Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 December 1897 — UNCLE JERRY’S CHRISTMAS. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

UNCLE JERRY’S CHRISTMAS.

N C L E JERRY Foster was too stingy to live, and everybody knew it. But everybody didn’t know how poor Aunt Betsey, his wife, had to manage and contrive and skimp to get along. She never had the handling of any money. Even the butter and egg mon-

ey, that most every farmer’s wife lias for her own use, all went into Uncle Jerry’s pockets; and if she wanted a new gown or a bonnet or a pnir o’ shoes —I hadn’t orter say if she wanted ’em, but if she must have ’em, and there wa’n’t no possible airthly way for him to skin out o’ gettin’ ’em —then Uncle Jerry would go to the store with her and buy ’em and pay for ’em, jest as if she was a child or an ijiot, and incapable o’ dewin’ business on her own hook. If Aunt Betsey hadn’t had the best disposition in the world, she wouldn’t stood it all them years. As it was, it wore on her, and told on her fearful. Though Uncle Jerry was one o’ the richest men in town, she might ’a’ been the wife o’ the poorest and miser’blest, so fur’s any outward indication was consnrned—or inward indications, cither—for she was alwers half starved, and wa’nt nothin’ but skin and bones, as you might say. Uncle Jerry grew wuss ’n’ wuss, and come along towards Christmas he got a bran’-new crochet-fer savin’ into his head. It was at family devotion one morning jest before the reudin’, that he divulgated it to his wife. He finds the place in Nehemiar—he alwers read the long chapters in fall and winter —and puts his thum’ in to keep it, then, drawin’ on a long face, ho looks at Aunt Betsey over his spe’tacles, and says he: “Wife, I are of a notion that this ’ere Christmas business is all foolishness! Seems if it must be a sin in the sight o’ the Lord to eat so much one day in the year. I don’t believe it’s necessary to make pigs ’n’ gluttons of ourselves in order to have thankful hearts; and if we go to meetin’, and bo on, why ain’t that enough? I reckon we’ll sell the turkey this year r.nd have our usual dinner, ’long’s there ain’t no children cornin’ home, nor nothin’.” Aunt Betsey set there with her hands in her lap, not exactly thinkin’, but kinder wonderin’ and grievin’. And when they kneeled down to pray she kept on wonderin’ more’n ever. She wondered what she had to be thankful for, anyway. “Now, if Ellen could come home!” Ellen was their daughter, alhthe child they had in the world, nnd she lived so far away that she couldn’t afford to come home and bring the children —bein’ she was a widder and poor—but, oh. how her mother did wanter see her! “What did she care about turkey and plum puddin’ if Ellen and the children couldn’t eat it with her? Yes, the money might as well be put in

the bank; she didn’t care.” So she thought on and on, not hardly sensin’ the prayer a mite. She went out to her work in the kitchen feelin’ all broke up. She didn’t know why she should be, ’less she’d been kinder secretly hopin’ to have Ellen and the children. Christmas was more than she could bear. There wa’n’t nothin’ to her, no time, as you might say, and this was the last straw on ‘he camel’s back. ’T any rate, all to once she give out and had to go ter bed. The next mornin’ she couldn’t get up, but Uncle Jerry didn’t think much about it, s’posed she’d be up bimeby; but when he come in to dinner, there lay bis wife jest the same, as if sb i hadn’t no thoughts o’ gettin’ up. Ele didn’t know whut under the sun to <i, but he knew he must do somethin’, so io bet a brick hnd put to her feet, ami was jest making a mustard plaster to put on her somewheres when Mis’ Hopkins happened in. She see how it was with Aunt Betsey in a minute. She’s awful cute about some things. Mis’ I-lopkins is, and 6he ain’t afraid o’ no man livin’. “Uncle Jerry,” says she. matter of fact as you please, “your wife’s a very sick [woman, and she’s goiu’ to die right off, I’m afraid, ’less we hyper round and do iotmthin’, and do it quick. But fust I’d 4

