The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1908-01-09
HIS MUTE
PLEADERS
By DORA HASTINGS
(Copyright.)

farmhouse kitchen; the actors. two
people, man and woman, The woman,
Amy by name was small in stature.
light in frame and quick in motion;
her face was plain, its white, healthy
color married by freckles, its mouth
over-generous. Her eyes, too, were
large, with such honesty and SINGER
ity in their depths of gray, they fur
nished the owner a certificate of char
acteI wherever she carried them. She
had come into the kitchen holding in
one hand a cake, at which she glanced
with something of the same fondness
which an artist shows for a master
piece. AS she had entered the kitch-
en-, she had stopped suddenly by the
door, her large, bright eyes taking in
quickly the details of the scene be-
fore her, while her face assumed an
expression of such dismay, as brought
a broad smile upon her companions
merry face. She hurriedly placed
her cake upon the table, then shrank
back at her first glimpse of its grease
spots and kettle crock; her eyes
roved to the floor and mopboard,
where they seemed to transtiX the
dust with their steely glance. There
was an unwashed frying-pan on the
hearth She looked at it with eyes
of pity; then turned, with the same
expression, toward her companion. She
made a quick, FESTIVE motion with her
hand. Wouldn't you" she said, fal-
teringly, like to have me-have me
sweep a little for you, now I'm here?
| like to sweep and clean, just as
another woman likes to sing and play
the piano"
NO" he said, laughing; II think
1t is enough for one woman to clean
out the cracks in her own floor with
a hair-pin. l couldn't think of con
senting to such waste of strength in
my behalf"
She turned, with just a touch Of
veXation in her cheek.
Good morning" she said abruptly,
as she started across the piazza to-
ward her own home. She hurried on,
as if some important duty waited her
coming AS she clicked the latch OF
the gate, she turned toward the house
which she had just left. He was still
standing there by the door; his face,
which had been but a minute be
fore, mirth-illumined, had become sud
denly grave. She saw it, and its re-
Election fell upon her own Yes, she
knew it was lonely over there. She
went on slowly into the house. The
room which she entered partook of
her own character; 1t was small, dull
in color, and spotlessly kept. Her
mother, dminutive like herself, sat
by the fire busily knitting, the lines
of her withered, sharply chisedel face
showing clear above the white ker-
chief at her throat. She had the
same gray eyes and the same grave
earnestness.
We'll, what did he say to the cake,
Amy?" asked the mother, looking over
her spectacles at her daughter as she
entered.
He said he was obliged" replied
Amy, drawing a chair up to the fire.
You ought to see the kitchen" she
went on; dirt and dust in heaps
everywhere. You cant hardly see the
table for the grease and crock" look
ing piteously at her mother; and all
the rest is just as bad There is a
frying-pan there that shall remem-
Der as long as | live"
nWhof do oh Cd hn
er earnestly, laying aside her knit
ting, as if that impeded the course
of thought; what's to be done?"
Il don't know" said Amy, despair.
ingly. He wouldn't let me clean. |
asked him again"
I've thought sometimes" remark
ed the older woman, that perhaps
he don't like it-your not wanting to
marry him; sort o resents it, may,
be-"
"There'd be no sense in that" said
Amy, with a show of energy and
surprise. you might as well blame
me for liking pickles. My mind is
set naturally on living single cant
help It,"
He hasn't asked you lately has
he?" said the mother. when they
were launched safely on the steady
stream of work Amy shook her
head
Maybe he's getting tired Of it," re-
marked the mother.
Il don't know" said Amy, little
GROSSLY. He says he asks me once
year; but that's his way joking
about things that are no joke. It's but
a half dozen times"
IT'S too bad" said the mother, sum
ming up the situation; but what's to
be done?"
That question presented itself often
to the two women, as they sat around
their own well-kept hearth, and
thought of the kitchen in the house
opposite. From time to time Amy ven
tured over with a cake and took note
of the increase Of dust.
ITS piling up on the mopboard,"
She said to her mother, who was
ever an eager and sympathetic listen
er. He scratches around with
broom sometimes; but he never hits
the mopboard.'
The frying-pan, too, appeared occa-
sionally in its unwashed, unkempt con
dition; it had the forlorn air OF one
who had seen better days
The winter wore away at last. When
the spring had fairly come, the moth