The Village Watch-Tower | Page 7

Kate Douglas Wiggin
Sophia, in a tone that
spoke volumes. "When Parson Perkins come to this parish, one of his

first calls was on Eunice Emery. He always talked like the book o'
Revelation; so says he, `have you got your weddin' garment on, Miss
Emery?' says he. `No,' says she, `but I ben tryin' to these twenty years.'
She was always full of her jokes, Eunice was!"
"The Emerys was always a humorous family," remarked Diadema, as
she annihilated a fly with a newspaper. "Old Silas Emery was an awful
humorous man. He used to live up on the island; and there come a
freshet one year, and he said he got his sofy 'n' chairs off, anyhow!"
That was just his jokin'. He hadn't a sign of a sofy in the house; 't was
his wife Sophy he meant, she that was Sophy Swett. Then another time,
when I was a little mite of a thin runnin' in 'n' out o' his yard, he caught
holt o' me, and says he, `You'd better take care, sissy; when I kill you
and two more, thet'll be three children I've killed!' Land! you couldn't
drag me inside that yard for years afterwards. . . . There! she's got a fire
in the cook-stove; there's a stream o' smoke comin' out o' the kitchen
chimbley. I'm willin' to bet my new rug she's goin' to be married
tonight!"
"Mebbe she's makin' jell'," suggested Hannah Sophia.
"Jell'!" ejaculated Mrs. Jot scornfully. "Do you s'pose Eunice Emery
would build up a fire in the middle o' the afternoon 'n' go to makin' a
jell', this hot day? Besides, there ain't a currant gone into her house this
week, as I happen to know."
"It's a dretful thick year for fol'age," mumbled grandpa Bascom,
appearing in the door with his vacant smile. "I declare some o' the
maples looks like balls in the air."
"That's the twentieth time he's hed that over since mornin'," said
Diadema. "Here, father, take your hat off 'n' set in the kitchen door 'n'
shell me this mess o' peas. Now think smart, 'n' put the pods in the
basket 'n' the peas in the pan; don't you mix 'em."
The old man hung his hat on the back of the chair, took the pan in his
trembling hands, and began aimlessly to open the pods, while he
chuckled at the hens that gathered round the doorstep when they heard

the peas rattling in the pan.
"Reuben needs a wife bad enough, if that's all," remarked the Widow
Buzzell, as one who had given the matter some consideration.
"I should think he did," rejoined old Mrs. Bascom. "Those children
'bout git their livin' off the road in summer, from the time the dand'lion
greens is ready for diggin' till the blackb'ries 'n' choke-cherries is gone.
Diademy calls 'em in 'n' gives 'em a cooky every time they go past, 'n'
they eat as if they was famished. Rube Hobson never was any kind of a
pervider, 'n' he's consid'able snug besides."
"He ain't goin' to better himself much," said Almira. "Eunice Emery
ain't fit to housekeep for a cat. The pie she took to the pie supper at the
church was so tough that even Deacon Dyer couldn't eat it; and the
boys got holt of her doughnuts, and declared they was goin' fishin' next
day 'n' use 'em for sinkers. She lives from hand to mouth Eunice Emery
does. She's about as much of a doshy as Rube is. She'll make tea that's
strong enough to bear up an egg, most, and eat her doughnuts with it
three times a day rather than take the trouble to walk out to the meat or
the fish cart. I know for a fact she don't make riz bread once a year."
"Mebbe her folks likes buttermilk bread best; some do," said the
Widow Buzzell. "My husband always said, give him buttermilk bread
to work on. He used to say my riz bread was so light he'd hev to tread
on it to keep it anywheres; but when you'd eat buttermilk bread he said
you'd got somethin' that stayed by you; you knew where it was every
time. . . . For massy sake! there's the stage stoppin' at the Hobson's door.
I wonder if Rube's first wife's mother has come from Moderation? If 't
is, they must 'a' made up their quarrel, for there was a time she wouldn't
step foot over that doorsill. She must be goin' to stay some time, for
there's a trunk on the back o' the stage. . . . No, there ain't nobody gettin'
out. Land, Hannah Sophia, don't push me clean through the glass! It
beats me why they make winders so small that three people can't look
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