The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1894-05-18
DAVID'S LEAVING.
A Domestic Quarrel and tho Les.
sons It Taught.

hid the valley, but were spreading
away like a curtain from the hillside,
letting in flood of sunshine upon u
little, old, unpa;nted house, house
that would have looked cheerless and
commonplace if seen with different
surroundings, but could not seem
either when seen, as it was, against a
background of fruit-laden apple trees,
and with its bit of a front yard ablaze
with late asters and marigolds, and
great drifts of red and white petunias,
that half hid the path from the gate to
the doorstone. But all this brightness
of earth and sky contrasted sharply
with the gloom within the house. Mrs.
Marston was washing the breakfast
dishes. She was little, fussy woman,
whose faded blue eyes had never lost
their look of childlike faith and trust,
nor certain kindly light, though her
hair was heavily streaked with gray,
and the lines about her mouth indi-
Gated will of her own. Her husband
sat by the fire, greasing his boots, his
usually placid face wearing look of
helplessness, trouble and bewilder-
ment, as he paused in his work and
said:
so you're tired of me. be you, Polly?
Is that what you said?'
eyes, that's what l said, David"
here she paused to steady her voice. u
can't stand your shif'less ways no
longer.
''Well, Polly, you've said some pret-
ty pinted things to me, one time an
another; but l d'know as you've ever
told me right out an out before as you
was tired of me. Seems as though you
didn't quite mean it now. Seems as
though mebbe you're kind of put out
an talk stronger than you mean"
''Well, do mean it My patience is
clean wore out. Here be / a-workin'
an a-slavin' week in an week out, AN
you jest a-lettin every blessed thing
go to rack an ruin. Goodness only
knows where you expect We'll land at
this rate. In the poorhouse | guess.
P'tatoes, that ought, by good rights,
to've been dug two weeks ago, jest a.
rottin' i'll the ground. Not q single
cornstalz cut yit Every squash'u git
froze. Beans a-mildewin'. Not an ap-
pie gathered, an you jest a-spendin'
every blessed mint of your time gittin'
drunk with that good for nothin' Sam
Sloan"
''Now, Polly, that amt hardly fair.
You know | amt seen Sam Sloan in q
month till he comes over Yesterday to
borrer some fish-hooks; an / didn't git
drunk with him, neither" Here David's
eyes were lowered to the boots and
grease can. ''He wanted me to take a
drink with him out of bottle he had
an couldn't very well refuse, seein as
how he was a neighbor and hadn't
been over in so long. He is"
Here Polly faced about with the dish
cloth in her hand. "He can't stay
away none too long to suit me; not if
he stays till doomsday," she snapped
out. 81 amt never had no use for Sam
Sloan, an don't think much of them
that has. An know jest as well as
that you're a-settin' there, David, that
you had more'n one drink"
David did not raise his eyes from the
grease can. "Oh, 1 amt a-denyin'
Polly, that we took little more when
he was a-leavin'. l told Sam | guessed
I'd better not; that it might fly to my
head so asst / couldn't work; but he
lowed my system needed stimulus, an
it would jest brace me right up But
it didn't
mo; l should say it didn't. When 1
got home, at dark, Jest about tuckered
out after worl<in' at the hotel all day,
there you was a-settin' in the rocsin'
chair with your head on the table fast
asleep. The fire out an not a chore
done. The hull afternoon spent in
carousin'."
"There wasn't much carousin' about
it, Polly. Sam didn't stay more'n an
hour; an l couldn't do much carousin'
when l was asleep, could -"
No matter, l call that carousin'."
The decided manner in which Polly
hung up the frying pan just then made
David think he had better yield that
point.
AN this morning." she continued,
your head aches, an you've got stiff
neck an cricll in your back from bein'
crooked over that table so long, an, of
course, there amt no more work for you
Tor week"
"Oh, never mind, Polly; Pll soon git
over that An then | could go right at
it, an do up all the fall work in no
time, l could cut that hull patch of
corn in one day, an bring in the
squashes besides" Here he tried to
draw up his bent shoulders and back,
but an unusually sharp twinge of pain
warned him that words were the bet
| ter part of valor for him. II told Sam
Yesterday that l should be awful busy
now for quite spell, an couldn't no.
how go over to none of them Red Mems
meetin's-that hadn't no time"
THAT you hadn't no time! Well,
David Marston, you might've told him
l wouldn't let you"
II didn't want to say that, because
he told me oncet that dassent say my
soul was my own"
'Much you was a-thinllin' of your
| soul when you got in with that setl
That was more of your foolishness. l
couldn't leave you for two days, whilst
| went over to Benton, 'thout your
| goin' an j'inin' that show"
1T amt no show, Polly"
Whats it for, then?"
Sam says it's an Order of Red Men.
A secret sassiety for little soshil ricre-
a tion.
"Soshil fddlestick! l tell you they
are jest a-practicin' Tor a wild Injin
| show; that's what they are. An if
hadn't put stop right on the spot to
, your a-goin' they'd "a had you a-traip-
sim round the country by this time,
| n-hnntin' an n-uellin' an, a-scnlnin'