Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 May 1882 — Untitled [ARTICLE]

St. Clair Smith, making a courtly bow, “and have come to beg for just one song.” The professor was, so far as outline and coloring go, a handsome man. His head was what is commonly called dome-shaped. His wavy hair and silky beard were a bright yellow red, and his rather-large eyes were blue. He jwfc down in the big rocking-chair, and, taking a twin on each knee, “I renew my youth in children,” he cried, giving them a squeeze. “Do you know the song, ‘The old times were the best times when you and I were young?’ ” “ Oh, yes,” said the widow, nervotudy turning over her music, “ but I can’t say that I feel so very old.” “Dear me, what a blunderer I am,” cried the professor. “I was thinking of my boyhood. I’ve always hated being grown up. A man has so much to fetter his imagination. Yon must have lost your husband in the flnsh of your yonth ?” “ I did,” replied the widow, forgetting that she was 35 when the event occurred. “ The twins were babes.” Bong succeeded song, till the professor proposed duets, and Mrs. Appledore enjoyed the music so much that it was midnight before she knew it. Two months passed away. The professor came almost every evening. He had hired a small house a little out of town, that he might be undisturbed, he explained, and a relative had come to keep house for him. He did not know how long he would remain in Dixville. He was preparing a book for publication, and writing several lectures. When his literary labors were over he was going to take a trip 'somewhere to rest., though friends of his, influential in Washington, were anxious for him to accept a Consulship at an important point. The widow’s neat white cottage stood by itself on the confines of the village. Deacon Bliss’ fields of dark green peppermint and nodding wheat stretching nlong the country road for nearly a mile joined the garden. Before her abrupt refusal of him, the deacon had been accustomed to drop in for a little visit or to bring a neighborly -offering of apples or fresh vegetables. Bnt these calls had ceased, and, cut off from all her sources of news and pleasure, Mrs. Appledore stayed closely at home, practised her music, and entertained the p.of s or. But one sunshiny afternoon Mrs. Phlox came bustling up the prim graveled walk. “ Rosetta Appledore,” she chirped, like an angry bluejay, as she opened the door, “ though a clod, which there are folks that think different, I’ve come to ask you if you know you’re the town talk ? ” “ The town talk ? ” echoed her astonished sister. “Yes, the town talk,” repeated Mrs. Phlox, with wonderful emphasis. “Anybody would be who had spent two blessed months philanderin’ with a married man.” “ Who is married ? ” “ Your Prof. Smith.” “I don’t believe it.” “ I s’posed yon wouldn’t but. I’ve seen his wife,” said Mrs. Phlox, with evident satisfaction. “ Miss Merrills, she ’twas Pearly Ann Truesdale, wouldn’t miss a findin’ out anything if she had to walk ten miles, an’ she called on her, an’ told me. That night I sez to John, ‘John,’ sez I, ‘a sister’s a sister, ’specially if she’s younger an’ a widder, an’ if I be a clod I’m goin’ to the bottom of this ;’ ‘an’,’ sez he, ‘Emma Jane, I think you’d better,’ an’ the first thing he did the next mornin’ was to hitch up an’ take me over on the mile-strip where that fel-. low lives, in Tony Allerton’s cottage. He wan’t in, but she was, an’ she was washin’. “‘l’m Miss Phlox,’sez I, ‘an’come to call.’ ‘Thank you,’ sez she, ‘l’m Miss Smith,’ an’ she set out the only chair there was in the room for me, an’ set down herself on the washbench. “ ‘ Air you Mis 3 St. Clair Smith, the wife of the professor ?’ sez I. “ A sort of smile twinkled over her mouth an’ she sez, ‘ Yes, Miss St. Clair Smith, though I didn’t know Mr. Smith had adopted the St. Clair name. That’s my family name.’ An’ then she went on an’ Bpoke of her husband, an’ of how ambitious he is, an’ how he feels his spear in public life, an’ how she is willin’ to do anything to help him. An’ then she inquired if I thought she could get sewin’ in Dixvillo when she feels a little better an’ is able to do it. ” Tears of shame and anger gathered in Mrs. Appledore’s eyes as her sister spoke. “Is Mrs. Smith good looking? Is she an interesting woman ? ” she asked. “I can’t say how interesting she is. She seemed kind of trod on, so to speak. As for looks, she ain’t any prettier’n you’d be if you worked hard an’ didn’t have half enough to eat,” said Mrs. Phlox calmly. Mrs. Appledore sobbed aloud. “ What do people say about me ? What shall J do ? ” she cried. “They don’t say nothin’ yet, on’y that you’re dreadful foolish,” chirped her sister, rising and putting on her calash, for it w r as almost supper time. “ I can’t siy as I know of anything for yon to do except to tell Mr. Smith to stay t’home. ’Tain’t likely that Deacon Bliss will give you a chance to say yea a second time. ”

There had been a good deal of pleasurable excitement in receiving the professor. To dress herself in her best mourning and to sing her favorite songs to an appreciative listener had been something to look toward to during the humdrum work of the day. The thought, however, of what her acquaintances were saying about her embittered her life, and when the professor again called one glance at her face told him that she knew all. “Dear Mrs. Appledore,” he began, but she checked him. “You had better go home to your wife, Mr. Smith,” she said coldly. Tears, real tears, came into the professor’s big blue eyes. ‘ ‘ But I love you, ” he cried, “ and she has always been an incubus upon my soul. ” “But she’s your wife,” persisted Mrs. Appledore. “I know it,” moaned the professor, rubbing his brow distractedly. “Meats out my vitals when I think of it. She don’t feel as 1 feel. There’s no wings for me as long as 1 am tied to her. We’ve no affinity.” Mrs. Appledore gazed at him in dull wonder. These were almost the words she had used to her sister, but they did not sound pleasantly now. “Hove you, Rosetta,” went on the little man, approaching her; “and I want to ask you just one question : Were I a single man would you marry me ?” “I might,” admitted the widow, smoothing down a fold in her overskirt with a trembling hand. “Enough !” and the professor flung his arms about her and pressed a rapturous kiss upon her forehead. “ Bless you, my darling 1” and before she could answer him he was gone. . The next evening when Mrs. Appledore was taking down her washing from the line she was suddenly clasped from behind by a pair of strong arms. “ You will soon be mine,” said the voice of the professor. “ Fve offered my wife SSO to leave me and she has accepted.V “Accepted,” the widow cried, wrenching herself free. Yes, and as soon as I can sell my book she shall go, I’ve lived in soul isolation long enough. My heart has found its mate.” All the men that Mrs. Appledore knew were quaint of speech and somewhat rustic in manner, but what they considered duty controlled their lives. “You wretch, .she cried, dashing the dothes?in basket at him. “Fifty dollars! QU ain’t worth 60 cents. Go home, «Mi never dare to speak to me again