigorously.
"Sit down by the fire" pursued the
widow, busting about with the desire Of
doing something, yet not quite knowing
exactly what to do. sit must be a COO
day for all the sun. The snow crunches
too much for one not to know that. You
found it so, didn't you?' she concluded,
knowing by experience that nothing
short of a direct question was likely to
elicit a response from the t%aciturn law,
yer.
eyes" he answered, briefly.
uncommon cold, I should say
went on Mrs. Widgin,. seating herself
opposite her guest end spreading out heI
plump hands to the blaze as if talking OF
the temperature made her more sensible
OF it. "Colder than usual for the sea-
son. 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 one expects severe weather.
Still no reply.
1.-THE days begin to lcngthen,' 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 tie weather for a more prom
ising topic.
"You brought the papers for me to
sign, l suppose, Mr.. Sharperson."
eyes"
"Of course, you know that they are
all right. l trust it all in your hands.
never did know anything about mort
cages"
It was in Mr.. Sharperson's mind that
for one who knew nothing about legal
documents the widow had managed her
property with remarkable shrewdness,
but it not being his custom to waste SUI
%perluous words by putting his thoughts
into speech, he made no remark.
II will sign whatever you tell me to-"
his client continued with really touching
confidence. ut is hard for a woman to
have nobody but herself to lean upon.
I'm sure you don't know what | should
do without you"
Again no response.
IL quite depend upon YOU"
Still no reply, unless a faint sniff,
more or less scornful, might he so cond-is
cred.
"Where are the papers"
Mr.. %Sharperson rose with great DELHI
Grafton, and from the green baize bag
which, on enterin- he had deposited
upon the table, pr. -uced a small pack
age of legal papers. He turned again to
the window and fire, his eye dwelling
apprcciatively upon the cherry proper.
tons of both, as, without speaking, he
handed the documents to Mrs. Widgin.
care there four of them?" she asked,
with some appearance of surprise. 81
only expected three"
-Four" he said, but he volunteered
no further information.
The widow unfolded the papers while
the lawyer watched with professional
narrowness, and as she looked them over
the color flushed yet more in her some.
what forid checks.
Ibid you succeed in selling that ten
acre lot to Mr.. Woodhot1ea!' she ex'
claimed. elbow perfectly splendid
Why, Mr.. Sharperson. l am positively
getting to be quite an heircss. Isn't
there some mistaken
"No."
"And the sale is really nader
eyes"
"For three thousand3'
eyes"
"Mr. Sharperson, l have the greatest
mind ever had in the world to kiss
you."
"Do."
The widow was so astonished at hav.
ing elected a monosyllable of such a
character from the bachelor that she al
most forgot to bride, but fortunately
remembered in time what was expected
Of her sex.
Greatly" she simpered, "you are pos.
itivcly dreadful. l wouldn't have be.
lieved it of you"
She paused to give him an opportunity
of adding something more, but Mr.. Shar-
person had already exceeded the ordi-
nary limits of his habitual reticence, and
by a not unnatural recoil was now more
silent than ever.
II shall soon begin to look out for for.
tune hunters" remarked Mrs. Widgin,
archly. 81 hope you'll protect Inc from
them when they come"
Mr.. Sharperson's looks. expressed
such entire willingness to undertake the
defense Of his fair client that he evidently
did not feel it necessary to put it into
words.
81 don't know" pursued the widow,
gazing abstractly into the fire, ''but !
shall have to look about for somebody to
take care of me. What do you say Mr..
Sharperson?"
ar"
"Certainly; you. You know my bust,
ness affairs perfectly, and can advise me
better than anybody can think Of. Now
to be perfectly frank, what say you to
my being married again"
Nothing"
ooh, YOU think l ought not to talk SC