The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1896-06-12

mel said Mra Fackonham, approhen-
sivoly. 81 hain't no money TO buy,
no time 10 read and the churnin's be-
hindhand this mornin', and I've got
soit-soap to make.
at won't take a minute" persuas-
lively argued Miss Carter.
And she sat two mortal hours in the
squire's kitchen aud made Mrs. Pack
cuban subscribe 10 the Housekeeper's
Weekly Visitor for a term Of three
years before she departed.
''Betsey Briggs managed her the
best way" groaned Mrs. Packenham,
as she looked into the recessos Of her
empty pocket book. "What will
Abram say?"
The clergyman, a slender dyspeptic
young man Of six-ond-twenty, stopped
at the garden gate to give sister
Briggs q friendly good afternoon that
day, but she did not return his polite
greeting. He repeated it a little
louder and still she took no note OF
his specialized gaze and his new silk
hat.
81 hope haven't offended her in
any way" said Mr.. Sweetlands to
himself, and he tried to think back to
the sentences of his last sermon about
gossips and meddlers.
II don't think I said anything which
she could, by any possibility apply to
herself Miss Briggs-Miss Briggs, 1
say"
He waited minute or so for a re-
ply, which did not come; then he
sighed and walked on.
"These single sisters are perhaps
triAe difficult to manage" said he.
'But neutrality-suspicious. will smooth
my pathway in time"
And, naturally enough, the Rev.
Mr.. Sweetlands stepped in at sister
Paekenham's to ask her how she
thought he could possibly have Of
Tended Miss Betsey Briggs
And just as he was detailing in
Mrs. Packenham's puzzled ears the
tale of his perplexity, stout elderly
man, with q sea-faring aspect, raped
at the door with kno5by stick.
"Ahoy, therel" said captain Giles
Gilliloe. 81 hope I amt intrudin',
but these is all strange waters to me.
I've just hailed a neighborin' craft.
Betsey Briggs by name, and she don't
lower no signals. P'raps I've sighted
the wrong coast ?"
"Miss Briggs lives at the next
house, Mrs. Packenham said. "That's
true enough.
"Tm her cousin, said captain Giles
Gilliloe. "She has invited me to
moor my craft in these parts for
awhile, but amt used to heave an
Choir along side them as don't speak
to me civil. And I hope I've made
my log-book clear"
81 really can't account for it." said
Mrs. Packenham, with troubled ex-
preston of countenance. "Set down,
cap'n Gilliloe, I've often heard her
speak of you, and I'm sure she wouldn't
intend any incivility. Set down and
have chat with Mr.. Sweetlands, our
minister. and I'll step over to Betsey'
at once and SEQ what oil this means. >
The sun had gone down in the Grim
son blaze which belongs only to July
skies--a soft, purpling twilight was
brooding over the swamp meadow,
and the orange lilies glowed mysti
cally in the apple orchard, as Mrs
Packenham hurried toward the oil
Briggs homestead, whose chimney
stack rose out of wilderness of tai
lilac bushes. There, sure enough, wa
Miss Betsey in the vegetable garden
her sunbonnet Tapping in the evening
breeze, but just as Mrs. Packenhan
laid her hand on the latch of tn
picket gate, Bowse, farmer Ponds bil
red bull, knocked his horns against
weak spot in the adjacent pasture fenc
aud came laundering into the inclos
IRE with his tail in the air, his hug
head lowered almost to the groun
and low-muttered note Of defanc
breathed through his threatening nos
trils.