Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1888-03-19

cup. Rising, he FASTENED to handle
his pets with an ardor that caused
Lizbeth to smile knowingly as she
watched him pick out the very small
est and most slender cord-sticks.
That was great mistake on Mr..
Mouser's part. He should have tack
led the difficult ones first, on the sim
pie but fruitful theory that custom
would have sweetened his toll with
the balm of greater ease.
My! how the saw rented and the
abbreviated sticks tumbled to the
ground Still Lizbeth, who was peep
ing with laughter brimming eyes, no.
ticed that at the third cord-stick work
seemed to slacken just a little, but
seven were finished and Mr.. Mouser
came in, declaring he felt glorious.
The second day Mr.. Mouser re-
NAMED at table trife longer. Four
cord-sticks in broken lengths licked
the dust, however.
Third day-Mr. Mouser took time
to glance over the daily news after
dinner. Record: Three cord-sticks.
"Lizbeth, said he, 81 think I've
been cheated in the saw-jack. 1t is
not put together on as practical a
plan as l was led to believe. 1t
wriggles."
Fourth day-Mr. Mouser toyed
over his dinner extensively. He
smoked his pipe and read the paper.
He glanced over his monthly maga
zine until dark, and then started up,
exclaiming:
"Mercy! how short the days are !"
Mrs. Mouser enjoyed the situation
intensely but said never a word.
Fifth day-Mr. Mouser arose with
a sense Of injustice resting upon him.
All day he was haunted by the out
rageous fate that made him the own
er of a sawing-jack.
"My dear, we require more wood
than usual to-day and tomorrow,
washing and ironing days, you know,
said Mrs. Mouser as aeon as he got
home.
81 never saw anything like the way
you women manage to consume fuel -
and Mr.. Mouser grabbed his hat and
strobe angrily toward the wood-pile.
A few sticks fell before the savage
manipulation of the saw, while Mr..
Mouser's snarling kept excellent time
to the wild motions of the sawyer.
With a crash he sent the saw flying
over the wood-pile. This was too
much. His wife was brute to eX-
pect him to work like slave during
the few moments he could call his
own free from business drudgery.
But if he gave up he would never
hear the last of it. Oh, if he could
only get rid of that saw-jack.
A long time he pondered at last
smile of JOY illuminated his face.
That night, after his wife had retired,
Mr.. Mouser slipped out and carried
that hated green object to the front
gate. Presto! in the morning the
corpus delicti would be gone. The
highway was full of robbers, who
would steal anything and everything.
He would make a big fuss about
the loss, but take good care not to
buy second saw-jack.
He slept the sleep of the just until
about four o'clock in the morning.
1t was still dark, but his anxiety to
assure himself of the loss of his trou-
BILE caused him to sneak out and re-
connoitre. The saw-jack was still
there. Mr.. Mouser whispered-not
a prayer. ''Oh, well, there is enough
time still between this hour and day
light for a theft to be committed"
he muttered. 1t was the voice of
Mrs. Mouser that awakened him in
time for breaksast. He glanced out
of the window the first thing. Oh,
how brightly the sun shone, and that
saw-jack cleaned up at him in all its
verdant beauty. No robber hand
had carried it away. A fearful sigh
escaped the Mouser bosom.
s'You must saw some wood for me
before you go, DEAR" said his wife.
"What, more wood -
eyes, dear; recollect you only
sawed one stick last evening"" rejoin-
ed Mrs. Mouser, meekly, but a wick
ed CLEAN of mischief played about
her eyes and mouth.
Mr.. Mouser ignored her reply, and
FASTENED to toy with his pretty tools
with a vigor born of awful fury, but
way down in his soul voice groan-
ed-that sawing-jack must goI
Where? whence? how?
Mr.. Mouser was a man of resourc-
es. Twelve o'clock midnight. A
burglarish darkness and silence
brooded around as a man stole hence
from his couch, and grabbing his
trousers, left a cosy bedroom. A
little later the only other active crea-
ture abOut-a feline prima donna
might have witnessed a sorry sigh ;
a solitary man marching downward,
clutching in his strong right hand a
beautifully painted green saving
jack.
Soon he returned. The saving
jack-where was it?
Mr., Mouser rose that morning in a
most delightful frame of mind.
"Lizbeth-my dear little Lizbeth,"