FullReads

“‘Libraries seem to shut up early,’ said Mrs. Batterfield, as her husband walked into the front yard.

“‘Yes, they do,’ said Abner, ‘in summer-time.’

“All the way from town he had been rehearsing to himself the story he was going to tell; but he hadn’t finished it yet, and he wanted to get it all straight before he began, so he walked over to the barn and sat down on an inverted horse-bucket to get his story all straight before he began. When he got it all straight he concluded not to tell it until after supper. But when that meal was finished, and everything had been cleared away, and Mrs. Batterfield had gone to sit on the front porch, as was her evening custom, he sat down by her and told his story.

“He made the tale as attractive as he possibly could make it. He even omitted the fact that Joe Pearson intended to sell his first eggs for sixteen hundred dollars instead of eighteen hundred, and he diminished by very many hundred miles the length of Joe Pearson’s probable journey to the north. In fact, had his suppositions been nearly correct, the remaining specimens of the great auk would have been birds of very temperate dispositions, so far as latitude was concerned.

“Mrs. Batterfield listened with great attention. She was engaged upon some sewing on which her eyes were fixed, but her ears drank in every word that Abner said. When he had finished, she laid down her sewing, for it was beginning to get a little dark for even her sharp eyes, and remarked: ‘And he wants some warm clothes? Furs, I suppose?’

“‘Yes,’ said Abner; ‘I expect they’d be furs.’

“‘And travelling expenses?’ she asked.

“‘Yes; I suppose he’d want help in that way. Of course, since he’s makin’ me such a big offer, he’ll expect me to put in somethin’.’

“Mrs. Batterfield made no reply, but folded up her sewing and went indoors. He waited until she had time to retire, then he closed the house and went up himself.

“‘She’ll want to sleep on that,’ said he; ‘it’ll be a good thing for her to sleep on it. She mayn’t like it at first, but I’ll go at her ag’in to-morrer, and I’m goin’ to stick to it. I reckon it’ll be the worst rassle we ever had; but it’s blackgum ag’in’ thunder, and I’m blackgum.’

“When Abner reached his chamber he found his wife sitting quietly by the table, on which burned a lamp.

“‘Hello!’ said he. ‘I thought you’d be abed and asleep!’

“‘I didn’t want to do my talkin’ out front,’ said she, ‘for there might be people passin’ along the road. I think you said this was to be a case of blackgum ag’in’ thunder!’

“‘Yes,’ said Abner, in a somewhat uncertain tone.

“‘Well, then,’ said Mrs. Batterfield, ‘I’m thunder.’

“It was very late when that couple went to bed, but it was very early the next morning when Abner rose. He split a great deal of fire-wood before breakfast, and very soon after that meal he put his hoe on his shoulder and went to his corn-field. He remembered that there were three rows of corn which he had hoed upon only one side.

“The library was not opened that day, and it remained closed until Mr. Brownsill returned. The failure in the supply of books did not occasion very much comment in the town, for everybody agreed that Mr. Brownsill was a good man and ought to have a holiday. There were four persons in the place–a little girl with plaited hair and a sister; a colored woman with a bad tooth; and Joe Pearson–who knew that Abner Batterfield had held, for a time, the office of librarian.

“When his vacation had expired, Mr. Brownsill came home, and on the second morning after his arrival, Abner Batterfield appeared before him.

“‘I had to come in town,’ said Abner, ‘and so I thought I’d step in here and see about my pay.’