The Ohio Democrat. (Logan, O. [Ohio]) 1886-1906, 1891-11-21

| "Hain't the price of wheat gone down,
Till It amt much difference whether
the weevil gifts what we've got or not?
If the wheat don't sell well, how are
we goin' to pay the intruss on that
mortgage2 Seems to me Sam mighter
helped us a little thar But sence he's
got out to Montanny he don't care
whether his old parents ever hear FROM
him agin or not. OF all the plaques a
poor man ever had an ungrateful child
is the wust."
I'm sure Sam don't mean to be un-
grateful" said Mrs Ware, ever ready
to defend their absent boy. "You was
allus hard on Sam, because he was
rather wild. But have faith in Sam
yit, md feel to thank the Lord for
givin' us sech boy"
"That's the way with you women"
grunted Silas. "The wuss boy gifts
to be, the more you stick up for him.
And s If this want enough, the best
steer on the place must lay down and
die, just when was a needin' him to
haul in the fodder. Thar hain't his
match in the country"
"Oh well, father, you said you was
Roin' to make beef out'n both the yoke.
Well get the fodder hauled somehow.
Let us go to church and do our part
The Lord'll be sure to do his'n any
how"
'Go yourself, if you want to, Maria,
but don't bother me about thankin' the
Lord for what He hain't done, and
from what can see hain't goin' to do
nuther."
Silas got up rs he spoke, put away
his pipe and went into the sitting-room.
He picked up the county paper and lay
down upon lounge by the window
Though he ignored attending church,
he did not feel like going out to work,
but grumbled himself into some sort of
interest over the market reports. The
sound of Mrs. Ware, OF her work in the
kitchen, mingled softly with the gen.
tier flow his reveries soon fell into. He
felt sleepy, yet he did not wish to sleep
1t seemed as if he lay long while
wondering what would happen next.
Then he rose, put on his hat and went
out DOORS
The sky was overloaded and cold
wind wNs blowing. The promise of
bright day had NOT been kept He
wandered slowly over the farm, otto
ing the stones, the stumps, the ragged
fences and the general poverty of the
soil. He felt more than ever what an
i-used man he was. Nothing good
could he see in anything,
"And yet Maria thinks we ought to
be thankful. That's about all the
sense woman has"
On the way back to the house he
passed through the barn. The mate to
the dead steer looked at him mildly,
from over the manger
"Il make sure of you ter-morrer,"
grumbled Silas. You'll have to make
beef, whether you're fat or not. Hit
don't do to risR too many chances these
hard times"
He went through the woodshed and
into the kitchen. Everything was in
order, yet the house seemed strangely
silent within, though outside the wind
mourned dolefully In the kitchen,
the fire had gone down, though the tea
kettle was on, and in the cooling oven
lay the Thanksgiving turkey.
"Plague take itr' exclaimed Silas,
after examining into the state of the
culinary affairs. EFF Maria hain't got
to be as shiftless as the rest"
He pushed on into the sitting-room,
charged with connubial reprimand.
But as he opened the door, he stumbled
against something soft and yielding,
yet which sent an unaccountable shiver
from his feet to the very crown of his
head. He looked down. 1t was a wom-
ans recumbent form. With a great
fear at his heart he bent down, turned
the pale, white face to the light, then
staggered back, trembling in every
limb, while cold drops stood out upon
his forehead.
"You-Maria?" he gasped, as with
sudden wild hope he shook the still
form violently. "Wake up, Maria
The idea of you agoin' to sleep and let
ting the turkey get cold in the oven"
No response. The figure that had
worn itself out working for him lay as
nerveless in his arms as block of
stone. The closed eyes, the purple
lips, the drawn, white features, told
their terrible story. His wife was dead
-dead-and he had parted from her
not two hours before, with selfish
grumblings upon his lips.
Silas Ware rose to his full height, and
uttering hoarse, inarticulate cry, fell
back upon the lounge from which he
had recently risen Thanksgiving day!
AT breakfast he thought himself an ill
used and an unfortunate man.
"Oh, God! Oh, God!" he moaned.
"What would l not give to have it all
back?"
All what? What but Maria - his
wife, the faithful companion of the
tolls, the joys and the sorrows of
thirty years! What did he care
now for all other troubles and
losses? They were invisible beneath
the overwhelming cloud of this one
great loss. Without her nothing would
be good. With her, all other trials
were trivial He knew it now; he re-
allied it in every agonizing quiver, as
his heart recognized and felt it's utter
and hopeless loneliness.
And even this was not the worst. If
he had parted from her with a smile
instead of a frown--in kindness rather
than with reproach, the agony of sepa-
ration might be blunted little. But in
the coming years he must go down to
meet old age alone, the memory of his
harshness would ever be singing.
'If | had only known" he cried,
dragging himself upon his knees to her
side ones more; ''if had only KNOWN
Known-what? Ifhe had only known
how great his blessings were, in the
possession of his true tender, patient,