better step over V fetch the doctor.” Uncle Jerry was wonderful took down. All of a sudden he realize! that his wife was invalooable to him; he felt that he could not get along without her, nohow. He was as anxious to have the doctor as Mis’ Hopkins was. aud told her to hurry and bring him. So she went —he lived near by—and she says to him: “Doctor Cfoss. now is yonr chance to do a deed o’ humanity, aud put a spoke in Uncle Jerry Foster’s wheel for ail time! If he’s got any heart and feelin’s yon must find ’em and work to ’em for his wife’s sake. • t would be cruel to bring her back to life, ’less yon can do somethin’ to make that life endoorable. Don’t, I beg on ye, raise her up to live on in the same old skimpy miser’ble way! Better let her die nnd done with it." They discussed aud considered over the matter for a few minutes, then went together to the house. They found Aunt Betsey layin’ jist the same only she stopped cry.u’. The doctor examined her and diaggernosed her case ns well as he could, then he motioned Uncle Jerry out into the other room aud shet the door behind him. It seems the doctor took him awful solium and in deud earnest, and says he, to begin with: "Uncle Jerry, do you set high vaily on your wife’s life?" “High rally on my wife’s life?” says Uncle Jerry, red in the face. “Of course I dew. What you talkin’ about?” “I was here when you fetched her home a bride. I remember ho - handsome she was; plump as a pa’tridge, fresh as a flower, and as laughin’ aud chipper a girl ns I ’bout ever see. Changed, terribly changed, ain’t she?” turnin’ to Uncle Jerry and feelin’ in his pocket fer his han’k’chif to wipe away the tears, "it does beat all how she’s changed,” says he. “Changed!” says Uncle Jerry, 11 of n fluster, "of course she’s changed! Why, we’ve been married goin’ on 25 year! You can’t expect a woman to stay IS all her life!” "I know that farmers’ wives grow old pretty fast as a gineral thing; break down young, don’t they? But. Uncle Jerry," squarin’ round on him suddenly nnd lookin’ him in the eye, “I want to ask you to compare your wife's looks with the looks of other women of her age in town, no handsomer, no healthier than what she wuc when you married her. and tell me if you think there’s a difference. Now, they’re different from your wife, and why? I ask you fair and;candid, why shouldn’t she look as bnppy, lie us happy nnd make as good a ’pearauee every way as them women? And why is it that she lins took to her bed in the prime o’ life nnd don’t wanter live no longer? For l find that’s about the wav it is with her.” When Uncle Jerry came back he went Up to the hod and sat down beside his wife and looked at her. She was asleep, and Mis’ Hopkins thought he must ’a’ realized how pitiful she looked for she seen him draw his hand ncrost his eyes two or three times ou the sly. Bimeby he got up aud went out to Mis’ Hopkins, and, says he: “What was the doctor’s orders? What can I do to help ye?” “He ordered nourishin’ food, and wine, and so on,” she says, “nnd 1 guess the fust thing you may kill n chicken, if you’re miuter, and git it ready fer {he broth; then go over to Jim Jackson’s and buy a quart or so of (hat oldest grape wine o’ his’n. She'll i>e awake liy the time you get backwith it. I guess,” Uncle Jerry didn’t so much as wiuk nt mention of the chicken, but when she spoke o’ the wine so offhand nnd matter o’ course he drawed in his breath once or twice kinder spnsmodieky. but he never opened his head. When the broth was rendy Uncle Jerry asked if he might take it ini so Mis’ Hopkins filled one of the chiny bowls that was Aunt Betsey’s mar’s nnd set it in a

