The Portland daily press., 1890-01-25
MAR TIA.
youths Companion.l


Old John Compton gave the wheel of
his wagonsan emphatic twirl around the
axle which he had been greasing. His
brow was troubled, his voice BETRAYED
emotion. Removing his funnel shaped
lat. he wiped the moisture from his
wrinkled face.
Behind him was his cabin, and in its
entry his wife was at work. In front of
him lay his crops exulting in the sun
shine. He took the prop from the axle;
then he joined his wife.
Mother" he said, in the same dis
quieted tone that had characterized his
soliloquy a moment before, "mother,
you think Martha's made up her mind
about Berry Bradley an 'twouldnt do
no good to reason furder with herr"
The woman turned from the churn,
and drew near to him. Her movement
was slipshop, her face as grave as his;
signing, she said:
'Do any good? Not particle. I've
been agin it, John, the Lords my wit
ness. I've sutfered terments; net a.
iiacherl nights rest in month have l
had. But what's to be done? It's the
Lords will, l reckon. You don't know
nothin' about mothers feelin's-a man
cayn't, it amt natur'; but I've got some'n
to tell you; you're her father an orter
know, though sech matters kin pass bet
ter betwixt women folks, kase they I'M
derstand one another.
LAST night couldn't rest. You was
sound asleep. / thought heerd some'n'
a-stirrin' in the child's room. got out
O. bed and crept cross the entry, an,
a-standin' thar at that crack, heerd her
a-cryin' an a-prayin' in thar to herself,
thout sign of light.
81 peeped in at the door, an saw the
pore gals face in the moonshine. In all
my born days hain't seed sech misery
on human countenance. She was as
dead white as a corpse, a-settin' on the
side o the bed with her arms crossed,
bendin' for'ard an BACKYARD, a-moanin'
an a-prayin' in whispers.
81 knowed twas kase we'd been a.
talkin' agin' Berry, an / went to her an
TUX her up in my lap-she's pore frail
little thing anyway; she never was
overly stout.
CATER awhile she told me all about it
from beginnin' to end. Berry ulster tote
her dinner basket an jine her on the
road to school mighty nigh every day
three year ago fore he TUX to drinkin'.
She begun to love him then. She never
opened her mouth about it, an you
know he didn't come to the house even
as often as Glenn Craig, SO how's we to
know?
"She don't dispute that he's triflin'.
He's alays been kind an lovin' to her,
she says; an has promised time an agin
to stop drinkin'. She thinks she can get
inn to give it up. He proved to her, at
meetin', yesterday, by Budd Logan, at
! he haint teched drop O. anything in
toxicatin' in over three weeks. He says
he never will agin; but the's no tellin'
bout them that's tied to liquor. He
mout start agin, an what nd come o.
herr"
The huskiness in the woman's voice got
the mastery of her articulation, and she
went silently back to the churn. She
continued her work, but the dasher in her
unsteady hand struck against the sides of
the churn with unwonted force. She
was wiping her eyes on the skirt of her
bonnet.
The subject of the conversation Just
reported was the only living child of the
old couple; their other children had died
before they had passed the period of in
fancy. Martha was the pet, the Joy of
the humble household. More than once
the neighbors had expressed themselves
against what they considered to be dot
ing over indulgence of the girl on the
part of the father and mother
'She'll be eternally spilled" quoth
one.
''She's the only gal in the hollow at
kin afford to wear shoes in summer
time; next thing you'll hear O. her
a-havin' boss an buggy" said another.
"They put her to school six months
last year. The most at common folks
gifts fur th'r children is month 'twixt
layin'-by time an Christmas" COM
planned an old crone with a ragged
brood of ten children dependent on her.
His wife's graphic recital of the girls
unhappiness touched the old farmer
deeply. He could frame no reply. Walk
ing restlessly across the puDcheon floor
he shaded his eyes from the glare of the
afternoon sun and gazed westward,
where he deserted couple advancing
along the road through the fields. 1t
was Martha and her lover-a slight, girl
ish form in homespun gown, burly
young countryman with slouching
walk.
They came to the cabin together, both
silent. The girls features were regular
and pleasing, her face deep and serious;
she was about IS years of age, the young
man rs.
Wont you come in an rest:' she
asked, in restrained tone, with a dubi-
GUS and stolen glance at her parents.
he complied, manifestly abashed, gave
the occupants of the entry a gawky bow
and mumbled "Howdy," and took
seat on an empty soda key against the
wall, which, in his immediate vicinity,
was frescoed deliberately with strings of
red pepper pods hung up to dry.
The titillating dust and odor from this
vegetable made him long to sneeze. His
excessive timidity or bashfulness, how
ever, thwarted such an outbreak.
AS rule, young men in this region
when they go "a-sparkin'" have little to
say. Berry Bradley, while different in
many respects from the average aSprout
Hollow" swain, was no exception to this
rule. If you had seen him, as he sat
there, you would have taken him for an
inmutable mute. The pepper pods had
melted his eyes to tears, yet he did not
have the courage to alter his position,
but sat looking through the blur as pa
tient as a statue in fog.
Besides, no other seat invited occu-
pancy save dismantled candle box near
Mrs. Comptons churn. The discomforts
arising from the pepper pods were pref
cradle to nearer approach to his mo-
ther-in-law In prospect.
The good woman finished her work at
the churn, and, without glance at the
visitor, went modify into one of the
rooms to arrange the table for the even
ing meal; whereupon Berry moved
slightly, got his feet and hands into a
less tense posture, and wiped his eyes on
ms coat sleeve. The farmer picked up
ms basket, and went out to feed his
horses; the visitor sneezed with kind
OF bray, and left the pods.
I'D better be a-goin'," he remarked to
the girl standing near the steps.
Whats your hurryT' she asked. with
aquick, troubled expression in her ewes
do you think a man orter wait tell
ole GAha blows his horn, II, h;n No.. -