Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 29, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 August 1883 — CHOOSING A WIFE. [ARTICLE]

CHOOSING A WIFE.

In from the hay-field came John Westlake and went into the cool sitting-room, threw himself upon a sofa, picked up b paper, and read as follows: “A young man having matrimony in view should ascertain before taking this important step what the housekeeping abilities of his intended one are. Many a man has had both fortune and happiness wrecked by overlooking this important point. “Any man, by a little strategy, can obtain the desired information; he can have some business at her father’s house early in the morning, or if she lives by. the roadside he can ride by and glance in at the open door or window and thus Bee which, mother or daughter, cooks the breakfast. “Or he can take a position behind some tree'in the orchard, commanding a view of the barnyard, apd find out who does the«jnilk>ng.-TTTthe knowledge can be obtained, and it should be obtained by sbme means, and in this case the end jUMifieSthe means.” “What;paper is this?” said John*' looking for the heading. “The Cramp-* ton HeraUi. ‘ Yes, and .this vice for a farmer’s son. 3 , Now,” soliloquired he, “I have about concluded ’to' marry Mary is, if she will have me, and I think she will—but I must confess that I do not know much about her abilities as a "housekeeper. I know that everything in .their house — that is, as far as I have seen —is in perfect order; but who takes care of the house I don’t know —perhaps Mary, perhaps Mrs. Johnson. Mary, I know, has taste, fpr she comes into company as neatly dressed as any young woman in the neighborhood; but then she has had tlie advantage of two or three years’eity schooling, which fact may account for her knowledge of dress, but it argues somewhat against her knowledge of domestic affairs—but I will find out. ” “John, dinner,” said his little sister Kate, poking her curly head in at the door. While eating, John outlined a plan of operation. “I will, ” thought he, “get up early to-morrow morning, go across the meadow to Johnson’s corn-field, and then through the corn-field to the barnyard, cross the barn-yard to the meadow fence, and then creep along this until I get to the bushes in front of the summer-kitchen window, where I will hide,*and there, not more than a rod away, I can see everything that goes on. “What a splendid General I’d make,” said he, chuckling, as he went to the field by himself; and the more he contemplated his plan the more he became convinced of its brilliancy of conception and ease of execution. “I will tell Mary,” said he, “of my strategy after we are married—that is, if she suits me, and I think she will. Love,” continued he, “is said to be blind, but I will show Mr. Cupid that if he has pierced my heart he has not affected my vision. And again, getting married is said to be like putting your hand into a bag in which are ninetynine snakes and one eel; but before I put in my Hand I intend to see the eel and know just where to reach for it. ” •Next morning John arose very early, dressed quickly, and went down stairs very quietly. Going first to the barn he went half way around it to get it between himself and the house and then struck a beeline across the new-mown meadow towadrs Squire Johnson’s cornfield. He had not gone far before he heard a noise behind him, and looking round he saw his old dog Nero at his heels. “Go home, you old scoundrel, go home!” exclaimed John fiercely. Nero looked up into his master’s face with an injured expression, then turned round and trotted slowly homeward. But he did not go far; stopping on a little hillock, he turned round, sat down and gazed after John. Concluding that there was some misunderstanding, he resolved to try again, and in a few minutes was close at John’s PI. “You old villain! Didn’t I tell you to go home?” said John, turning round and making a pass at him with his foot. Nero was now convinced that his company was not desired, and the sticks and stones that followed him as he moved briskly homeward had a tendency to confirm him in his conclusion. “The confounded old scamp,” muttered John, “would have all the Squire’s dogs about me in less than a minute, and then good-by to my plan.” Mary Johnson was the daughter, as we have seen, of Squire Johnson, who lived on the farm adjoining Westlake’s. She was a handsome, intelligent girl, and of course a good housekeeper, as most intelligent country girls are and as all girls ought to be. Mary’s several years at school had made som£ change in her, but John foppjd tq that she had nbt lost the habit of early rising. This morning she arose somewhat earlier than usual and went to the barnyard to do the milking. As she was about to begin she glanced towards the corn-field afid saw some one coming. “Who can that be?” she said. “As sure as the world it’s John Westlake! I Wonder whatJie is after! And he’s coming right here, and I’ve nothing on but this thin gown! Oh, dear! what shall I do?”