plate with a cracker or two, and he took ’em along. The broth was good and strong, and when Aunt Betsey tasted on’t she looked at her husband real kinder scairt, and, says 6he: “Where did this ’ere come from?” And he ’aughed and snys: “It’s made out o’ one of our best Plymouth Rocks; is it good?” A wonderin', quiverin’ smile hovered for a minute on to her poor fuce; she didn’t know what to make on’t. But when he lugged in the jug o’ wine and poured out a hull half a tumbler full and handed it to her, her eyes fairly rtuck out of her head with astonishment. “Drink it; it’ll do you good,” says ho. “It’s Jim Jackson’s oldest grape wine you’ve heard tell on.” “Why—why, husband!" she whispered, “didn’t it cost nn awful sight o’ money?” “Only $3 a gallon,” he answered, tryin’ to smile, but lookin’ rather ghastly. She sipped it slow, eyein’ him over the top o’ the tumbler as she done so; but pretty soon she set it down and spoke again, a\yful meachin’, and ’pealin’, her lips tremblin’ as if she was going to cry. “I’m sorry to put you to so much expense, husband. I’m afraid—l’m afraid it ain’t wuth while!” He got up and blowed his nose with all his might and main. “I want you to get well, Betsey. I want yon to get well!” he managed to say. The strangest expression come into her face you ever see in any creature’s. Then, as if struck by somethin’ in his looks, she seemed to get a dim idee that he was different, and she tried to make out how it was. but couldn’t, and. bein’ too tired and weak to think much, she jest shet her eyes and give it all up. That night Uncle Jerry harnessed the old mare and went over and got Mary Buell to came ’n’ stay with ’em a spell. Mary’s an excellent good hand in cases o’ sickness, and bein’ an old maid, she’s always ready to go and dew fer the neighbors. She’s a prime nuss and housekeeper, and she’s good company, too—jest the kind o’ person to cheer Aunt Betsey up, you know. Wall, it come along the day ’fore Christmas, and Aunt Betsey lay back in her easy chair in the cheerful sittin’ room. A pitcher full of late fall flowers stood on the mantelshelf; a cracklin’ fire was bnrnin’ in the open fireplace, and the old tabby cat lay before it on the rug, purrin’ for all she was wuth—a perfect pictur’ of content. The door was open into the kitchen, and she could see Mary steppin’ round about her work, gettin’ ready for to-morrer. She could smell the stuffin’ for the turkey, and the plum puddin’ bakin’ in the oven. She knew there was a hull shelf full o’ pies in the pantry—she see ’em yesterday —six mince, six ptinkm, three apple an’ three cranb’ry tart. She thought it was too many to make at once; aud seemed so strange. She sighed and laid her head

back, with the old look on her face. She was thinkin’ of Ellen and the children. She sat there, blamin’ herself and thinkin’ what a poor. w?ak kind of a mother she was. till the tears rolled down her cheeks. Then, all at once, she heard a noise outside. The stage had stopped, and there was the sound o’ voices talkin' and laughin', and of feet hurryin’ up the steps. Then the door opened—no, it was burst open—and in trooped a parcel o’ children, and behind ’em, not fur behind, with her hands stretched out and the happy tears streamin’ down her pretty fare, come her daughter Ellen! How them two kissed and clung to one ’n’ other, till the children got out o’ patience and wouldn't wait no longer for their turn! Then Uncle Jerry came to the

resky and says, betwixt laughin' and cryin’: “There, there, children! I guess that’ll dew! It's my turn now," and he took her to the lounge where she could lay and rest and still be with ’em all. She pulled hint down to Jier and kissed him and whispered: “Oh, husband, how good you he! You’ve made me the happiest woman in the world!” Uncle Jerry got away ns quick ns he could, and went out to the barn and set down on the hay cutter and laughed and wiped his eyes till he was some calmer. Then lie fell on liis knees and thanked God reverently for .howin’ him before he died what true happiness wus, ntid how to get it for himself by bestowin’ it on others.—Xew York Tribune,

"YOUR WIFE IS A VERY SICK WOMAN."

UNCLE JERRY SET PALE AS A STATU’.

IN TROOPED A PARCEL O' CHILDREN.