Middletown transcript., 1907-04-20

pldCC W oIOOAJ
was at hand, and Domley and his
boys turned their log teams
home-ward into the new-cut road
with signs of satisfaction.
I'm hungry enough to eat
mule, Tom remarked, avoiding
deep rut. I'll be glad when the
logs are in. Wonderif dad ever
gets tired? He never lets on.
Ben, slower of speech and
movement, scarcely glanced from
his horses neck. Yes, he gets
tired, he answered, presently.
He's not iron.
I wish Rene cared less for
society and more for US boys
Tom grumbled. Dinner was
abomnible I guess she don't
know how bacon and cold boiled
potatoes taste-from a dinner
pail. She's selfish clear through,
like all girls. She thinks she's
llright; maybe she is; but home
isn't. It's not what it was when
ma was here.
His voice reached farther than
he knew. Domley, on the leader.
turned and gave a backward,
somber look. Sudden silence
fell, broken only by the creaking
of chains and rattle of wheels,
When they spoke again it was
about the morroW's work. Dom
ley did not encourge idle conver-
sation.
Toms grievance was, to him,
a real one. The religion of old
days had been the religion OF
comfort. The passing of its
meek disciple wrought inevitable
changes. There was more lamp
light in the parlor now, more
calling, more meeting of benevo-
lent societies. These things were
all right, but Tom resented the
bacon and cold potatoes.
Where the road touched the
lane a flying figure evaded the
lead team, and stopped, painting,
before the boys, almost under
their horses feet. 1t was thir-
teen-year- r-old Florence. the baby.
Ben, she cried, breathlessly,
do let me ride, won't you? Tessie
Birch is at our house. They're
in the parlor, practising Easter
music. They are sweet as lilies,
the songs are. I'm going to the
services Sunday, aren't you !?
Can't I ride, Ben?
Ben swung her easily to place
behind him on the horse, and she
clasped him about the waist,
smuggling her cold nose against
his back.
l wish you'd wear something
on your head, he demonstrated.
It's wonder you don't die
Have they got anything good to
eat at home
Mackerel disdainfully. Rice,
potatoes, biscuit and coffee. Bre; d
scorched. Better hurry-every-
things scorching!
Oh, well, they re singing Tom
snarled. l say, Ben, you're your
own man after tomorrow. I'd
light out! I'd hunt up Uncle
Bart. / don't intend to work on
here when my times up. A fell
low gets neither money nor
thanks.
You hush up Florence flashed.
Ben isn't going to light out; he's
going to stay with me! I guess
things aren't burnt, anxiously.
Is it your birthday, tomorrow,
Ben
l guess it is. He withdrew
from her embrace and slid hastily
to the ground, closing the big
gate behind his wagon. Run
along to the house now, Babe. l
have to feed the horses. It's too
mortal cold for you to be out.
I'll go with you, she volun-
teered, stoutly. Let me III
help. You aren't going to light
out, Ben, are you?
Bother! Ben roughly brushed
her aside. You're The awfullest
kid when you get notion Run
on to the house | mean what ]
say!
When Ben used that tone Flor
ence ceased opportunities. She
turned discontentedly toward the
lighted square of the kitchen
window. She wanted to be with
Ben. He was her idol-Ren, the
taciturn. In infancy it was his
shoulder she loved best. In days
of measles and Group he was her
savior. Now, as then, he was
the one being altogether lovely,
without spot or blemish.
Ben made his horses comfort
able, then went to the house,
which looked inviting after the
biting outer air. Logs were