The Owosso times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1897-1926, 1914-10-09
All Around the
MulberryB Bush
Story of a Wife's
Devotion.
By JOHN BARTON OXFORD

| All the afternoon the thud Of fat'
irons on the ironing board had gone
on steadily.
Now. with the coming Of dusk, they
began to lag. In the overheated little
kitchen. potently smelling of starch
aud clean linen, Mrs. Whalen paused
at intervals more and more frequent
| to listen for the sound Of familiar foot
steps on the back steps.
At last they came-dragging, tired
footsteps, pausing at the rubber mat on
the top step to wipe the mud from the
big boots before they should enter
that spotless domain.
Mrs. Whalen whisked her iron back
to the stove and sped to the back door
to throw 1t open.
WHEREVER have We been all this
long. dearie?" she gently chided the
gray haired. bent figure on the door.
mat. III was beginnin' to feel a wee
bit worried about ye."
The pallor of his pinched face made
his eyes seem unusually large His
clothes hung loosely and baggily on his
shrunken frame.
"Now we'll have SUPPER" she an
nounced. "A bit of tay'll be putin
the heart into We. I've made We the
iigant mutton broth this afternoon
too"
we've been ironin' the livelong day."
said Whalen at length. 81 take shame
to myself to think av yer dom it.
Nora"
""ris no work. for me at all; l love
it," she declared br;skly, but Whalen
noticed how tired her eyes looked and
how thin the gray hair was getting at
her temples. A spoonful of the NUT
ton broth he was swallowing ut the
moment seemed to choke him.
"Ye'd say that anyway" he averred.
looking at her with admiration.
There's foine money In dom this
fancy stuff" she declared. Tin dol.
lars week we can be countin' on
now"
The little clock on the mantel was
striking o when from the bedroom she
heard sleepy. half audible mumblings.
She put down her iron and tiptoed
to the threshold. Whalen was tossing
restlessly on the bed
"Foind me amy kind av work.,
Brady-anny kind" Mrs. Whalen heard
his uneasy mutterings. Sure. I'm
strong enough for work. now. l can't
see her workin' like she does to kape
us goin'. She's too old for it, Brady
40
take tin dollars week to start in on.
If have to-
SOL she breathed softly to herself
That's why he's so tired iviry night.
hey? 'Tis no sittin' on a park bench
that does II. IT'S lookin' for q job
already be is and himself not half over
the sickness yet"
She sat for a long time staring
thoughtfully at the distorted reflections
In the polished nickel Of the stove.
At last she arose. smiling and nod
ding to herself as she whisked another
skirt from the basket beneath the
board and. with hot iron. began to
smooth out its many founces.
There were several bundles of laun
dry to be delivered the next afternoon
No sooner had Whalen poked abroad,
ostensibly for his brief walk to the
park. than Mrs. Whalen donned her
rusty best clothes and Jared forth her
self.
The little suburban town was mel.
low with the warmth Of early sum.
mer. Mrs. Whalen delivered her bun
dies and then turned her eager steps
to one Of the towns more pretentious
streets. Here each house had its trim
infrequently hopeful little garden.
Up to one Of the smaller houses Mrs.
Whalen made her way and whirred the
bell.
Would be fndin' Mr.. Evans at
home?" she inquired Of the trim maid
who answered her summons.
Mr.. Evans was home. and Mrs. Wha-
len was ushered into q dim library,
where a pleasant faced man was por
ing over a pile of papers.
"Why. it's Nora Whalen," said he,
rising to get her a chair. "You want
the money for the past few washings,
Of course?"
Mrs. Whalen shook her head She
began pulling at the fingers Of her
black cotton gloves.
"Ye-ye couldn't be usin' a man
about the place. could we. Mr.. Evans"
she asked diffidently, sort Of a gar
dener. say. or the likes av thatw
"a gardener-me2" Evans inquired,
with slow shake Of his head 'Why.
that little patch Of lawn isn't enough
to keep me In trim. Nora, gardener
Mrs. Whalen pulled more nervously
at the glove fingers.
Twill cost ye nothiD' at ALL" said
she.
Evans looked puzzled.
"'Tis like this" she FASTENED 10 ex.
plain: "Ye know the sickness Mike has
had and the bad shape It's whit and
left him In. Well. I'm doin' foine wit
the wnshin' and keepln' things goin'
drst rate. But Mike do be Worried to
death all the time about the way
have to work.. I've found out he's
been tryin' iviry day to get him Job
instead av pokin' out to the park to
set on bench, like he tells me he does
him that amt the stren'th nv q fly
ho In, hin. Ana DtY, afrotI ba'n