Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 40, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 January 1908 — A WIFE’S LOVE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A WIFE’S LOVE

By DOROTHY DEANE

(Copyright.) Lige Bennett walked to town that morning because the horse was lame. It was five- miles, and cold, but he allowed to make it in a couple of hours, and he’d keep warm walking. Mandy watched him from the kitchend door as he went down the 'road, then she turned back to where Lidy was washing dishes in a spiritless kind of way. “It’s jest a year since your pa quit drinking,” she said. “I believe. he’s going to stick to it this time,” Lidv’s face brightened. She was b pale girl/with wide, gray-brown eyes and hair of a pale shade that harmonized dully with her face. She was 13 and had never been very strong. Her mother was a wiry little woman with black hair, dark blue eyes, deep set, a straight nose, and a mouth that closed in very decided fashion.

It turned cold that afternoon,- bitter cold. Lige was not home by dark, so Lidy and her mother did the milking and the chores. They waited supper till seven, then they ate theirs a£d set his in the oven to keep warm.

“I don’t see why your pa don’t come,” Mandy said coming hack from the gate where she had gone to lisle* a dozen times or more. They sat down again over the'" kitchen flret They were usually In bed long before this time, and Lidy was sleepy, but her mother was nervously alert When tfce clock struck nine, she got up. “I’m going over to Martin’s,” she said; “maybe they saw your pa to-day.” Lidy roused herself suddenly. “You don’t s’pose pa’s ” “No, I don’t,” said Mandy fiercely. “Something’s the matter, but ’tain’t that. I know it ain’t that!’ “Let me go too,” Bald Lidy, getting her hood. “No, we musn’t leave the house alone. I’ll take King along.’ “Martins 'll be all asleep by this time.”’ “I’ll wake ’em," answered Mandy, grimly. King hounded np to her as she dfcened the door. She stopped a minute to pat the great, handsome fellow and put her arms around his neck. “King, old fellow,” she said with a half sob, “Lige ain’t come home. We must go find him.” It was a quarter of a mile to Martin’s. The house was dark, but she knocked and called.

,r ’Who’s there?” asked Joe Martin, from within. “It’s me—Mandy Bennett. Lige ain’t got home.” Martin opened the door after a minute’s delay, and Mandy went Inside. "Lige ain’t got home!” said Joe. “Why, I passed him about five o’clock, just outside of town. I’d ’a’ took him in the buggy, but Sally was along, an’ the baby, an’ we had a lot of things.” “What’s the matter, Joe?” asked his wife, querulously, from the bed-room. “It’s Mandy; she’s lookin’ for Lige. He ain’t hon tg yet’ “Well, it ain’t the first time,” said Sally. “Pity she has to come and wake us up this time of night I’d let him go, if I was her.” "Likely he stopped In somewhere,” Joe said; “I wouldn’t worry, Mandy.” Mandy was shivering. She took hold of the door knob to steady herself. “Joe Martin, Lige wasn’t ” The words ended in a choke. “We*l,” said Joe slowly, “it was pretty dark and I couldn’t sea very well, but I guess he was all right; I guess he was, Mandy.” He put his hand on her Bhoulder In an awkward attempt to comfort her. “I guess he will get home all right” Mandy drew her shawl around her. Her face looked gray and drawn In the half-dark room; there was no light but the dying fire. She went out Into the night again and heard Joe shut the door behind her. “Oh, Lord, ’ she said, “It can’t be that! Don’t let It be that!”

King looked up Into her face and whined softly, vaguely troubled. \ * —> — When Lldy woke up the room was gray with the dawn. She was still in the chair by the kitchen stove, with her head on the table. The fire had died out hour* ago; she was stiff and sore. At first she could not think how she came to be there. She looked about her in the gray light and shivered in the deadly chill of the room. The utter silence of the house frightened her. She went Into the little bed room; It was unoccupied; the front room too, waa empty. She went back to the kitchen, shaking with cold and fear.

