The Portion of Labor

ed, posters with a stare of dreadful meaning in large characters of black and white were being pasted all over the fences and available barns, and alread

on brought two reporters

her mother-in-law, Mrs. Zelotes Brewster, at an opposite one, sitting immovable, with her Bible in her lap, prayer in her heart, and an eye of grim holding to faith upon the road for the fulfilment of promise. She felt all her muscles stiffen with anger when she saw the wild eyes of the child's mother at the other window. "It is all her fault," she said to herself-"all her fault-hers and that bold trollop of a sister of hers." When she saw Eva run down the road, with her black hair rising like a mane to the morning wind, she was an embodiment of an imprecatory psalm. When, later on, she saw the three editors coming-Mr. Walsey, of The Spy, and Mr. Jones, of The Observer, and young Joe Bemis, of The Star, on his bicycle-she watched jealously to see if they were admitted. When Fanny's head disappeared from the eastern window she knew that Eva had let them in and Fanny was receiving them in the parlor. "She will tell them all about the words they had last night, that made the dear child run away," she thought. "All the town will know what doings there are in our family."

ly hideous with emotion, now and then breaking into hoarseness with the strain of tears. "I guess I know why, I guess I do, and I wish I had been six foot under ground before I did what I did. It was all my fault, every bit of it. When I got home, and found that Fan had been making that precious young one a dress out of my old blue one, I pitched into her for it, and she gave it back to me, and then we jawed, and kept it up, till Andrew, he grabbed the dress and flung it into the fire, and did just right, too, and took Ellen and run over to old lady Brewster's with her; then Ellen, she see him cryin', and it scared her 'most to de

window, might as well have hailed the wind. Her family dissensions were well aired in The Star next morning, and she always kept the cutting at the bottom of a little rosewood work-box where she

ever saw, and she took the widest steps; she measured her dress skirt every step she took, and she spoke gruff. I said then I knew she was a man dressed up. Ellen was playing out in the yard, and she saw the child as she went out, and I see her stoop and look at her real sharp, and my blood run kind of cold then, and I called Ellen away as quick as I could; and the woman, she turned round and gave me a look that I won't ever forget as long as I live. My belief is that that woman was laying in wait when Ellen was going across the yard home from here last night, and she has got her safe somewhere till a reward is offered. Or maybe she wants to keep her, Ellen is such a beautiful child. You needn't put in your papers that my grandchild run away because of quarrelling in our family, because she didn't. Eva and Fanny don't know what they are talking about, they are so wrought up; and, coming from the family they do, they don't know how to control themselves and show any sense. I feel it as much

their children carefully in-doors that evening, and pulled down curtains, fearful lest She look in the windows and be tempted. Mrs. Zelotes also waylaid both of the Boston reporters, but with results upon which she had not counted. One presented her story and Fanny's and Eva's with impartial justice; the other kept wholly to the latter version, with the addition of a shrewd theor

r would! That little thing, just because she heard you and me scoldin', and yo

rs what I had done wrong, for all eternity, before I'd go where they were playin' harps in heaven, if she was there. I'd like it better, I would. And I'd stay here if I had twenty sisters I

the editors in after 'em. I'd like to put 'em in the stove with their own papers for kindlin's." Suddenly Eva turned with a swish of skirts, and was out of the room and pounding up-stairs, shaki

er do such a thi

s that

n?" Fanny sa

little dress pattern, the one yo

awer in my room.

got the scissors from Fanny's work-basket, and threw

ked at her with wretched wond

y-"do? I'm goin' to cut

ain

for it now. I'm goin' to give her my best blue silk, that I paid a dollar and a half a yard for, and 'ain't worn three times. Yes,

rs, while two neighboring women, who had just come into the room,

d one of the women, bac

n't do so," pleaded

d she cut recklessly

uch matters, and never fully moved from her own household grooves by any ex

usting the woman away. "Oh, I don't care how I

oman followed her, stepping with the ponderous leisure which results from vastness of body and philosophy of mind. The autumn wind, swirling in impetuous gusts, had little effect upon her broadside of woollen shawl. She had not co

ave you got your

oud is raving crazy

n to roost. You and me, both of us, if we was situated jest as she is, might think of doin' jest what she's a-doin', but we won't neither

'm going to keep my doors locked. How do you know

ettin' your birds ro

he paper the other day. I should think they would look

's poor Andrew coming now; I wo

Andrew Brewster's dejected figur

sk him," said the

home to rest a minute, so he can start again. I know he 'ain't eat a thing since last night

ler and

see the way he walks;

shoulders became suddenly alert. It had occurred to him that possibly Fanny and Eva migh

an standing at the door of the next

ittle face. She had not come, then, for these women would have known it. He entered the house, and F

ard and clutche

ve

oved her hand from his arm,

itchen sink to wash his hands. The four women-his wife, her sister, and the two neighbors-stood staring at him; his face was terrible as he d

he pushes me away, when it is our child that's lost-his as well as mine. He hasn't any feel

ith his wife. All his other outlets of affection were choked by his concern for his lost child; and as for pity, he kept reflecting,

ly he went across the yard to his mother's. It seemed to him at that time t

fter him, frantically, "Oh, Andr

sister's arm, and pulled her away out of the kitchen. "Come with me," she said, hoarsely. "I've got nobody but you. My ow

you and her. And I will never get mad with you again as long as I live, Fanny. Oh, it was all my fault, every bit my fault, but, but-" Eva's voice broke; suddenly she clasped her sister tighter, and then she went down on her knees beside the bed, and hid her tangled head in her lap. "Oh, Fanny," she sobbed out miserably, "there ai

. "Don't you feel so bad, Eva," said she. "You wasn't any more to b

e for you and Ellen, and I'll ne