Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1890-06-09
Missing the Train.

I
accustomed to take this particular
train every morning. Not once in
three months did such thing happen
as his being late for the train; but
on this occasion he felt like declar-
ing that half the time he had to rush
himself clear out of breath to reach
it, or else miss it.
He was in that exasperated state
of mind where he wanted to blame
somebody, abuse somebody; state
of mind which, in condition of de-
velopment a little nearer the savage,
would impel him to acts of cruelty to-
ward anything or any person on
whom anger could be wreaked. The
person on whom, in this instance, he
could most quickly and with the least
impunity cast blame, was his wife.
1t was all her fault. Why could not
she manage household affairs so that
he could get his breakfast earlier?
He worked like q slave at his bust
ness ten hours a day; he gave her
full control of the house and furnish
ed money to run it; she had SER
want, and it was pure and utter shift
lessness in her that breakfast could
not be furnished in proper time. Thus,
with flashing eyes, soliloquized Mr..
Smith; so with anger-fushed face, he
watched the train disappearing in the
distance.
1t was full hour and half till
the next train; it was nearly half a
mile back to Mr.. Smiths house. He
paced back and forth nervously for
| few minutes on the station platform,
debating in his mind whether he
should wait there for the next train
or go back home. AS he unused his
anger grew. He would go home and
give his wife such piece of his mind
as she would remember for months.
She should be made to feel that it
was no light matter to have break
fast five minutes late. He turned his
face homeward and stamped heavily
along, with the air of man deter
mined to do desperate deed. His
face was flushed with anger and his
eyes cleaned fiercely.
But as he FASTENED along, somehow
OF other his attention was diverted by
the song of bird among the trees
that lined his path. He looked up
involuntarily. How brightly the sun
was shining; how blue the sky was ;
how balmy and fragrant the air; how
peaceful everything appeared as he
looked off through the green space on
either side of the village street.
The trees were putting forth their
tenderest green; so was the grass.
He noticed the fragrance of the crab
apple and wild plum blossoms, he
distinguished the peculiar strain of a
bird he used to hear in boyhood. 1t |
was the wood thrush. He had listen
ed to that bird, when, years ago, he |
had walked in the meadows and lanes |
with the pretty, shy young girl whom
his heart was bent on winning for his |
wife. She was his wife now. She |
was the mother of three rosy, active
children they were his and hers.
She was not as pretty now as she was
then; she was thin and careworn.
The plump rosiness and merry smile
were for the most part gone. But
what q good, true wife she had been
TO him How her economy and faith
fulness had helped him in getting the
start he now had in the world How
little she saw of the outside world, or
of diverting pleasures How self-de-
nying and accomplishing she had
been, and what a devoted mother to
their children.
And on that brig hit, sunshiny morn
ing he had been thinking hard tho'ts
of her, and meditating what sharp,
cutting words he could say to her
and all for a trivial loss of half an
hour from business Mr.. Smiths
pace slackened; his countenance re-
h ~
morning he could not, would not, by
harsh words, mar the harmony and
beauty of the sunshine and birds and
the green things growing. No; if
he could not speak kindly he would
hold his peace.
AS Mr.. Smith neared his home he
felt a certain shrinking from meeting
his wife directly. He almost feared
he might betray on his countenance
some of the harsh thoughts he had
been thinking. So he went around
the side of the house and entered the
kitchen door. Bridget was standing
with perplexed ana exasperated eX-
preston on her face, looking into the
kitchen stove, in which smoldered
dark, dying fire.
ssWhat is the matter, Bridget"
s'Faith, sur, It's the stove that
breaks my heart entirely. The CRATE
is broke and the stove pipe smokes, j
and whin l shtrive to make quick
fire here's the way it serves me-
'Well, Bridget, L believe it is all
my fault. Your mistress has asked f
me many times to bring new CRATE
from the city, and also to send man
to clean out the stove-pipe and CHM /
ney. l will put this down in my note
book and bring the new CRATE this
evening, and Pat McFlynn, the tin
ner, shall be sent right up this morn
III 81 rino -