When she had laid and lit a fire, ahe heard the cows lowing Impatiently In the barn; the horse neighed for his breakfast They must be attended to. She took the milk palls and went out Into the nipping air. King, too, was gone. She hurried through the chores and went into the house and strained the milk. » Just as she t+ok up her hood and shawl again, her father came in at the door, t "Well,” he said, pinching her pale cheek good-naturedly with a cold hand. “Got any breakfast left? I stayed all night in town. *Twaa late when I got through, and I thought I wouldn't risk It Doc Hunt brought me alopg this morning. Where’s your

/*! don’t know,” said Lidy/beginning to cry. - , Her father took her roughly by the arm. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I don’t know,” said Lidy agafiy “She went to look for you last night. She ain’t herd” Lige let go her arm. His face looked suddenly gray and old. “Where did she go, Lidy?” he asked with his hand on the, latch. “Over to M&rtin’*. It was nine o’clock,” said Lidy sobbing:. “Oh, pa, what do you s’pose has happened?” ' Lige stopped and kissed her with sudden tenderness. Then he put her away and strode, out at the door. He hurried down the road, half running. Part of the time he swore; part of the time he prayed. Joe Martin saw him coming from tlto’barn door and went to meet him as he came up, pale and panting. “Is Mandy here?” he asked. “No, Lige, she ain't She was over here last night lookin’ fqr you. Ain’t she home?" The strength went suddenly out of Lige Benpett’s big frame. He sat down on the woodpile. “No,” he said, “she’s gone. Lidy’s there alone. Mandy didn’t git back.” Sally Martin came out to the woodpile with a shawl over her head, to listen. “Maybe she went somewhere else,” said Joe reflectively. Lige shook his head despairingly. "No, she wouldn’t do that. My God, Joe, if she was ou* last night ” He got up suddenly and started off. He staggered as he walked. Sally looked after him. “I guess he’s got a little something aboard.” Joe turned to her more sternly than

he had ever dared. “Go Into the house,” be saldT "“yon ain’t got no. more feelin’ than a stick of wood.” Then he hurried after Mb neighbor. “I’ll get the boys out, Lige. We’ll do all we can.”

That night Lige Bennett’s little house was full. Mandy was there, propped in a big chair that had a comforter thrown over it Lidy hong over her as if she feared her mother might vanish from her sight. One after another of the neighbors had dropped In till the kitchen was fall. There was a roaring fire, and King, as a special favor, bad been allowed to curl Mmself in a comfortable corner. 7 Ike Watson was there; he lived four miles away, on the Springrlew pike. Even at the eighth repetition he did not weary 6f telling his story of how the big doctor from Marysville (everybody called him the "Big Doctor,” not on account of his site, but Ms reputation), had been diving In a great hurry to ’Squire Benton’s about half past eleven. He had been called that afternoon and had not got home to get the message until nine o’clock, end the ’Squire wae likely to go off In one of Ms spells at any time.

"He was adrlvln’ along, llckerty split,” repeated Ike, warming with his theme, “an’ his horse shied at somethin’ lyin’ alongside of the road, an’ a big dog Jumped up, growlin’ an’ barkin’. "He Jumped out an’ looked an’ it was a woman, an’ she was nigh frose. He hadn’t time to stop anywhere; you know the houses ’tween there an’ the ’Squire’s is mostly set pretty fer back from the road. So he Jest took her into his buggy an’ went llckerty split again along to the 'Squires. He didn’t know it 'twas Mandy, till the ’Squire's wife told him. "An’ that blame’ dog never left Mis Bennett a minute. The doctor worked over her an’ the ’Squire all night, an’ this mornln’ little Jen Benton she come over fer me to come an' tell you. Good thing I did come,too, fer Ligo here was startin’ out on the hunt for her, an’ no knowln’ how far he’d a-gone. “Wlmmen Is queer creatures,” meditated Ike; “If a man’s late they al'ays set up an’ worry. Don’t know’e I want one." Lige Bennett got up and walked across the room. Then he came back and stirred the fire. “Ike,” he said, conclusively, “you’re a fool.” “Wen,” drawled Ike, thoughtfully, “mebbe I be, Lige; mebbe I be.” "But just to think of a woman goln' out sech a night,” said Joe Martin, his eyes suspiciously moist “Te knowed ye’d freexe, Mandy.” Mandy looked over at her husband with bright excited eyes. "Well,” she ■aid, ‘Td do It again—for Uge.”

“Is Mandy Here?” He Asked.