The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1896-06-04
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no time to read and the churnin's be-
hindhand this mornin, and I've got
soft-soap to make"
cit won't take a minute" persuas-
lively argued Miss Carter.
And she sat two mortal hours in the
squire's kitchen and made Mrs. Pack
enham subscribe to the Housekeeper's
Weekly Visitor for term of three
years before she departed.
"Betsey Briggs managed her the
best way" groaned Mrs. Packenham,
as she looked into the recesses of her
empty pocket book. ''What will
Abram say?'
The clergyman. a slender dyspeptic
young man of six-and- twenty, stopped
at the garden gate to give sister
Briggs a friendly goo>l afternoon that
day, but she did not return his polite
greeting. He repeated it 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.
Il don't think I SAID anything which
she could, by any possibility apply to
herself. Miss Briggs-Miss Briggs, I
say"
He waited minute or so for re-
ply, which did not come; then he
sighed and walked on.
'These single sisters are perhaps a
trifle difficult to manage" said he.
"But doubtless experience will smooth
my pathway in time.
And, naturally enough, the Rev.
Mr.. Sweetlands stepped in at sister
Packenham'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, a stout elderly
man, with a sea-faring aspect, raped
at the door with knobby stick.
"Ahoy. there!' said captain Giles
Gilliloe. 81 hope l amt intrudin',
but these is all strange waters to me.
I've just hailed neighborln' 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"
I'm her cousin" said captain Gle:
Gilliloe. 'She has invited me tc
moor my craft in these parts fol
awhile, but amt used to heave an
chor along side O. them as don't speak
to me civil. And 1 hope I've made
my log-book clear"
81 really can't account for it," sale
Mrs. Packenham, with a troubled ex
preston of countenance. "Set down
cap'n Gilliloe, I've often heard he
speak of you, and I'm sure she wouldn'
intend any incivilitv. Set down ane
have chat with Mr.. Sweetlands, ou
minister. and I'll step over to Betsey'
at once and see what all this means.
The sun had gone down in the Grim
son blaze which belongs only to Jul,
skies--a soft, purpling twilight wa
brooding over the swamp meadow
and the orange lilies glowed mvsti
cally in the apple orchard, as Mrs
Packenham hurried toward the oil
Briggs homestead, whose Gimme
stack rose out of wilderness of taI
lilac bushes. There, sure enough, wa
Miss Betsey in the vegetable garden
her sunbonnet Tapping in the evenin
breeze, but just as Mrs. Packenha1
laid her hand on the latch of th
picket gate, Bowse, farmer Ponds bi
red bull, knocked his horns against
weak spot in the adjacent pasture fenc
and came laundering into the inclos
ure with his tail in the air, his hug
head lowered almost to the groun
and -muttered note of defanc
breathed through his threatening no:
trils.
LA, me-" cried Mrs. Packenhan
"there's that brute loose again! An
not a man in sight! And Betse
Briggs with her red caliker gown OF
She'll be killed as sure as the worlC
Oh, dear, oh, dear!'
As the reflection eddied throug
her mind, the animal made an infur