Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1891-09-10

COiOi 81! Anu huSu IL OCCuIEeu W ulU
that though he had asked her often she
had not ridden with him for long whi,e
pot since-why, not Stree Roxanna
died, and his own face flushed under the
dawn of new idea. Ruth was afraid
TO neis hbors might talk. Strange he
hadn't thought of it before. DaarI dear!
what timid little woman she was!
AS he logged loDesomely along in the
great wagon which used to carry two. and
seemed disma!ly empty with one he could
Lot banish her from lis mind, and he be-
gan gradually to realize how constantly she
had been IN it Of late. What had made
| her manner So distant these months past?
Was il tear of village gossip, or dad she
really dislike him? He wished he knew;
| yes, be did wish be knew! and he jerked
the reins, unwittingly wodnding the feel
lngs Of his faithful roam, conscientiously
trotting her test.
Turning in at his own gate. a rebellious
cilmor from Mrs. Ebbeson's hennery
greeted his ear. Alas for his vain attempt
| - overcome material instinct! Hardly
mad they left their sight when the cluck
| ing Brahmas sought their nest, when the
widow found them bill to bill, the scarlet
ankle ties hidden beneath the straw. SIX
relnstated themseh es; and uOw at noon
there they sat breeding over the pile of
| bricks she had heap in their nest, wink
in. their small round eyes at her IN lazy
| triumph 1t was too much. Was any i'm
mortal woman to be out witted by a couple
Of finite hens? The little widow renewed
the conflict, but not daring to lay hands
again upon the beiligerent bipeds, she re-
sorted to the discreet expedient of poking
dc chem through the window, thus afford
lGg to Mr.. Batterkin, as he rounded the
cjrner, confused vision of agitated
calico dancing about a distracted rake
| handle.
What! setting again, Mrs Ebbeson?"
! The small lacy. till then unconscious of
the gentleman proximity, hastily with
! drew her head from the window and look
ed down In some confusion from her perch
on an inverted barrel.
Yes, they IT setting again; but its just
d. well-just exactly as well, said she
rather incoherently, narrowed by The fear
lest she were displaying her ankles.
Now, now, we must see about this,
responded Mr.. Butterkin, fishing in his
pocket for ball Of Irvine he had bought
that day for stringing the tomatoes, ana
meanwhile glancing over his shoulder,
apparently to assure himself that the
| orchard was where it should be. He
would have liked nothing better than to
lift the little widow down, but his instinct
rod him she would prefer to descend 10y
herself. unooserved, and he was a man
capable of self sacrifice. We'll tie the
hens TO the fence" he added, presently,
conscious of a thrill Of delight as he pro-
nounced the I'VE"
H. knew himself better than in the ear
Is morning, aud could not disguise the fact
that he felt a personal satisfaction in en-
tering into even the humbest partnership
with Mrs Ebbeson-a satisfaction evident
ly not shared by the Brahmas, who, resent
ing his continued Inheritance, tore his
coat mercilessly. 1t was Jagged rent,
from pocket to hem, in his Sunday gar
ment, too, which in Roxanna's time had
never gone to the village on a week day;
nut who was there now TO watch over Mr.
Butter rn's apparel? Not Mr.. Butterkin,
surely, to whom the distinctions of dress
were but as sounding brass and linking
cymhal,
What wicked, wicked shame!" cried
Mrs. Ebbeson, In distress. "But | ii do 1t
just as we'll as | can
mo, no, thank you; it's of no conse,
quence, " replied Mr.. Butterkin, with
nanly ind. # renee.
but Esther can't mend broadcIoth.'
Cant? You don't say SOP
lmbued with the ma1uine supersti-
lion that incApacity with the needle be-
tokens idiOcity, Mr.. Butterkin looked
aghast.
No; she's young. you know, and not
used to sewing. sides, I'm RESPONSE
bic for this rent Let me attend to it,
please.
He removed the garment without d
word, his face flushing like moose berries
in autumn. Not at the thougi t that, since
Esther was incapable, Re nut he indebted
to the widow for past favors with the
needle-indeed, he would have unblush-
lngly declared that this was the first oc-
caeion since Rox tnna's decease that gaI-
ment of his had needed repair-out he fit
! reiuctancet to being dependent upon Rnth
for mental service, when it Was now tie
growing desire of his heart that she should
lean upon him.
Seeing him color, Mrs Ebbeson, ont of
sympathy, coIored too, and such a vivid
and lasting crimson that her mother at
dinner mildly chidad her for going out
! without her bonnet on.
Busy over his coat that afternoon, r nth
naturally thought of Mr.. Butterkin, while
he, wedding tie late turnips, recalled her
bluShe1, and clumsily tried to analyze
| hem. Ga the whole, he went so lar as to
believe she couldn't like him. And so
night came, the mended coat hung in its
place, and under the fence the undscour-
| aged Brahmas brooded above imaginary
eggs. Next morning they brooded there
still, and there, had they been his own,
might they have continued to brood, for
gotten by Mr.. Butterkin, who, as his Late
i wife often said, complainingly, never
| charged his mind with hens; but these
especial Brahmas possessed peculiar inter-
est as giving him audience with the
charming widow. Accordingly, in the
days that followed, he hovered about the
luckless bipeds like bird of prey. He
bought the latest treatise on hens, and
patiently tried in succession all the expe-
rIments therein suggested for suhdulng
the wills Of obdurate sitters, Mrs Ebbeson
assisting, as In common gratitude she
mnst. This without producing the least
effect upon the Brahmas. 1t was the
widow that grew FESTIVE, conscious of the
absurdlty OF Mr.. Butterkin' s sudden and
ostentatlous regard for fowls She knew
the very mOment when his heart turned
| toward her, but whether hers inclined
similarly toward him wasn't for her to
say till he asked yet, coy little woman,
she gave hun no chance to put the cues
ton.
And, such is human perversity. the
more she seemed not to c2re for him, so
much more was Mr.. Butterkin resolved