Her first impulau waato run, tat observing that he was coming very cautiously, as if in fear of being seen, -and knowing that she was undiscovered, curiosity prompted her to stay; so gliding behind a haystack near by, she was in a position to note his actions undfscovesed. Coming to the barn-yard, he ran across it, in a half-stooping posture, to the meadow fence. Getting inside, he began to creep along the fence towards the house, much like a savage trying to steal upon his enemy. “What does he mean?” said Mary, her blue eyes dilating in wonder. The summep-kitchen was a short distance from the main, building and between it and the meadow fence was the spring. From the spring issued quite a large stream, flowing under the fence and across the meadow. Where it flowed under the "fence, near the summer-kitchen, was a small but dense thicket of alders, briars and wild grapevines. This was the point for which John was making. Arriving within a few rods of the house, he ran, stooping, across the little open space of meadow between the fence and stream; then,*behind the alders that lined it?.bank he hurried along until-Ke-reached the thicket, into which he crawled, and fixed himself so that he could have a view of the window. , ; 4 -i ?.- ■ Mary’s eyes flashed in anger. . ■ . „ “So, John, ” said She, “you have been reading the Crampton Herald. Well, we’ll see how much knowledge yoh’ll obtain for your trouble.? . Then, taking roundabout way,, so that he might not see her, Mary entered the'house -and' wwrft' up-staif s to her rodta. and. sat down; near a window that overlooked his riding-place. .(. » . “What a splendid place for observation!” said'JolliT to jfhnhelf, dS he fixpd ( himself, anitwgthebushes.- . Just then up went the window andout came » pajjof dirty water, thrown byttfe ptrong arms of Mrs. Johnson. “Ugh!ugh!” said he, crawling back- - “ward, as the dirty shower came dripping down through the leaves',* “this is'tr ofrfiumstaPce for whfehr l made no calculation.” »• “Bfelle, where is Mary?” called Mrs. JphnSon to ohe of th d'girls.’ “Up-stains,” saJid.jßMld. “Why, what’s she doing, there ? Why doesn’t she .come down and do the milking ?” . “I don’t know,” was the reply. “She says she’s not coming, down for some time;’you needn’t wait breakfast for her.” » , , “Just as I expected!” said John with a sad countenance. “Those boardingschools will ruin any girl. I suppose they’ll carry her breakfast up to her. I guess I’ll go now; I’ve learned as muc'h as 1 want to know.”

But John did not go just then; something again occurred for which he had made no calculation. The Squire had several dogs, and among them was one ferocious old fellow called Bull. Attracted by the smell of victuals, for breakfast was now cooking, they had gathered about the kitchen door and sitting there with wagging tails were awaiting their morning meal. At the first rustle of the leaves as John turned round they pricked up their ears. In a moment, after he had moved again, they were over the fence, jumping and howling and prancing around the thicket as if it contained their greatest enemy. “Hi, there! Hist, Bull! Go in, Rover! Hurrah, Bob, dogs have got a rabbit I” shouted the boys, running out and bombarding the thicket with a shower of sticks and stones, which made John lie as flat as a. skirmisher under the fire of a whole line of concealed enemies. “Get out there! Get out! What in thunder’s all this fuss about ?” growled the Squire, coming to the spring to wash and thinking the dogs were after a cat or a bird. In a few minutes the family went to breakfast, and the dogs left the thicket. The coast seemed clear. “Now or never,” said John,-as he began to crawl toward the edge at which he came in. A low savage growl stopped him; there, right in front, was old Bull, stretched out, with his head between his paws, winking at him and seeming to say: “I’ve got you now, young fellow.” “Poor old Bull!” said John, coaxingly. A low growl was his only answer. “My poor old fellow! Come here, won’t you?” said John, patting on his knee. Another growl, fiercer than ever. Bull was too old to be flattered. John now was mad. “Confound you, you old scoundrel!” said John, “if lever catch you away from this place I’ll murder you.” Bull only winked in reply to this abuse. John now tried to get out at another place, but Bull moved around upoiX the line of investment and took position in John’s front again. John was not usually profane, but just now he used an expression or two denoting It's willingness to see Bull in a warmer clime than this. Breakfast was now over. The Squire and the boys came out, took their scythes from the apple-tree and began to whet them. The question that troubled John now was, where are they going to mow? His fears were soon confirmed. “Where shall we begin ?” said one of the boys. ?l “Right here in the corner, and mow round the thicket,” was the squire’s reply. John groaned in spirit. They climbed the fence and began. “Come out there, Bull,” said the old man, catching sight of the dog. Bull was slow about moving. “Jake, take him to the barn and tie him.” Jake led him away, but Bull every now and then looked back as if he expected to John rush out. John kept very still It was impossible to see him from the outside and every round took them farther away, lessening the danger of discovery. John now began to think it was time

