Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 October 1891 — HIS WOOING. [ARTICLE]

HIS WOOING.

“Kitty, Kitty, run and turn the white cow out of the clover-field.' And, bless me, there are all the tur- | key chicks out draggling themselves In the dew, and the pony has broken his halter, and is kicking up his heels In the middle of the pansy bed!” Kitty Kipson ran, first this way and then that, now scolding and now 'laughing in the extremity of her be’Wilderment, until the cow was safe •in her paddock once more, the pony •tethered in his stall, and the turkey 'brood restored to the sunny quiet of the farm-yard. And then she came In, flushed and rosy, and resumed the beating of eggs and sugar for a cake. Mrs. Kipson sighed. She was rather a plaintive little woman, with a fresh complexion like a girl’s, blue eyes, and a trim figure, which still retained its youthful curves. “It seems as if everything went wrong this morning,” she murmured. "And it’s all Mr. Ross’ fault.” “Oh, mother!” “Yes, it is,” persisted Mrs. Kipson. “He left the garden gate open when he went out this morning. I declare I don’t see what brings him here so much.” “Neighborly kindness, perhaps,” said Kitty, demurely, beating away at the creamy mass that surged to and fro beneath her wooden spoon. “Neighborly nonsensej” retorted her mother. “I do hope, Kitty, that you’re not seriously encouraging that •man?” "Why shouldn’t I seriously encourage that man, mother?” “He’s twice as old as you are,” said Mrs. Kipson, pausing in the act of •buttering the pans, and wistfully gazdng at Kitty’s round, rose-like face. “Well, he might be that, mother, ••without being so very old, mightn’t the?" “He’s a widower,” resumed Mrs. •Kipson. “And widowers have no business to marry again.” “Nor widows neither, mother?” wrchly. “No,” snapped Mrs. Kipson, “nor widows neither. Now, if you are through with the cake, Kitty, the oven is ready.” Kitty went singing about her baking that morning—and as she sung •she cast a glance ever and anon at *the weary-looking little woman who was mending the torn spots in the iparlor curtains. “I won’t get married, if I have to leave mother here all alone,” she thought. “Mother’s life is hard anough without being deserted by her only child. If she only would like Mr. Ross a little. Presently old Deacon Jackman name along from his daily jaunt to 4,he postoffice. “Here’s a letter for you, Sister Kipeon,” said he, “with the York post•mark on it.” Mrs. Kipson took the letter and •held it in her hand, while she and the •deacon discussed the chances of a plentiful peach crop, and sighed over •tm epidemic which had lately broken out in the poultry-yards of the neighborhood. And when the old man had •trudged slowly away, she broke open •the buff-oolored missive. “It’s from Delia Jane,” she thought, ■“to let me knuw how she gets along in the dyeing and scouring business.” But it was not from “Delia Jane.” ft was short and curt, in a lawyer’s •band, notifying her that the old Kip■aon Farm would be solcLat auction on the following Tuesday, at the Merchants’ Exchange in New York City, on behalf of the holder of a foreclosed mortgage. “Foreclosed!” gasped Mrs. Kipson. “Why, it was only a few months ago that they wrote us to know what we Intended t» dd about it.” “And we did—nothing," said Kitty, who, over her mother’s shoulder, had read the letter with sorrowful, startled eyes. “What could wc do? I meant to ask Deacon Jackson’s advice,” said Mrs. Kipson, v or fc> borrow monev from Cousin Hunt’HalHday out in Jersey. H But somehow" there never seemed to he it good chance. I don’t see why on earth these people should be in such a lHfrrv.?. . . And she began to cry in a weak, convulsive manner. “Ddn't fret, mother, dear,” said thing not! Don’t you think we «stgHt talk to Mr. Boss about it?” *1 don’t- want Me. Ross prying into

