Bellows Falls times. [volume] (Bellows Falls, Vt.) 1856-1965, 1899-02-01

cranky, Salty. L can I see what getun
into you, Now, I've got no time to fool
away, I'll tell Mis- Rhynearson you
was asleep and didn't hear EN- knock,
shall II"
"Tell her anything you like, i" was
the reply in strange, still voice that
suited the look in her face. ~ won't
contradict you.
But how do you know you won't;
We ought to have a clear understandip
What you goin to tell Mis- Rhynearson
when she asks You where you WASP"
'She WON'T ask me"
"Well, now, I'd like to know how
you know she won t?''
Because I'm not goin to give her
chance. "
The window sash slid down to the
sill, and the shade dropped back to its
place. Abraham Spencer let go the hop
vines and watched them cluster together
again with slightly dazed look in his
deep set gray eyes.
"Now, what in blazes could she We
meant by that last?' he meditated un
easily Then his fiat, straight cut lips
closed in hard line, and he added IS
he turned shortly away: "But | ART
a-gon to ask her. When man cart
be master in his own house, it's time
for him to burn it down or blow his
brains ont. "
Mrs. Spencer heard his heavy heels
resounding on the hard beaten path
he went around the house, and each ]
lentless step seemed to grind it's wa~
into her quivering nerves. Ordinaril-
she would have taken timid note of HI
movements at the edge of window
shade, for her husbands anger had al
ways been dreadful thing to her. hut
now she opened the outer door and stood
there, watching, while he brought a
horse and wagon out of the barn and
drove rapidly away. When he had
passed out of sight, she exclaimed bit
terly:
"I'll not stand it! I'll hide myself!
I'll get out of this before he gets back
with that gang if drop dead in my
tracksp'
AS first and very womanish step in
the execution of her resolve she sat
down on the doorstep and cried. Her
meager frame shock with dry, convul
sive sobs, such as are born of wornout
nerves, aching muscles, lonely heart
and starved soul.
She did not heed approaching foot
steps and scarcely started when a
neighbor paused at the foot of the steps
and spoke to her.
"Why, Mis- Spencer, what's the
matter? hope nothin's gone wrong?'
Mrs Spencer's sobs ceased and her
face hardened as she met the woman S
inquiring eyes
cit ain t nothin that want to talk
about, Mis- Howard. I've about got to
the end of my rope; that's all I'm tired
of livin and wish to heaven l was dead
this minute.
Mrs. Howard held up her hands.
Don't say that, Mis- Spencer, she
demonstrated "Now, l don't know
what's gone wrong, and l hain't the
least notion of tryin to find out | only
beg of you not to wish you was dead
It's such fearful wish. We don t any
Of us know what death is. -
"We all know it's rest, and that S
all care to know" said Mrs. Spencer
She leaned her chin on her hands, her
elbows on her knees, and gazed into va
cancy with red trimmed, unlovely eyes
mo, we don even know that" said
Mrs Howard, with impressive earnest
ness. That's just one of the things
we've been taught, and we like to think
it's so. We don't know the first thing
about death, Mis- Spencer, except that
| it turns us cold and stiff and fits US for
the grave We don't any of us know
what goes with the Twin, thinkin, suf-
| FERN part of us. Sometimes | think
| maybe it stays with US in the grave, so
| that we hear and know things, same as
when we was livin. shouldn't wonder
| if we could lay in our graves and hear
| the birds singin and the rain fallln and
| feel the sun shinin above us. Now
s'posin you was in your grave, out there
in the little buryin ground in the
| meader, and s'posin you could hear
| these little chicks chirpin to be fed at
| shutdown and you not here to feed 'em,
| and the COWS comm up the lane to be
MIXED and you not here to milk 'em,
and your husband trudgin home, slow
and tired and hungry, and you not here
to get supper for him, do you reckon
| you could rest then, Mis- Spencer?
| "And s'posin that after bit you d
| hear some other woman's voice a-callin
the chickens and some other woman Is
hands rattlin the stove lids around,
astartin a fire to cook supper for your
husband You'd most likely want to
| get up out of your grave then, but you
couldn't. You'd just have to lay there
and hear things goin on without you
| day in and day out, year in and year
| out, and watoh yourself goin to pieces
inch by inch and crumblin to dust.
| There wouldn't be much rest about
| that, Mis- Spencer, would there, now?"
Mrs. Spencer arose with the slow
painfulness of stiffened rheumatic joints
| and turned shocked resentful face
| upon her visitor.
"Mis' Howard" she said sternly, "if
l found fellow mortal in trouble and
couldn't think of single comfortin
thing to say to her, I'd go away and
leave her alone. Iwouldn t try to knock
out the last prop from under her. If a
body can't b'lieve in the rest that's in
| the grave, I'd like to know what we
| can b'lieve in. never heard such scan.
d'lous doctrine since was born"
She turned abruptly and went into
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