to . to® or at least bear something of Mwcr She, from her window, saw his .predfc>ment and was delighted with it. “He is safe, now, till noon,”said she. “He won’t come out while father and the boys are in the field. And now I .must breakfast and" then dress, for today Cousin John comes from the city.” After a while John heard a carriage come up the drive and stop at the front door. Then he heard Mary’s voice exclaiming: “Why, John, I am so’glad to see you!" “Kiss me, darling!” said the newcomer in a lusty tone. “Aha!” sai<l John in the thicket, “she has another John, has she?” This was the last of Mary for about an hour; then he heard her and the new-comer in the yard dhatting and laughing. They came io the apple-trees, and amused themselves by throwing fruit at each other. Tired of this, they came marching arm in arm to the spring. John fixed himself so as to get a good view through she leaves. His heart saddened as he saw what a tall, stylish, good-looking fellow the new John was. A savage feeling took possession of him. The fellow had his arm around her waist, and was looking into her handsome, glowing face, as she chatted gayly, with something more, as John thought, than mere admiration. After taking a drink, she proposed that they try which could throw, water farthest into the bushes. ■■ ■•<' “Agreed!” said he, and ait 4b they 'went. ' It seemed to be fun for them, but it was anything but fun for John. The new John became excited, and, to show his” Superior strength, threw down his tin cup and seized a bucket. „ The water came down-in torrents. *“* 1 John ■ m the bushes shivered and gnashed his teeth’ in rage. * ■ • Oh, how he wished that he could turn himself into a catf/gorilta’MMrythipg — so 4hat ht»" cotfid •*mstr out > - urflffibWn across the ; meadow. “_ "* *** ‘ TheysdoA, however,•becamJ of* this, and tho/exertnsh by sprinkling water upon each other. Then he ; arranged her curls, brushed the waterttbm'heJr dreslT,..'took heTfacfi 1 between his' 'handh, made ,fier lips poiit out, held her for a moment, and—shall we tell it?—stooped do-wn and kissed her. John saw it all. The “green-eyed monster” took full possession of his soul; he felt as blood-thirsty as a tiger, and was on thd'point of springing f?oin his lair arid throttling the fellow at once, but prudence restrained him. Another hour passe i. The sun’s rays began to fall vertically through the leaves, and the mowers, making l&rge circles a. long way off, had done, as he thought, a good half-day’s work. Would dinner-time never come? A regular Joshua’s day, thought John, as he waited and longed for the ringing of the bell.

Soon it rang, and a few minutes after the Squire and his boys were at the spring washing, preparatory to eating. “Who was that in the field talking to you?” said Mrs. Johnson to the Squire. “Little Tommy Westlake,” was the reply. “What did he want?” “Why, he wanted* to know if we’d seen John to-day. He says John got up very early this morning and went away, leaving his work undone, and they have not seen him since.” “Strange,” said Mrs. Johnson. “Moll, Moll! Hurrah, Moll!” shouted one of the boys. “What!” said Mary, coming to the door. “John Westlake has found another Moll and ran oft" with her.” “All right,” was the reply, “let him go. I can get another John.” “She has got another one already,” muttered John. They were all now at dinner; everything was quiet. “Give me liberty or give me death!” said John, as he crawled out. Now, like a savage fleeing from his enemies, he ran, stooping, along the fence and past the bam to the cornfield. As he sprang over the com-field fence the dogs caught a sight of him and started in pursuit, yelping and howling, while old Bull, from the barn, with loud-mouthed bays, indicated his desire to join in the chase. “What in the world is the matter?” exclaimed the Squire, as he quit carving to listen to the uproar. “Hurrah!” said the boys, jumping up and running to the door. “What’s there ?” said the squire. “Something ifi the corn-field, ” was the reply. “Jones’ cattle again. Go over, Tom, and put them out.” Tom, when he started, saw something twisting about in the middle of the field, but when he got there he saw nothing, though he met the dogs homeward bound and apparently badly frightened—John, when he found them about to overtake him, had stopped by a stone pile and had given them a reception which they eould'not stand. Tom went back, and reported: in the field,” but it was a mystery which he could not explain, why the dogs seemed so badly scared. John when he reached home went round by the bam, through the garden, apd into the house the back way. Going up-stairs quietly to his reborn, he put on a suit of clean clothes; then going down as quietly as he came up, he reached the bam by the roundabout course he had taken wheri coming in. Now from th 6 bare he started and marched through the yard toward the hqtise. The family were at dinner. Walking in he hung up his hat, pulled out his handkerchief, wiped his face and said: “In time vet, I see.” “We’re glad to see you back, John,” said his mother; “but we’d like to know where you’ve been. ” “Yes, give an account of yourself,” said hist sister Julia. “We had about concluded that you and Mary had gone to Gretna Green, or some similar place.” ' - “WeH, I’ll tell you,” said John. “You know 1 J told you a few days ago that some of thfe academy boys were on an excursion to the city this morning and

