Prairie Folks | Page 3

her bead-like eyes
flashing, her withered little face set in an ominous frown. "Ethan
Ripley, what you been doin'?"
"Nawthin'," he replied, feebly.
"Who painted that sign on there?"
"A man come along an' he wanted to paint that on there, and I let 'im;
and it's my barn, anyway. I guess I can do what I'm a min' to with it,"
he ended, defiantly; but his eyes wavered.
Mrs. Ripley ignored the defiance. "What under the sun p'sessed you to
do such a thing as that, Ethan Ripley? I declare I don't see! You git
fooler an' fooler ev'ry day you live, I do believe."
Uncle Ethan attempted a defense.
"Well, he paid me twenty-five dollars f'r it, anyway."
"Did 'e?" She was visibly affected by this news.
"Well, anyhow, it amounts to that; he give me twenty-five bottles"----
Mrs. Ripley sank back in her chair. "Well, I swan to Bungay! Ethan
Ripley--wal, you beat all I ever see!" she added in despair of expression.
"I thought you had some sense left, but you hain't, not one blessed
scimpton. Where is the stuff?"
"Down cellar, an' you needn't take on no airs, ol' woman. I've known

you to buy things you didn't need time an' time 'n' agin, tins and things,
an' I guess you wish you had back that ten dollars you paid for that
illustrated Bible."
"Go 'long an' bring that stuff up here. I never see such a man in my life.
It's a wonder he didn't do it f'r two bottles." She glared out at the sign,
which faced directly upon the kitchen window.
Uncle Ethan tugged the two cases up and set them down on the floor of
the kitchen. Mrs. Ripley opened a bottle and smelled of it like a
cautious cat.
"Ugh! Merciful sakes, what stuff! It ain't fit f'r a hog to take. What'd
you think you was goin'to do with it?" she asked in poignant disgust.
"I expected to take it--if I was sick. Whaddy ye s'pose?" He defiantly
stood his ground, towering above her like a leaning tower.
"The hull cartload of it?"
"No. I'm goin' to sell part of it an' git me an overcoat"----
"Sell it!" she shouted. "Nobuddy'll buy that sick'nin' stuff but an old
numbskull like you. Take that slop out o' the house this minute! Take it
right down to the sink-hole an' smash every bottle on the stones."
Uncle Ethan and the cases of medicine disappeared, and the old woman
addressed her concluding remarks to little Tewksbury, her grandson,
who stood timidly on one leg in the doorway, like an intruding pullet.
"Everything around this place 'ud go to rack an' ruin if I didn't keep a
watch on that soft-pated old dummy. I thought that lightenin'-rod man
had give him a lesson he'd remember, but no, he must go an' make a
reg'lar"----
She subsided in a tumult of banging pans, which helped her out in the
matter of expression and reduced her to a grim sort of quiet. Uncle
Ethan went about the house like a convict on shipboard. Once she

caught him looking out of the window.
"I should think you'd feel proud o' that."
Uncle Ethan had never been sick a day in his life. He was bent and
bruised with never-ending toil, but he had nothing especial the matter
with him.
He did not smash the medicine, as Mrs. Ripley commanded, because he
had determined to sell it. The next Sunday morning, after his chores
were done, he put on his best coat of faded diagonal, and was brushing
his hair into a ridge across the center of his high, narrow head, when
Mrs. Ripley came in from feeding the calves.
"Where you goin' now?"
"None o' your business," he replied. "It's darn funny if I can't stir
without you wantin' to know all about it. Where's Tewky?"
"Feedin' the chickens. You ain't goin' to take him off this mornin' now!
I don't care where you go."
"Who's a-goin' to take him off? I ain't said nothin' about takin' him off."
"Wall, take y'rself off, an' if y' ain't here f'r dinner, I ain't goin' to get no
supper."
Ripley took a water-pail and put four bottles of "the bitter" into it, and
trudged away up the road with it in a pleasant glow of hope. All nature
seemed to declare the day a time of rest, and invited men to
disassociate ideas of toil from the rustling green wheat, shining grass,
and tossing blooms. Something of the sweetness and buoyancy of all
nature permeated the old man's work-calloused body, and he whistled
little snatches of the dance tunes he played on his fiddle.
But he found neighbor Johnson to be supplied with another variety of
bitter, which was all