The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1895-07-13

pleasant IL all WAS! IL DIouSht Ddch tlle
days when he was young and life stretched
before him in all it's promise.
But his happy dreams were rudely inter-
rupted. 4 party of young people on horse
back came galloping up. Their gay voices
and shril laughter started old Jerry, the
horse, who had beeh placidly standing in
the sunshine. Closer they came their
horses hoofs flying over the ground. Jerry
pricked up his ears, gave one frightened
snort, and rushed madly down the ravine,
overturniug the cherished buggy, and, to
the horror of Uncle Hiram, breaking the
top com pletely off; then, as if satisfied with
the mischief he had done, he stopped and
looked inquringly at his master.
Poor Uncle Hiram The bright beauty
of the afternoon suddenly changed into
deepest night for him. What would Aunt
Sarah say? All at once he felt very old
could hardly lift the buckets into the
buggy. The thing to do was to 90 home
and tell her how the accident happened.
there lay the handsome top, complete
wreck, and two spokes were broken in the
wheel He Shivered at the prospect before
him.
A very detected looking old man was
Uncle Hiram as he drove home that even
ing. Aunt Sarah's sharp EYES saw him as
he turned in at the lane, with old Jerry
walking meekly before the topless buggy,
AN the wheel minus two spokes.
'Hiram Gardiner" she fairly shrieked,
what have you been doing to my buggy?'
Uncle Hiram tried to speak, but the
words stuck in his throat. 1t seemed to
him as if his wfe's eyes actually flashed
fire. He had never seen her so angry. He
managed to tell her how the accident hap
pened, but nothing could stem the torrent
of her wrath She blamed him for it all !;
she scolded him rs he ate his supper, she
followed him into the yard, and scolded
him as he did his evening work she scolded
him as he sat smoking in Ais big arm
chair.
But in Uncle lIiram's mind a resolve was
slowly being formed. The weakest and
most long suffering worm will turn and in
his breast a righteous Indignation was
smoud' ring. He had been reproached
more than sufficiently for something he
could not help; so, as Aunt Sarahs sharp
tongue dashed him keener and keener. Il
settled determination took possession Of
him. He rose and slowly knocked the
ashes from his pipe. The old fashioned
clock pointed to half-past nine, but he put
on his hat and took his cane from the
corner.
Aunt Sarah stopped scolding and looked
at him in amazement. Hiram going out ?
He never left home in the evening.
Sarah" he began, his voice pitched a
little higher than usual in its strained
intensity, Sarah, for thirty five years
I've been good husband to you. I've
never denied you nothin' that | could git
that ever you wanted. recon I've always
been good pervider, leastwise rve always
tried to do my duty; but | can't stand
your ways any longer, Sarah and that's a
fact. We can't seem to pull together, so |
guess I'll go and stay with Susan spell.
She always thought heap of her old dad
Maybe''-his voice shook little-'mayb
you'll be happier when I'm gone
Aunt Sarah fairly gasped with astonsh-
ment Was this determined looking old
man her timid Hiram? He walked quietly
out of the room: she heard the outside
door close. There stood his empty chair
Yes, he was really gone-gone to walk that
lonely ten miles in the dark, and he was
getting old, too.
Aunt Sarah felt frightened. Her husband
had large share of her affection. The
habit of scolding had grown almost imper-
ceptibly with her years, until it had become
chronic, and she did not realize how obnox-
ious she was in consequence.
She came down stairs the next morning
to the dreary kitchen. No bright and bubb
ling tea kettle greeted her. AS she kindled the
fire and brought in a fresh pail of water,
she acknowledged that she missed Uncle
Hiram and when she MIXED old Brindle
and fed the chickens, she wondered if she
had quite appreciated him. How lonely
the breakfast table looked as she sat down
to it. The food almost choked her; there
was no kind, benignant face opposite her,
no willing hand to give her the service she
had so long accepted as her right. How
she did miss him!
Aunt Sarah bore it all that day and the
next. By the third morning remorse had
her in it's grasp. The loneliness of the
house oppressed her; she could settle to
nothing. Everything seemed to miss
Uncle Hiram. Even the chickens seemed
to droop. The only thing to do was to go
to Susan's and beg him to come home but
would he come? Perhaps-her cheek
paled at the neutrality-suspicious. he would
not
When Aunt Sarah decided to do thing,
she did it, She was essentially a woman
of action. So the three o'clock train to
Kirbyville, where Susan lived, found her
waiting for it as it steamed into the little