The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1904-09-09

had been decided upon before their
mother Though a little selfish, they
were not really heartless, and no doubt
believed the change was a necessary
measure. Their husbands could very
we'll have afforded to keep the interest
on the mortgage paid up during the
widows lifetime, but as they said, the
expense would eat up the value of the
farm and be of no especial benefit to
themselves. So it was decided to let
the mortgage be foreclosed.
Seems to me nav is agin' awful
fast" remarked Elmira, as the sisters
took their departure in the hired con-
veyance which had brought them to
the farm
mot much wonder, seem paw was
sick so long, an her Twin all alone
here since he died." assented Alkaline.
Il wanted her to come an live with
me, but she wouldn't hear to reason.
Nav is powerful sot in her way, pears
like"
Margie Filbert was very glad to keep
her aunt company during the remain
ing weeks of her stay at the farm, and
proved a great comfort to the lone
ly woman
''Too bad the kitchen chimley
smokes So" she declared on the second
day of her stay. eff you don't mind,
Aunt Clary, I'll git Dave Tallman to
come over an see what's the matter
o it. Must be filled up with swallers'
nests, | reckon"
Mrs. Coppage looked up from her
knitting. ITO be sure, Margie! I'd be
real glad if he'd come. An mebbe
he'll nail the clapboards on the ruff,
too. The wind a-soughin' through
makes a buddy feel real creepy!
hain't been up to the loft bedroom fur
| dunno the time when, jest on account
O. it,"
Them loose clapboards does make a
curtis hummin' sound" admitted Mar
gle. 1--we notice it myself. But reck-
on Dave kin suttle EN-"
Dear, DEAR" sighed the widow,
while her knitting-needles clicked an
accompaniment to the soliloquy, 'T'm
afeared it'll be good while fore Dave
an Margie kin marry. Dave is real
stiddy, an industrious, too, but farm
hands is as plenty as blackberries, an
has to take what they kin git If
'twasnt fur that mor'gidge, now, him
an Margie could marry an live here,
an | wouldn't hev to go trapesin'
round, alvin here an there. with
Ad'line an Elmiry an Becky. nice
time I'll hev, with all them kids, too.
Six or seven apiece they've got all
round, an the wust- behaved young uns
| ever see, if they air my own gran
childern!"
The brown old farmhouse, embower-
ed in black-locust trees, its quaint
gabled porches overrun with hop-vines
and coral honeysuckle, took on an add
ed picturesquness in the hazy autumn
sunshine. The widows one COW was
licking her calf across the half-broken-
down rail fence, and the striped quails
we're calling Bob White! Bob White!"
from the neighboring corn-felds. AS
the red barn hens were cackling and
guinea-fowls chattering, as if they
were having contest as to which
could make the most noise.
Mrs. Coppage, her face we'll shaded
| by black sunbonnet, was gathering
round pippins in the nearby orchard,
with view to having apple dumplings
for dinner.
Dave Tallman had already arrived,
and had climbed a rickety ladder to
investigate the smoky chimney.
The widows meditations, which were
none of the brightest, we may be sure
were suddenly interrupted by pierre
ing shrek from Margie, and dropping
her pippins, she flew to the house.
"Is Dave killed." she gasped, on dis
covering the young man reclining
Imply on the porch, while Margie how
cred over him with the camphor bottle
in her hand Il was afeared that lad
der would break"
Dave grinned sheepishly. mo, Miss
Coppage, the ladder didn't break" he
announced, as he tenderly chafed his
ankle-bone. IL got bee-stung an
dropped to the ground" he added, in
answer to the widows puzzled look.
Mrs. Coppage started first at Dave
and then at Margie in bewilderment.
"Bee-stung?" she repeated, incredul-
ously.
Eyes, nom. There's a swarm o.
bees has made hive O. your chimley,
Miss Coppage. The hull inside O the
ruff is lined with honeycomb, too
chock-full o. honey! It's fact, an no
mistake. Put away the camfire, Mar
| gle. my ankle is all right again.