Herald and news. [volume] (West Randolph, Vt.) 1878-1943, 1889-04-25

symmetry, how rude and coarse ane
hard looked all her surroundings.
was only one long monotonous round o.
homeiy toll, unrelieved by any OF tn'
little sweetnesses and graces that lalBh
make even toll pleasant. She dld no.
often think of it, but she remembered
that day with the faintest little AR o.
regret that she might have been differ
emily situated, and as she looked up &c
the pretty French cottage on the MI
embowered in perfect forest OF bios
soming vines, something like sl9l
trembled ON her lips.
Squire Burnham's wife does moi
have to beg for palty bit Of money to
set out her table decently, she thought
rebelliously.
What business had she to marry Rob
ert Thompson, she asked herself, her
slender wrist beating away at the but
ter for the Hubbards. For III the green
and gloomy light in which Mrs. Thomp-
son looked at things to-day, she quite
forgot the fact that she had fallen III
love with the honest, steady and good
looking young farmer, choosing HIM III
preference to Joe Burnham, whom she
might have had. Joe had patrimony
good bit of land, which he rented, and
was called esquire" as his father had
been before him. He wanted to marry
Jane Lawrence, and she would not;
likes and disiikes cannot be controlled,
and she cared more for Robert Thomp
sons little finger than for the whole Of
poor, understood Joe. Squire Burnham
found another wife, and Mrs. Thomp-
son, this weary day, was furiously envy
ing her. Mrs. Bnrnhafn would come
amidst the rest of the sewing club, too,
and see the miserable shabbiness OF the
mulberry ware, and the home generally.
The unfinished butter got beaten saw
agely at the thought.
All through the long forenoon Mrs.
Thompson nurseo her wrath. Robert
was selfish and unreasonable, and she
did not care who knew it. She would
not have the sewing club at the farm,
come what might. The potatoes got
boiled; the big piece of beef was sim
mering ON the fire. Before II o'clock
she saw her husband and his two friends
coming through the orchard, with red
and hungry faces. Mr.. Thompson always
wanted his dinner boiling hot, and she
fastened to lay the cloth in the cool
room of the kitchen. Frank and Charley,
her two boys, came rushing in from
school, each striving to claim her atten
ton. She was tired. heated and very
cross.
Why isn't dinner ready" demand
ed Mr.. Thompson, not seeing il actually
on the table when he entered. 81 told
you we had no time TO waste to-day,
he added angrily, in his anger and hum
ger. II i hadn't anything to do all
the forenoon but to get dinner I'd have
it ready in time, know"
A bitter retort was springing TO her
lips, but ere it could be spoken Charlie
interposed, pushing his
new copy book before her eyes.
Look, mother, am going into sen
fences now, like Frank. III my first
copy The master wrote it; and he
SAID l was to get it by heart, too, and
always remember it. Doread il, mother.
Mrs. Thompson, her arms full of the
cracked mulberry plates, paused mo-
ment to let her eyes fall ON the new
copy. "A soft answer turneth away
wrath was what she read. It was not
hat the proverb was new: she had read
/ scores Of times; but there was some
hing in its appropriateness to the pres
mt moment that felt like cool, sweet
Wind on her heated pulses.