Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1898-09-13
A Suffering Saint.
B, HARRIET PRESCOTT sPorroRD.
rcopyrirht. ,ys. by the Author. |

tCopyrfgnt. ISSS. Dy tHe autnoT.j
The river was sparkling, the boughs
were waving. the bees were humming,
MARBLES fell FROM the topmost top Of the
sun tipped pines and cedars, the warm
air was full of the scent Of flowers and
the laughing Of children. and suddenly
on all the sweet tranquility came the
harsh clang Of . bell, o huge brass din
ner bell.
ooh, that poor sufferin saintP cried
Mrs. Mather, running to her window. II
declare of it amt too bad Idunno how
she ever stan's il! There they go, them
fellers. sh'd think they'd be ashamed
to deathl'' And while she was exclaim-
ing the man i'm his short sleeves in the
opposite dooryard, with white face
and black burning eyes and q tangle Of
uncombed hair. went on fourishing his
great dinner bell over his head, ringing
IL with all his might, and half dozen
men who had just thrown down their
tools were running to answer ii.
"Come on Come on" he shouted with
| q strange boarseness and thick articula
tion. "Come out! Come ont Up with
ye! Up with yer And then woman
darted out of tho house and skipped up
ON the horse block. half laughing. half
crying and tossing her apron over her
face
"It's shame! It's livin shame!"
cried Mrs. Mather, eagerly peering be-
H.. L.- .l xS.,p \
don't see why Humphrey Lavender don |.
fall dead. poor critterl And all them
fellers gawkin and gapin round, |
sh d think you'd have somethin better to
do 18th youself. Tom Brier !" she called
Lord, Mis- Mather, faint my
fault" said Tom, stopping moment
under the open window TO tie his shoe
"She wants us to. She's ast US partic'
Ter. She says he's got to be humored
" 'en he hes the spells. she says She
says it's her cross, and his'n too. Lord,
'tain't our fault! I've got to go and bid
her in now" And ho ran off posthaste.
Come now." cried Humphrey. still
fourishing his bell about his blazing
face. Hurry mp. amt no time TO
waste. Who'll bid her on? Here she is
Amt worth her weight in sawdust
Who starts the biddin? Sally Lavender,
8 feet 8, as old as her tongue aud lit
tie older than her teeth, and her tongues
hung In the middle and goes at both
ends. Five centsl Jo Burns, your mon.
ey's burnin hole in your pocket.
Do I hear 10? No sort Of q wife-i0-
l0-l0-fragile. no account creetur.
Ten, do you say-the price Of a drink.
Yes. she amt wuth much. but she's
with that. Speak up there! Ten-l0-
do hear 10: Who bids Is for blamed
rag doll? | ain't a-takin You in-you
know her-ain't one redeemin trait
temper Of the old boy-idle-shif' less
you biddin, Tom Brier? I'm lettin her
go for wat she'll fetch-yes be.
-goin-20-am offer
ed %: By gorry, she won't fetch
quarter Gone, at-20-to Tom Brier.
And you can take her now or bev her
later" And then the woman sprang
from the block and ran into the house
rs IL she could not bear TX one moment
longer, and the men dispersed, and
Humphrey pocketed his 20 cents.
'Taint enough to fill the jug. be
muttered as he went into the house.
Guess III bev TO sell her over az in"
Here. dearie. you take this" said
Sally. meeting him with bowl into
which she had hurriedly poured the con-
tents Of skillet.
Don't be a-dearyin me now," he
said. 1T amt proper thing.
We'll. never mind all that. Just
take this 1t s beef and barley broth. and
billed pepper and an yingin in it
It's real good and nourishin.
"Well" he said, perhaps I will
You ain't no objec' now in maxim way
with me, SO l don't suppose you We ben