wished me to go with them. I did not intend to, but thought I would go ovex this morning and see them off. * “Yotf know the train 5 starts very early, and I expected to be back in time for breakkfast; but when I got on they held to me, coaxing me to go with them, until the train was going too rapidly for me to get out,*and of course I was carried to town and had to wait there until the return train, which, you know, does not come out until near noon." This explanation was satisfactory to all except John—it was a lie which he had been working up all the forenoon for this occasion. He felt bad over it, yet it seemed a fitting conclusion for the blunders of the day how else could he conceal what for the world he would not have any one but himself know? That afternoon he was in anything but a good humor. In the hay-field he worked by himself as much as possible. He seemed to have a special ill-feel-ing toward his dogs; if one of them came up to him, no matter how friendly, he was sure to get a rap over the back with the hay-fork that seat him away howling. The relationship that existed between Mary and the other John was a question that now troubled him. Yesterday he was of the opinion that he could have her for the asking, and now it seemed evident that she already belonged to some one. The loss, ox the danger of losing her, made him realize' how much he loved her, and like many another man under like circumstances, he was willing to overlook defects.

“Domestic abilitiesl” said he. “What do I care about her domestic abilities ? I will have Mary Johnson if she doesn’t know enough to bake a loaf of bread!” That afternoon he made a resolution. ‘ '“To-morrow evening,” said he, “I will go over and tell her frankly how ‘inuch I love her, and ask her to be mine.” The next evening John drove up to ‘UohfiSbn’s door. Mary came out to and gave him her usual cofdial welcome. After talking a little *whilj; she said, somewhat I“py the way, John, you walked over *las£jume, did you not?” “No, replied he, apt comprehending, “don’t you remember, I rode old Charley’” John could not muster courage to say what he desired until leaving time, and then, as they stood upon the porch, he, with his arm about her waist, told his love, and asked her to be his wife. “John,” she said in reply, “let me tell you a story: “Once upon a time there lived not far from here a gentleman and a lady. The gentleman, who esteemed himself a man of great prudence, was in love with the lady, or at least his attentions led her to believe so. “But, before making a proposal, he —as a man of prudence should—resolved to satisfy himself in regard to her ability to conduct the affairs of a household; but, instead of trying to obtain this information in an open, manly way, he was foolish enough to try to obtain it in accordance with some foolish advice, the like of which you have seen, doubtless, in your father’s newspaper.”

“Yes,” said John, his mind reverting to the Crampton Herald. “Well, one morning he arose very early, left his father’s house, crossed a meadow, came to a cornfield.” John’s arm relaxed, “then through a barn-yard, then came along by a meadow fence, went into some bushes near a summer kitchen * John’s arm slid down by his side. e “Don’t Mary,” said he. “I confess it all. But how did you find out?” She told him, and gave her answer. “Now,” said she, “I am angry with yoij, and justly, I think. Though I love you, I tell you plainly that you have fallen in my estimation, and I think you deserve some punishment. In one year from now, if you do nothing to make me esteem you less than I did before yesterday, if you come to me with the same question, I may answer you mor 3 satisfactorily.” “A cruel sentence, but one I deserve,” said John, as he bade her goodnight John is conducting himself properly, and goes to Johnson’s often; for he and Mary are the best of friends, and, were the year expired, this story would end, doubtless, as such stories usually do.