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Updated: June 9, 2025
Mattie suddenly drew her arms out of the steaming water. "It wasn't Ethan's fault, Zeena! The cat did break the dish; but I got it down from the china-closet, and I'm the one to blame for its getting broken." Zeena stood beside the ruin of her treasure, stiffening into a stony image of resentment, "You got down my pickle-dish-what for?" A bright flush flew to Mattie's cheeks.
"But suppose the letter has gone to the dead-letter office?" added the postmaster. "Sakes alive! I've got money enough to pay it, if the letter is lost. Why, Ethan's got more'n 'leven hundred dollars that belongs to me." "All right, Miss Larrabee," replied Captain Fishley, as he took out the money, and wrote a note for the amount.
The cliff was almost perpendicular; at the depth of twenty feet a narrow ledge projected, but thence there was a sheer descent, down, down, down, to the tops of the tall trees in the valley far below. As Ethan Tynes looked wistfully over the precipice, he started with a sudden surprise. There on the narrow ledge lay the dead turkey. The sight sharpened Ethan's regrets.
A dead cucumber-vine dangled from the porch like the crape streamer tied to the door for a death, and the thought flashed through Ethan's brain: "If it was there for Zeena " Then he had a distinct sight of his wife lying in their bedroom asleep, her mouth slightly open, her false teeth in a tumbler by the bed... They walked around to the back of the house, between the rigid gooseberry bushes.
"I used to go a good deal after the accident, when I was first married; but after awhile I got to think it made 'em feel worse to see us. And then one thing and another came, and my own troubles... But I generally make out to drive over there round about New Year's, and once in the summer. Only I always try to pick a day when Ethan's off somewheres.
Hale, after all, knew enough of Ethan's situation to make it possible for the latter to renew his appeal without too much loss of pride; and, moreover, how much did pride count in the ebullition of passions in his breast? The more he considered his plan the more hopeful it seemed. If he could get Mrs.
Go hurry him up," ordered Joe Peabody. "Send him in here flying and turn the cows out to pasture." "He hasn't milked!" Ethan cleared the porch steps at a single bound and burst into the kitchen, shouting this intelligence. Excitement was scarce in Ethan's life, and he enjoyed the pleasurable sensation of carrying unusual tidings, even if unpleasant.
She cuts a wide swath, don't she?" exclaimed Uncle Ethan, profoundly impressed with the list. "They ain't no better bitter in the world," said the agent with a conclusive inflection. "What's its speshy-ality? Most of 'em have some speshy-ality." "Well-summer complaints-an'-an'-spring an' fall troubles-tones ye up, sort of." Uncle Ethan's forgotten pan was empty of his gathered bugs.
Ethan's long strides grew more rapid with the accelerated beat of his thoughts, and as he reached the foot of School House Hill he caught sight of Hale's sleigh in the distance. He hurried forward to meet it, but as it drew nearer he saw that it was driven by the carpenter's youngest boy and that the figure at his side, looking like a large upright cocoon in spectacles, was that of Mrs. Hale.
Bernard pup, but I notice he's losing a lot of that fresh, puppy-dog way he used to have. And then he's a Down-East boy. His Uncle Ethan Peasley and I were pals together fifty years ago, and for Ethan's sake I feel that I ought to show the boy some consideration. He's learning to hold himself together pretty well, and if I should run into him to-morrow I'll ask him out."
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