The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1897-05-11
Abner's Wife.
By MARY Il MITCHELL

NV ELL, a wife would
come in kind o. con.
venient just now" said Abner Mullens,
surveying the interior Of his kitchen
with evident disfavor.
1t did look as thougha woman's hand
was needed to bring order out of that
chaos. Boots, clothing, dishes, rags
and fishing tackle Uttered the floor. A
basket of cleaned fish occupied the
only chair, while the table and sink
were piled with an accumulation of
articles too varied for description.
As for dirt-dirt was everywhere!
Folks say I'm untidy," continued
Abner as he eyed the disorder. But
| amt. It amt that 1 like dirt; it's
that l don't like cleaning up. l love
to see things kept nice as well as any
body. l hate dirt worse than poison,
but I hate getting rid of it a heap sight
more" and he drew a long sigh as he
set about his uncongenial task.
There amt a doubt about it," he
went on aloud, a habit which his soil
tary life had developed; ''it takes
more'n one to run a schooner, land or
sea. It's been growing on me ever
since I was hauled up in dry dock with
rheumatism that I'd have to get a mate.
She can boss the galley and I'll man
the ropes. If there's foul weather, 1
can take to the dory till the storms
bowed out" Here Abner attacked his
breakfast dishes, a task he particularly
detested.
"Thereu be a lot Of things that amt
pleasant about it," he said, as he
thought of his lost freedom. But I'll
take care what kind of a one I get.
I don't want a master hand at anything
but cooking and scrubbing decks. I'm
captain, and l won't step down in rank
for anybody"
The notion of getting married had
been presenting itself to Abner for
some time. Not that he was lonely :;
he felt no need of a companion. His
idea of a wife was someone to keep his
house clean, mend his clothes and cook
his meats. No more tender emotion
stirred in his breast.
He was getting along" in years,
and his rheumatism was increasing
upon him. One of these days he would
need some one to care for him. His
wife must be young. strong, capable
and amenable; that was all he asked.
Abner Mullens had lived alone for
many years. The Hermit of Bach
vile he was called by the young peo-
pie, who regarded him with awe and
suspicion. To their minds a mystery
hung over his rude dwelling. Did
they not often hear Abner talking
busily to some unseen listener7 The
truth was, Abner, taCiturn to all fellow
beings, was fairly garrulOus with him
self, and his conversations were pro
longed and emphatic.
His little, uupainted, shingled cabin
stood on the rocks which rose high
above the beach, and from the stone
which served him as a step he had the
range of the broad bay and of the
open sea beyond. 1t was a far view,
but Abner's eyes scanned the blue
water more often to discover signs of
schools of fish than in the enjoyment
or appreciation of its beauties; and the
varying moods o. sky meant to him
only phases of weather.
Abner had not proceeded far in his
domestic occupation when the cheap
little clock on the shelf struck seven.
He dropped his dish cloth with evi
dent relief.
"Mess or no mess, those fish have got
to be carried to the boat" he said.
He took his basket on his arm, and
went down the rocky lane to the vii
lage and through the one struggling
street bordered by houses, white
painted, but with green blinds and gay
little dooryards bright with flowers.
The street led to the wharf the bus
ness center of the village-a quaint and
curious wharf, admired by artists and
by tourists with camera, but which
was regarded by the natives from a
purely utilitarian standpoint.
An old schooner had been firmly
grounded, propped by stout piles, its
cabin converted into a wharf house,
and a flight of steps cut into it's side
for the landing of passengers.
The Mary Ellen had made many a
hard voyage, but now she lay at rest.
Leisurely feet trod her planks, and
the little raves FLASHED gently against