The free press. (Poplarville, Miss.) 1890-19??, 1896-05-21

mol" said Mrs. Packenham, apprehen-
sively. 81 hain't no money to buy,
no time to read and the churnin's be-
hindhand this mornin', and I've got
soft-soap to make"
''It won't take minute" persuas-
lively argued Miss Garter.
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, slender dyspeptic
young man of six-and-twenty, stopped
at the garden gate to give sister
Briggs friendly good 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.
81 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 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
Packssham's to ask her how she
thought rs could possibly have Of
Tended Miss Betsey Briggs.
And just az he was detailing in
Mrs. Packenham's puzzled ears the
tale Of his perplexity, a stout elderly
man, with sea- faring aspect, raped
at the door with knobby stick.
"Ahoy, therel" said captain Giles
Gilliloe. 81 hope I amt intrudin',
but these is all strange waters to me.
I've just hailed neighborin' craft.
Betsey Briggs by name, and she don't
lower no signals. Praps I've sighted
the wrong coast ?"
"Miss Briggs lives at the next
house, Mrs. Packenham said. "That's
true enough" F."
"I'm her COUSIN" said captain Giles
Gilliloe. ''She has invited me to
moor my craft in these parts for
awhile, but I amt used to heave an
chor along side o. 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 fyou, and I'm sure she wouldn't
intend any incivility. Set down and
have a chat with Mr.. Sweetlands, our
minister. and I'll step over to Betsey's
at once and see what all 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 old
Briggs homestead, whose chimney
stack rose out of wilderness of tall
lilac. bushes. There, sure enough, was
Miss Betsey in the vegetable garden,
her sunbonnet Tapping in the evening
breeze, but just as Mrs. Packenham
laid her hand on the latch of the
picket gate, Bowse, farmer Ponds big
red bull, knocked his horns against q
weak spot in the adjacent pasture fence
and came laundering into the inclos-
ure with his tail in the air, his huge
head lowered almost to the ground
and low-muttered. note of defiance
breathed through his threatening nos
trils.
LA, me, cried Mrs. Packenham,
"there's that brute loose again And
not man in sightl And Betsey
Briggs with her red caliker gown on.
She'll be killed as sure as the world.
Oh, dear, oh, dearl''