Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1906-05-23

Farewell to the DObsOnS.
211111I1S11I11S3 S1SS1111S1511


I'm every community, no matter how
democratic, one family, at least, is
considered beneath the social level.
Their lower rank does not come from
any difference Of wealth, intellect or
morality, but is due, almost entirely,
b the general shiftlessness of the neg
lected family. Often the judgment Of
the neighborhood Is just, but 1t Is not
always so.
Mrs. Dobson once said, bitterly !:
Show do they know? We never had
any chance here in Nebraska. We
were as good as the best where we
come from, and I'm sure I've worked
hard enough to be somebody; but what
can a woman do with seven children,
Ind man as lazy as the Platte Rtver?"
Mr.. Dobson looked up with a good
injured grin, but said nothing. Appar-
emily he took no more notice Of his
wife, who went off to spread her mea-
ger washing on the gum weeds. He
tilted his rude chair back against the
trunk Of giant cottonwood, and look
ed over the landscape with lazy enjoy
ment. From his position he could see
down long vistas Of dark, shining, blue
green corn stalks and beyond them the
Platte.
"Abner," called his wife, plaintively,
%5ust look at me. I reckon Mrs. Bar
nard hasn't got any such sand burs as
we have. She don't get pricked to
pieces when she goes to spread her
washing. I do wish you'd" but
she stopped hopelessly.
"Mis' Barnard don't have to spread
her washing" corrected Abner, logged
"; "she's got yards and yards of
elothesline and pins and baskets and
machine"
Melvina Dobson glanced at her hus-
band anxiously. Never before had he
seemed uneasy or envious. 81 reckon
Mis- Barnard has her drawbacks" she
admitted, generously.
YES" answered her husband, mood
ny, "and Barnard amt no more willing
than I'd be If was him. His paw
left him money, and mine didn't. [
know one thing, though, If 1 was Bar
nard, Mis- Barnard wouldn't wash, If
she did have machine. I'd sell the
pigs first"
Melvina looked at him gratefully. 81
know 1t, Abner," she answered, sooth-
lngly, ''you always have been good to
me- If there amt money enough for
both, you always want me to have 1t.
reckon faint your fault that we are
poor; don't care for myself, but
the children"
She broke of suddenly, and went in
to get the scanty dinner. Abner took
down his rusty hoe and passed reluct-
Rntiye into the neglected potato patch.
He was working with great delibera-
don when his half-grown daughter
passed, without speaking.
"Sallie!" he called.
The girl seemed not to hear him.
She held her head with an air of Of
Tending dignity. and looked neither to
the right nor to the left. A second call
from her father brought her to a def
ant pause.
II say" he called, lazily, what ails
you? Have I done anythingT
Reckon not" she answered, sullen-
y.
"AnG your nav don't seem natural.
Is she alling?"
The girl looked him full In the face,
and her eyes were not pleasant ooh,
maw," she answered, sharply, "why
nav is kind Of worn out with church
Boclals and things, nav is. It's most
made her sick, sewing on her new silk
dress, and doing up her hair. And now
there's the party at Sansen's.'
"Sansen's?"
''Yes, when they move into the new
house. Everybody has been asked, even
Mis- Jenkins, 'cepting nav. Nav has
such fine clothes and is so stuck up,
that she wasn't bid"
Abner turned the hoe in his hands,
and watched potato bug travel calm
II from one hill to another. Some
thing In his attitude touched the child.
Suddenly she lost her look of defiance,
and said, brokenly:
NAV couldn't go, anyway, she's got
nothin' to wear. Her old gray dress
turned yellow in the sun years ago.
MrA. Barnard gave me some dye for