The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-10-12
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blue eyes and dimpled arms. IL was
the picture of little Leah, their only
child, whose death twenty years be-
fore had left the old farm home des-
olate.
Mr.. Busby's heart was too deeply
stirred by memories of bis child to
speak. But when dash of rain came
against the window pane his wife ex-
claimed Grossly:
"There, it's raining. And if l don't
wash Monday, nothing goes right all
the week."
"'Taint an idol, is it Mirandy?'
The good man of the house pushed
back from the table. "Now, it don't
seem jest right to be SO sot as you
air on dozen your work exactly as you
want to. 1t pears to me it might be
an idol"
"What an idea! Just look there,
Joseph. See that dirty spot on the
table cloth where you've rubbed your
old coat sleeve. This tablecloth was
clean yesterday morning and now it
must go in the wash, making three
this week. do wish you would be
more careful.
"Why, now, Mirandy,I do try to be
careful. l wish you would use
colored tablecloths. I thought you
bought some turkey red Ones"
"Yes l did buy them," and look
of disgust crossed the face opposite
Mr.. Busby. "But l want it under
stood l am not going to use 'em. l
will work my fingers to the bone be-
fore I'll set my table with anything
but white CLOTH" and she stroked
the glossy linen approvingly.
II know, Mirandy, but maybe that's
another idol. You see, you think a
sight of such things"
"Now, Joseph Busby, if you are
going to talk such nonsense as that
you better get to work. Just see
there. The sun is shining. So you
see it was right for me to wash after
ALL"
"Maybe 3d." and the eyes of the
Supplemented man softened as he
looked through the east window at
the sun-kissed young foliage from
which the rain drops were yet falling.
"Maybe so, Mirandy. You are an un-
common woman and have been a
good wife to me for twenty-seven
years. You hain't got many idols,
not half as many as I have. But
this always thinker your way is
| best"
"See here, Joseph Busby," there
was an undertone of almost fierceness
in her voice. II think such twisting
of the Scriptures is sinful. Ii have
idols, can tend to EN-, that's ALL
and Mrs. Busby strobe into her bed
room and shut the door violently.
When she returned to the kitchen
she was in possession of the field.
Joseph had gone to his work.
"High time," she shifted; "idols,
indeedw
She put her clothes to soak, and
carrying her dishes into the pantry
began washing them. Her thoughts
were not pleasant ones; the frown on
her face told that. The window be-
fore which she stood was covered
with thick growth of morning glory
vines. A few of the daintily twisted
buds, unheeding the threatnings of
storm, had opened their pink, blue
and white cups and peered in at the
flushed face of the worker. But Mrs.
Busby was too busy, too disturbed by
her husbands words, to notice their
beauty.
81 don't see what possessed Joseph
to say that" she said as she began
rubbing her clothes. 81 gave up the
only idol l ever had twenty years
ago. I"
She stopped abruptly. "Of course,
it's that letter" she went on after a
brief pause. "But he is wrong. 1t
isn't idols that keeps me from doing
my"
Again she stopped. She had al
most said duty. A week before a
letter had come from little town in
Kansas to Mr.. Busby. The letter
contained news of the death of Mrs.
Emma Hale, distant cousin of
Joseph's. Mrs. Hale was a widow
and left one child, a boy, two years
old. The writer, a neighbor of the
dead woman, went on to say she
could care for the child no longer,
and if his relatives did not come for
him he would be sent to the poor
house. Joseph pondered the matter
day and a night. He then coolly
proposed sending for the child, and
adontino IL. His wife fatty refused