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Told In The Poorhouse
by
“‘You’ve got a new one,’ says she. ‘May I have this?’
“‘Course you may,’ says he.
“He didn’t look up to see her face, an’ her voice was so soft an’ still, I guess he never thought nothin’ of it. Then she held the pocket-book up tight ag’inst her dress waist an’ walked off into the bedroom. I al’ays thought she never knew I was there. An’ arterwards it come out that that old pocket-book was one she’d bought for him afore they was married,–earned it bindin’ shoes.”
“‘Twas kind o’ hard,” owned Mrs. Niles, bending forward, and, with hands clasped over her knees, peering into the coals for data regarding her own marital experiences. “But if ’twas all wore out–did you say ’twas wore?–well, then I dunno’s you could expect him to set by it. An’ ‘twa’n’t as if he’d give it away; they’d got it between ’em.”
“I dunno; it’s all dark to me,” owned Sally Flint. “I guess ‘twould puzzle a saint to explain men-folks, anyway, but I’ve al’ays thought they was sort o’ numb about some things. Anyway, Josh Marden was. Well, things went on that way till the fust part o’ the summer, an’ then they come to a turnin’-p’int. I s’pose they’d got to, some time, an’ it might jest as well ha’ been fust as last. Lyddy Ann was pretty miserable, an’ she’d been dosin’ with thoroughwort an’ what all when anybody told her to; but I al’ays thought she never cared a mite whether she lived to see another spring. The day I’m comin’ to, she was standin’ over the fire fryin’ fish, an’ ‘Mandy was sort o’ fiddlin’ round, settin’ the table, an’ not doin’ much of anything arter all. I dunno how she come to be so aggravatin’, for she was al’ays ready to do her part, if she had come between husband an’ wife. You know how hard it is to git a fish dinner! Well, Lyddy Ann was tired enough, anyway. An’ when Josh come in, ‘Mandy she took a cinnamon-rose out of her dress, an’ offered it to him.
“‘Here’s a flower for your button-hole,’ says she, as if she wa’n’t more ‘n sixteen. An’ then she set down in a chair, an’ fanned herself with a newspaper.
“Now that chair happened to be Lyddy Ann’s at the table, an’ she see what was bein’ done. She turned right round, with the fish-platter in her hand, an’ says she, in an awful kind of a voice,–
“‘You git up out o’ my chair! You’ve took my husband away, but you sha’n’t take my place at the table!’
“The hired man was there, washin’ his hands at the sink, an’ he told it to me jest as it happened. Well, I guess they all thought they was struck by lightnin’, an’ Lyddy Ann most of all. Josh he come to, fust. He walked over to Lyddy Ann.
“‘You put down that platter!’ says he. An’ she begun to tremble, an’ set it down.
“I guess they thought there was goin’ to be murder done, for ‘Mandy busted right out cryin’ an’ come runnin’ over to me, an’ the hired man took a step an’ stood side o’ Lyddy Ann. He was a little mite of a man, Cyrus was, but he wouldn’t ha’ stood no violence.
“Josh opened the door that went into the front entry, an’ jest p’inted. ‘You walk in there,’ he says, ‘an’ you stay there. That’s your half o’ the house, an’ this is mine. Don’t you dast to darken my doors!’
“Lyddy Ann she walked through the entry an’ into the fore-room, an’ he shet the door.”
“I wouldn’t ha’ done it!” snorted old Mrs. Page, who had spent all her property in lawsuits over a right of way. “Ketch me!”
“You would if you’d ‘a’ been Lyddy Ann!” said Sally Flint, with an emphatic nod. Then she continued: “I hadn’t more’n heard ‘Mandy’s story afore I was over there; but jest as I put my foot on the door-sill, Josh he come for’ard to meet me.