The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-12-11
AN INHERITED VICE.

stairs.
did 1 wipe off the what?" asked the
person spoken to, with puzzled air.
He was a young man, handsome and
addressed, with frank, jolly face. He
stood a second, waiting for an answer, the
pitcher of foaming cider in his hand He
turned to his companion, pretty, deli
cate-looking girl, who seemed amused at
his perplexity
A sort of cool twilight reigned in the or
derby and spotlessly neat cellar. The light
struggled in through square windows, each
covered with wire netting, and some OF
them overgrown with vines. The cellar
was ceiled overhead and waterlined I'M
derneath, and the ceiling and walls shone
with fresh, clean whitewash.
Around one side, on a slightly raised
platform, stood row of barrels. Each
barrel was in cleanliness what Caesars
wife should have been in character-above
suspicion. Under the faucet OF each bar
rel was small stone jar, to catch any pos
sible drip" and they were all so alike IN
appearance and so regular in arrangement
that they reminded one OF a class drawn
up for recitation. One half expected that
the first barrel would start off with twice
one is two," or some such simple state
ment, and the rest follow in regular order.
At the other end of the cellar was
swinging shelf perforated with holes, IN
which dozens of very clear, dustless bot
ties were standing on their heads in
slightly tipsy attitudes, doing penance,
apparently, for the evil that their former
contents might have done. 1t was re-
markable cellar, remarkable for its exquis-
tie cleanness and order. Even the stairs
leading down to it were white and shining
as though scrubbed with sand.
"What did your mother say?" asked the
young man of the girl beside him, after
waiting a minute.
''She asked if you'd wiped off the cider
BARREL" she replied. half laughing.
"Here, Harry" and she led the way to
where, in a row. under the stairs, as many
cloths were hanging as there were bar
rels, and taking one down. she handed it
to him, saying:
"This is the cider barrel cloth"
He looked at it curiously and then at
her.
4. do you mean to say he asked, ''that
your mother wipes the nOses-I beg your
pardon, 1 mean the faucets, of every one
OF those barrels every time they are used?"
"Why, yes" she said. with dignity;
"why shouldn't she?"
He took the cloth meekly, and tenderly
wiped off the damp faucet with it, and
then hung it back on its own special nail.
"Well," he exclaimed, "that beats me!
I've heard OF neatness and order before,
but / never saw anything like this!
don't believe your mother will half enjoy
her halo, she'll be so busy scrubbing it all
the time"
The young girl didn't laugh. She went
up the stairs, saying as she went: Don't
you like to have things clean? can't bear
dirt"
Cant you ?" he said, lightly. "Now 1
revel in it. All the most picturesque
things in life are the dirtiest, you know"
They came together into the dining
room, where tall, thin woman was put
ting the finishing touches to a Widespread
supper table.
She looked at them and smiled grimly.
"Seems to me-" she said, you was a
long time getting that cider" The girl
blushed furiously, but the young fellow
putting the pitcher down on the table
answered cheerfully:
"Well, if we were, Mrs. Putnam, it's all
your fault. To tell the truth l was so
dazzled when / saw that cellar of yours
that | went into trance, and Jennie had
an awful time bringing me to-"
"Humph," said Mrs Putnam, " likely
story!" but she looked pleased, neverthe-
less, for her cellar was to her what some
favorite chapel is to devOtee, and praise
| OF it was sweet.
Her face was wrinkled and worn, but
her eyes had a singular alert expression
/ the look of one who wages a continual
warfare. And this was just what she had
! DONE A farmers daughter and farmers
! wife, she had spent all her life in one
! ceaseless struggle after perfect neatness
and rule. Cleanliness was next to godli-
ness with her. 1t lgds godliness, and she
worshiped it accordingly. She had been
! known once to say, in passing through a
! cemetery, that she wouldn't mind dying
so much if only there was something
| cleaner to be buried in" The final
triumph of earth, which was only another
name for her Lifelong enemy-dirt, wor-
ried her greatly.
Her husband was a rich, well-to-do far
mer, twhile his money had given her
increased ability for keeping everything
in spOtless condition that she loved, it had
not brought her one single hour of leisure
/ She never relaxed her vigilance. She
scrubbed and secured and busted, she
swept and shook and polished, until it
seemed as if the very files were intimi-
dated and kept at respectful distance
| from her home.
Her one daughter, Jennie, was engaged
to Harry Jackson. He was going to take
her away from her old home to the city.
and one would have thought that the APP
preaching separation from her only child
would have weighed heavily on Mrs Put
nam. But it didn't. To tell the truth,
she was so very busy keeping things clean
that she had never much time for emotions
of any kind.
Harry Jackson was not rich, though he
had a good position in a railroad company,
with those prospects of rising" so dear to
every young mans heart. He was slightly
superior to the Putnams socially, but the
rugged stock of their family had produced
its fairest flower in Jennie, who was sweet
and lovable in every way. Altogether he
considered himself a very fortunate fellow,
and went back to the city full OF dreams OF
happiness for the future.
1t was in March that he was married,
and after little trip, which somehow was
not as rapturous as he had anticipated, he