190 MRS. MARCH'S BOARDERS.
Churning-cream, down the sullar-stairs, and
filled the churn up with two litters of my spring
chickens—and the old hens, they liked to have
scratched and picked his eyes out in the scrape.
Their ma said they were children of genius, that she feared they was short-lived; their brains was too big, for their heads, And then she’d kiss ’em; and. Dolph, he tied a dead rat to her water-fall, and skeered her nigh about into fits.
One morning I missed the cat. She warn’t there to git her new milk, and. she was allers: as constant te the milk-pail as the needle is to the pole. I was worried about her, for she is as good a cat as ever you seed.
I asked the children if they had seen her, and Dolph giggled and looked at Angus, and that little wretch said she was in the flour-barrel.
“Dolph put her in last night,” said he; ‘we didn’t like her color, she’s so black, and we thought we’d powder her jest as ma does her face.
“You little trollop!” cried Mrs, Wilson, grabbing him and giving him a shake that made his teeth clatter, ‘I'll learn you to tell falsehoods!”
“It’s so—hain’t it, Dolph?” exclaimed Angus, and then he scooted out of the house; and the next I seed of him he was out in the barn, with been two hens tied to a pole, trying to brush the cobwebs off from the barn winders. He’d got a feather duster, he said.
As soon as I found out whar the cat was I run to the flour-barrel, and shore enuff, when I histed up the kiver, out she bounced as white as a miller, and skeered nigh about to pieces. And when she come out she jumped onto the cake-board that had as much as a dozen tumblers, jest washed, onto it, and down went the board, and all them tumblers along with it; broke ’em into five hundred pieces, and skeered the cat so that she didn’t come anighst the house for more than a month.
Wall, I had my revenge onto the Wilsons in one way. The bread they eat was made out of that indenticle flour!
The next day Dolph fell through the scaffling in the barn into the pen, where we had a sow and some pigs, and the hoggish old lady tore all his clothes off from him afore he could git out. Angus got kicked by the old mare half to death; and Adelaide, she upsot one of the bee- hives, and was stung so bad that her face looked like a biled lobster with the small-pox.
But, land! ’tain’t no use for me to try, to begin to tell the performances them children had, and the scrapes they got into. It would take half of my lifetime.
Afore many days, the widder Westley, she got to be dreadful peart, for a widder. And whey she and Mr. Cliffe didn’t know that anybody seed ’em, they was jest. as, sociable together as if they’d known one tother from their cradles.
She got so gay and lively that I sot out to send, her off, I was afeard people would begin to talk if I had a woman in, the house that laffed so loud, especially as she was a widder.
I spoke to, Mr, Cliffe about it one day, and he growed so red that I didn’t know but the widder had been saying sunthin’ onproper to him.
But he sed he guessed if; he was me he wouldn't go to having no fuss, and he was so extry perlite and nice about it, that I told him jest to oblige him I'd keep still.
After that he was dreadful retentive to me, and, every time he spoke to me he either called me dear madam, or dear Mrs. March.
And he got into the habit of patting me onto the shoulder, and squeezing my hand whenever he wanted to say that the butter was too salt, or the coffee not sweet enuff.
And he kept telling of me how young I looked, and what pritty hair I had, and what a good form, and said that if all ladies were such a figure as I was, corsets wouldn't never have been invented.
And when he went to the Corner, he allers brung me home some peppermint lozenges, of which I am very fond, and which is excellent fer wind in the stummuk.
After a spell I began to see through it, though at fust I couldn't hardly believe it. But, then, I'm very young-looking of my age, and I hain't near so old as I might be.
And I s’pose;I hadn’t orter have thought of marrying agin; but then a widder’s life is a very lonesome one, and Mr. Cliffe was such a fine-looking fellow! I knowed half the girls in Peaville would be yellow with envy; and as fer the widders and old maids, I doubted if they'd manage to live through it.
One day Mr. Cliffe he sot down terrible nigh me on the settle in the kitchen, and he put his arm round me, and tuk my hand, into his affectionate as ever you seed a person.
“Hold on a minnit,” says I, ‘and let me wipe my hands onto my apron, ‘I’ve been a kneeding up bread, and they’re,a little doughy.”
«And he waited jest, as obedient as a kitten. Then he took my hand agin,and says he,
“Mrs. March, it is, not good for man to be alone. That is Scripture is it, not?”
“Yes,” says I, “and it’s the truth, too.”
“I’m glad you think so,” says he, “because I’m in love.”
