"I killed him, and I'll kill you, you devil!" She was frenzied with rage, but we were well out of her way. 66 Have to hang another one, Tom," I said, finally, after we had walked to his butcher shop in silence. He tied the dog back by his bunk and patted his bowed old head for a long time. Then he came out and up to me, and said, sharply, "Not much." " 'Well, what will we do?" "What will we do? that's what we'll do. Keep our mouths shut an' do nothin' ; Didn't you know afore that Shed was a-dyin' for her? Well, I did, an' that's why I kinder took to Shed an' tried to make his hangin' easy-like. He was willin' to die for her, an' he did die for her, an' that settles it." And the next morning, before the break of day, a big woman on a big bell mule, with a bunch of grass stuffed in the mule's bell, rode quietly out of camp on her way to The Dalles. A CAUTIOUS WOOER. MILLER VINTON. HE: Would you object to my proposing to you? HE: You would be perfectly willing that I should state in a few well-chosen words the length of time I have worshipped and loved you, and the terrible despair which has been mine as I saw you universally adored, and perceived how little chance there was of my hopes being realized while you remained queen over the hearts of suitors far more worthy? SHE [as before]: Perfectly willing. HE Would you prefer me to make the proposal standing or kneeling? SHE [correctly lowering her eyes]: I think the latter way would be far better form. HE: Would you prefer the declaration in language fervid, fierce, and outspoken, or intense, passionate, and contained? SHE [with considerable promptness]: Fervid, fierce, and outspoken. HE: And would you deem it indiscreet if the proposer, during the declaration, should print some kisses on the hand of the proposee? SHE [with artless candor]: Yes, if there were not anything better and more satisfying reasonably contiguous. HE: If he encountered a feeble opposition merely, would you consider it unwise on the part of the proposer, should he pass his arm around the proposee's waist ? SHE [gently but firmly]: It would be, I think, a matter for extreme regret if he failed to comprehend whatever possibilities the situation presented. HE And in case the proposer should, after slight resistance, realize these possibilities, would you consider such slight resistance sufficient encouragement to justify him in fondly folding the proposee to his heart? SHE [as before]: Undoubtedly. HE Taking it for granted, then, that the last situation has been consummated, can you see no reason why the proposer should not rightfully regard himself in the light of a magnificent success as a wooer ? SHE [promptly]: I cannot. He: Or why he should not be joyful in the thought that for the nonce, at least, she is his, and he, hers? SHE [with some impatience]: No. HE: Now, appealing to you as belonging to that sex which intuitively sees and understands the peculiar proprieties of an emergency of this sort, are there not occasions more appropriate than others for a declaration of love? SHE [trifling nervously with handkerchief]: There are. The elements of time, place, and liability of interruption must, of course, be properly regarded. HE: Do you believe the present contains those elements? SHE [trifling more nervously with handkerchief]: I have no doubt of it. HE: You also believe, do you not, that tastes, inclinations—in fact, all dispositional characteristics are found to be conspicuously similar, more especially in family groups ? SHE [trifling most nervously with handkerchief]: Certainly. HE: Now, for instance, you and your sister are, I fancy, vivid illustrations of this truism. SHE [elevating her eyebrows]: Yes, Mabel and I are, so far as preferences and dislikes are concerned, singularly similar. HE: Is your sister at home? SHE [slowly looking him over]: I think she is. HE: Will you tell her, please, I should like to see her-alone? THE OLD FIRE-DOG. THOMAS FROST. DUSTY and dusty, long out of date, RUS Thrown in the lumber-room, minus its mate, When the log's merry blaze Shone on the faces of friendship and love. Tarnished old andiron, thing of the past, Watching some one knit, knit, Well I remember that clear Christmas night, Still I can hear, As my chair I drew near, The little heart beat 'neath its bodice of lace. Never a word-just a peep in her eyes; I am sure I can tell What gleamed in her eye, for I kissed it away! Ingle ne'er glowed with so cheerful a flame; As they rose on bright wings, At two of their kin with affection aglow. Scarcely a year from that rapturous night, Our love-vows so sweet; Just to stand near you-a bridegroom and bride. Little we said, but that little was much; "Wedded!" her orange-crowned head, at my touch, Gently, so gently fell o'er to my breast; "Wedded!" and then We lived over again In silence, the knitting, the blush-and the rest! Dear me just think, half a century back! I haven't a hair, so thick once and black! My grandson's a man and my son's beard is white. Youth's sunny day Fast, too fast, ebbs away, But age's chill eve slowly melts into night. Bless thee, old cobwebby friend of my youth; Of your decades of rust? See the spire on the hill? Well, she rests over there! As I have done to-day, With young Jack in my chair by the stove-making love! ALICE MAUDE. THERE'S a willow near my casement, Branches gnarled in crank enlacement, And this mournful willow, whether In the summer still, Or when roaring wintry weather Buffets the brown hill, At my window taps incessant Through the night. "Tis, I swear, no idle fancy Seeks to speak with me. Ah, it knows the tearful history Of the long ago— Ah, it knows the canker mystery |