i ery one says what excellent judgment I he has, and how ” “Oh, everybody, everybody!” reitorted Mrs. Kipson. “And you, I 'suppose, are Willing to fall down and ! worship him with the rest!” “Indeed, I’ve no idea of doing any 'such thing!” said Kitty, bursting out laughing in spite of herself. And she felt, more than ever, that this was no propitious opportunity to broach the subject of her engagement. “Next • Tuesday! .At the Merchants’ Exchange, New York! Sold at auction!” Mrs. Kipson unconsciously repeated the words to herself as she wandered up and down the rooms, viewing the familiar, nooks and corners which she should see no more. It was a plain, unpretending farm-house, but it was her home. She had no other place to go. Kitty might get married to Mr. Ross —she thought it more than likely that such a thing might transpire—but she wasn’t going to play mother-in-law in any man’s house. The Ross place was a fine one, she knew—they had recently built on a two-story addition, with a dairy at the back, and put in spring water and a gas machine. But the house never yet was built that was big enough for a man and his mother-in-law. Poor Mrs. Kipson! She was lonely enough now. She was losing home, Kitty, everything! “It isn’t as if I were young,” she thought. “I’m over forty now, and there’s only the downhill of life left for me.” In her mind’s eye she beheld herself, like old Hester Morris, passed on from relation to relation, an unwelcome guest everywhere—a dependent on grudgingly given charity. “It would be better to live with Kitty and Mr. Ross than that,” she thought. “Kitty is at least my own child. And then, if Dear me, Mr. Ross, how you startled me! I’m sure I never heard you knock.” Mr. Kipson sunk, pale and conscious of heavy eyelids and red eyes, into a chair. It was all coming now —Mr. Ross was.going to ask her for Kitty! And of course she must be prepared with some answer or other on the instant. “I did not knock,” said “I found the great door open, and so I came directly in. Am I disturbing you?”

“N—no,” said Mrs. Kipson, faintly. “Won’t you sit down?” “I don’t wonder Kitty likes him,” she thought.

“I have called to see you, Mrs. Kipson, about myself,” said Mr. Ross, plunging abruptly into his subject. “I am thinking of marrying again.” “Yes?” faintly murmured the widow.

“I hope you do not think it unwise.” “N—no, not if you have carefully considered the matter,” said Mrs. Kipson. “Of course I am not in the flush of youth,” said Mr. Ross; “but then, neither are you quite a young girl.” “Me!” almost shrieked Mfrs. Kipson. “Mr. Ross, what on earth are you talking about?” “About you!” said the widower. “I want you to be my wife, Mrs. Kipson.”

“I—thought—it—was Kitty!” cried Mrs. Kipson. “Do you mean to say that it isn’t Kitty you want?” “What should I want of Kitty?” said Mr. Ross, changing his seat to one close beside the little widow, and resolutely taking possession of her hand. “Does October mate with April? Should I be happy with a child like that, as long as there was the least possible chance of winning you for my own?” “I never dreamed of such a thing,” said Mrs. Kipson, hysterically. “But —but—if you really think'l could make you happy ” And so they became engaged then and there. Kitty was delighted, and kissed her stepfather-elect with the most cordial, affection. “Didn’t I foresee it all along?” said she. “When mother, there, was as blind as a bat, bless her dear little heart. And now, mother, what do you think about widowers getting married?” “Don’t, Kitty,” said little Mrs. Kipson, blushing just as prettily as if she were eighteen instead of fortyone. “Or widows either?” “Now, Kitty, that isn’t fair." And then Kitty deemed it a fitting opportunity to confide to her mother her own engagement to one Mr. Nicholas Allen. Under other circumstances, Mrs. Kipson would probably have pleaded that the swain was too young or too old, too this or too that. But in the new sunshine that had streamed into her life Mrs. Kipson saw everything couleur de rose. And she kissed Kitty, and hoped she would be happy. Mrs. Kipson was married the first of the two. She wouldn’t have consented, only Mr. Ross suggested that it would be such a fine plan to have Kitty’s wedding from the Ross house. “And,” said Kitty, “if anything could make me more glad than I am now, it would be seeing my dear little mother so happy.”