The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-04-20

note:
Dear John. Ihave made arrange.
ments with Widow Smith to come in
three times week and cook the vic
tuals and clean up the house while ]
am away. ('Good land, where's she
goin'?') I was looking at the poor
house the other day from the Blue
Hill pasture, and it did look SO nice
that l thought if I'd got to go there,
| might as we'll go there now. 1t has
just been painted, and asked Goody
Blake if it leaked, and she said no;
and I'm going to ask Mis- Grove to
let me keep the end room for you,
for l s'pose it won't be many weeks
before you'll come, too. That room
looks right down on the medder that
leads to our back door, and | think if
it's empty she'll keep it for you, for
she's always ben real accomodatin'
ter me.
Don't forgit to take down the coats
in the lean-to, and set the pals quick
as you can, for it does come in like
sixty when it begins. l shall work
for my keep there, and if they allow
paupers to go visitin', | shall come
over when l ken.
Worn q Haof;opoka xr,;fo
MELvINA WEEKS.
oval, l never see the beat o. thatw
He ate his meal in silence, trying
to digest the fact that his wife had
taken his frequent illusions to the
poorhouse in earnest, and thought if
she had to enter the house sometime,
she might as well take advantage of
the condition of her own home and
avail herself of it's shelter at once.
"Who'd a thought she would?" was
question he asked himself over and
over as he took the pals and went
out to milk.
AS he came back, he noticed the
scaling paint and the bare sashes, and
said to himself, "It looks wus'n l
thought it did," Then he remem-
bered his last remark to her, that she
could go to the poorhouse if she
wanted to, he didn't. She had taken
him at his word.
Just at dusk, the keeper of the
poorhouse drove up, and stopping
before the house, said to the man
sitting on the doorstep, "Hello,
Weeks, met with reverses9"
mo, not specially. Why?"
"Wal. Mis- Weeks she cum up an
talked with my wife alone, and asked
if she might stay and help her
spell, an my wife's real glad she's
come, cos she does think your wife
knows leetle the most about dom
pickles an things of anybody round,
an she put her in the spare room, an
sent me down to see you."
John chewed a straw vigorously
while he wondered what Mr.. Grove
thought, and what excuse he, one of
largest taxpayers in town, could
make for sending his wife to the poor
house. He tried to seem perfectly
easy as he said, "Wal, the fact is, l
told her she could go. Pm goin' ter
hev the house shingled and painted,
an l thoughts longs the smell O
paint makes her sick, I'd git her out
of the way; but I 'xpect she'll be
some s'prised, cos l didn't let on that
I was goin' ter hev it DONE"
GAIL right, neighbor, | won't say
nothin' bout it, and turning the
horse he drove away, but he wondered,
and muttered to himself that "twas
curis doin's, and he bet there was
suthin' that he warn't told"
However, the next time he passed
the Weeks place, there were men at
work on the roof, and men painting
the kitchen inside, and he thought
the front room was being papered,
but he could not quite tell.
Meanwhile Vina was homesick, and
though she went into the end room
and looked out on the meadow that
she knew reached her home just out
of sight beyond the woods, it only
made the tears come faster, and she
wondered if she could have stood the
leaks and the peeling paint little
longer, and then, perhaps, she might
have ooaxed John.
John was homesick, too, and hur
ried the carpenters and painters till
they made jokes among themselves
about his impotence. The home
was not home with Vina gone, and
he thought perhaps she might get 50
used to living in big house that she
would never again care for the little
houee she had called home so long
With fear and trembling he bar
| .,oezad tba borea mt on his hast emf