The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1901-03-16
BILLS LUCK.
BY KATHERINE BATES.


THE back yard of corner tenement
i on Twenty-sixth street was al
ways surprise to those passersby
who CHANGED to go that way on some
unwonted errand, and an unfailing
pleasure to the whole population of
the neighborhood. In the center of
the small Enclosure was a large bed
of flowers, petunias of varied hues,
red and yellow marigoles and other
blossoms of the hardy type, all
hemmed in by border of mingled
sweet alyssum and mignonette. Mar
row paths, accurately defined by
white shells. running on each side Of
the flower bed, separated the more
aesthetic part of the garden from the
strip of onions near the fence on one
side and of cabbages on the other.
At the alley end of the yard stood an
old stump of tree to which boards
had been nailed in such a way as to
cross each other at random; the
whole framework was covered by
morning-glory vines, which reached
out their tendrils to the fence behind
the stump, and even graciously let
some off-shoots drop over the gar
bage barrel outside. At the other end
of the yard the pillars of the little
porch upon which the basement door
opened were also twined with these
luxuriant vines, and the two COM
Portable split-bottomed rockers upon
the porch, forced by circumstances
into chatty proximity, were in the
shade the greater part of the day.
Altogether it was a unique back yard
for this region of the city, and its
charms were made more evident by
its being at least six feet below the
level of the sidewalk, so that a lott
erer could lean on the fence and look
down at the CHEEKY scene without
feeling that his act was an intrusive
one.
This yard, the ground floor of the
tenement and the Bit of grass Ia
front, grass that was clipped each
morning, formed the home of William
Miller, and very happy home it was,
in spite of the fact that half the men
in the neighborhood had said feel
ingly, pore Bill, pore old cuss," when
he and his mother and his small sis
ter Dolly had united their fortunes
with Maria Kennedy and her three
sisters.
six women folks is somethin' of n
family" Bill had admitted, "but Lor',
them girls will be marryin' off in no
time, and I reckon the two Miss
Millers will get along together. Any
how, mans gotter get married whe n
the notion takes him, and what yer
goin' to do about it if he's got folks
and she's got folks? Take 'em all in,
say, and keep on a sayin' to yersef
and to everybody else the more the
merrier.'"
During the ten years since his mar
riage he had faithfully kept up his
cheerful speech, and the old and the
young Mrs. Miller had gotten on fair
ly well together in spite of positive
convictions cherished by each as to
the running of n household, but the
girls had not married off at the rapid
rate on which Bill had counted. There
were still three Miss Kennedys, and
even Dolly, undeniable beauty that
she had developed into, was still con
pore Bills hands," as the same sym.
pathetic friends often remarked. II
was not for lack of suitors In her
case; all the blame, IL anyone had
ever dreamed, of blaming Dolly for
anything, would have to be laid to her
own capricious will; IL was, however
n matter of pride rather than regre,
to the whole family when It was sur.
missed THAT "our Dolls turned off an
other"
AS Bill had grown accustomed tc
her light-hearted indifference to he,
lovers, It naturally surprised him one
night when he had decided to go into
his own pretty back yard for .
smoke, to have his sisters-in-law say
hastily, in rapid succession, "bettcI
not, Bill" "Stay where you are, Bill,
\and "You amt wanted out there, Bill
"Why not?" he asked. Nobody ou'
there but that no-'count Henery Dob
bibs. They can have the rockers
don't want to set down; I'm jes,
goin' out to santer round a SPELL"
The three looked at each other
The youngest, Adeline, who was onl,
30, giggled little as she said, Eyes
it's only Henery, but you better d.
wore santerin' right here In the ktch
en-, Brother Billy"