Evening Republican, Volume 59, Number 91, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 May 1917 — WITHOUT THE ROMANCE [ARTICLE]

WITHOUT THE ROMANCE

By GEORGE WADE.

“By hokey, but I’m tired of this, and Tm a good mind to throw this darned old kitchen outdoors!” It was Farmer Ell Ja Taylor, who had been a widower for the last five years and had kept house for himself. He had come in from a day’s work and put some potatoes to boll and some meat to fry. Then he had gone out to milk the cows and feed the hogs, and when he came back the water had boiled out of the potatoes and the meat had burned to a cinder. “By George,” continued the farmer, as he sat down to make his supper on bread and butter, “the good Lord never intended for a decent man to live this way. The floor is littered with dirt, my bed hasn’t been made for a week and I don’t know when I have had a decent meal. I promised Matilda, on her dying bed, that I would not marry again, but —shucks! What does she care now whether I marry or not?” “This is about ’nuff of this!” exclaimed the Widow Frazer, who lived about three miles away on the outskirts of the village, and who had been a widow long enough to be sick of it. She had just entered the kitchen with a big armful of wood that she had had to split at the back door. Previous to this she had had the hens to feed, the cows to milk and the pigs to take care of.

“I promised Joseph never to marry again, and it seemed to make him easier in his mind when he died, but if Joseph is an angel, as I hope be is, he ought to want me to take another husband and get rid at some of this drudgery.” The morning after the widower and the widow had spoken as above. Farmer Taylor got up with h* jaws set and. the light of determination in his eyes. After a breakfast of fried eggs and dry bread he hitched his horses to the wagon and then loaded the vehicle with a cord of stovewood. “This beech and maple wood is goin* right to the Widow Frazer’s. It is dry as tinder and will warm her heart as well as her kitchen.” An hour later the load of wood was at the widow’s door, and, as his knock was answered, she exclaimed: “Why, EliJa Taylor, is this youT’ “It’s me, wldder,” was the reply, “and I brought you a cord of dry wood.” “But I haven’t got $2 to pay for it this morning.” “There is nothing to pay. Til carry it in and pile it up in the woodshed. I was cornin’ to town and I thought you might like the wood. It’s might hard to be all alone and burn green wood besides.” , .. _ When the wood had been nicely piled up he started back home and for three or four days he had pleasant thoughts of her tidy kitchen and the air of comfort about the house. “That’s what I want—that’s what Tm longin’ for,” he mused. “I want to live in a house, Instead of a pigpen.” In a week the horses and wagon were brought out for another visit to the Widow Frazer’s. This time there were apples, potatoes, beets and carrots, and a big chunk of salt pork. There were also a big chunk of corned beef and three dozen eggs.

“Why Ellja Taylor, are you here again?” was the greeting he got from the widow. “Yes, Tm here,” he laughed, “I was goin’ to town and I thought I might as well load up a few things for you.” i When the gifts had been brought In Farmer Taylor said: “Widder, I am all alone and a darned lonely man.” “I know it, Ellja,” she solemnly replied, “and I pity you.” “And, widder,” he continued, "you are all alone in this world and folks can’t be too good to you.” And he solemnly shook his head and sighed. And her chin quivered a little and she sighed, too. When Farmer Taylor came a third time, which he did in a few days, he brought a big crock of butter, more eggs and potatoes and corn for the hens and pig. When he had brought in the things the widow said: “Ellja, sit down at the table. I have got a nice mince pie warmin’ for you in the oven. You are a lonely man, and, though you are one of the best in the world, you can’t make a mince pie.” "And there’s nothin’ like ’em,” he said. “Nothin’ like em,” she repeated. "Widder,” he said, as he began to eat the warm pie, “I promised Matilda never to marry again!” “And that’s what I promised Joseph !” “But widder. I have made up my mind that Matilda, belh’ happy herself, had rather I’d marry than live the way I have to.” “And that’s the way I think about Joseph,” said the widow. “Ellja, the roads are in a bad state and it’s quite a job for you to bring me things.” “No job at all, widder,” was the prompt reply. “It must be, Ellja, It must be, and I was goin’ to say, that bein’ here as you are, and bein’ that It may not be convenient for you to come again soon, hadn’t we better—better set the daje and have it understood and over with? There, I didn’t mean to say that, but ’ it was on my tongue and I had to—do And they set the date, and when the day came ’round they were married. (Copyright, IM7, by the McClure Newspan - par Syndicate.).