The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1913-06-23


 Os~~-- I persisted as I poured waIEr In on the squirming worm under his direction.
 Nobody taught it to me. Doc sings it to me when TilIy, nurse nor you ain't there to put me to bed He don't : know no good songs like fRoIl, Jordan, RolI,' or Hot Times or Twinkle go to sleep quick cause he makes me feel tired with his slow tune what's only good for bugs. Git a hairpin for me to poke 1iun with, Molly, quick!'
 found the hairpin, and don't know why my hand tremhled as handed it to Billy. As soon as he got it he climbed out the window, glass, bug and all, and l saw him and the red set ter go down the garden walk together in pursuit of the desired lizard, I sup pose. I closed the blinds and drew the curtains again'and flung myself on my pillow: Something warm and sweet seemed to be sweeping over me in great waves, and felt young and close up to some sort of big world good. It was delicious, and I don't know. how long would have stayed there just feeling it if Judy hadn't brought in my letter.
 He had written from London, and it was many pages of wonderful things all favored with me. He told me about Miss Chester and what good friends they were and how much he hoped she would be in Hillsboro when he got here. He said that. great many of her dainty ways reminded him of his town slip of girl,'' especially the turn of her head like a flower on its stem." At that I got, right out of bed like a jack jumping out of a box and looked at myself in the mirror.
 There is one exercise. here on page twenty that I hate worst of alL You screw up your face tight until you look like a Christmas mask to get your neck muscles taut and then wobbIe 1 your head around like a newborn baby | until it swims. did that one twenty 1 extra times and all the others in pro portion to make up for those two hours | in bed. Hereafter I'll get up at the | time directed on page Ghree or maybe 1 earlier. It G4ghtens me to think that 1 I've got only a few weeks more to turn 1 from a cabbage rose Into a lily. | won't let myself even think luscious | peach" and string bean-' If do I | get warm and happy all over and let | up on myself. try when I get hun gry bo think of myself in that blue muslin dress.
 haven't been really willing before to [ write down in this torture volume that | I took that garment to the city with me and what Mime Rene did to it. made~1t over into the lOveliest thing I l ever saw, only wouldn't let her alter the size one single inch. I'm honor able as all women are, at peculiar f times. think she understood, but she
 
 it with ribbon and lace. I've put it away on the top shelf of closet, for it is torment. to look at it.
 You can just take any, old recipe for g party and+Inix up debut for a girl, but 1t takes more t1me to concoct one for a widow. especially if it is for yourself. I spent RII the rest of the day doing almost, nothing and thinking | until I felt lightheaded. Finally Iehad just about given up any idea of blaze and had decided to Leak out fn general society as quietly as my clothes would let me when a real confa grafton was lighted inside me.
 If Tom Pollard wasn't my own first cousin would have loved him desper l ately even if am a week older than he. He was about the only oasis in my marriage mirage, though I don't think anybody would think of calling him at all green. He never stopped coming to see me occasionally, and Mr. Carter liked him. He was the first man to-notdce the white ruche sewed in the neck of my old black tafeta four or five months ago, sandS he. leb me see that he noticed 1t out of the corner of his eyes even right there in church under Aunt Adelfne's very elbow. He makes love unconsciousEy, and he dfrts with his own mother. As soon as I've made this widowhood hurdle well, Pm going to spend a lot of time buying tobacco with him in his run about, which sounds as if it was named for himself