Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 18, 2025
Exceptin' one thing, all the rest about my green rep sofy a-goin' to Cousin Phoebe, the pickle-caster to Brother Henry, the old dishes what can't be sold to my beloved nephew, Jason Weatherwax, and my best tablecloths and sheets and pillow-slips to his little Ann Eliza when she gets a husband what's a good provider, is fixed jest as it hed ought to be. What I want now is a postscript."
He was of an age when a babyish diminutive becomes a thorn unspeakable. Mrs. Weatherwax glanced tranquilly past his writhings to the ancient table. "Ross," she asked, "wa'n't that your grandfather's?" "Yes. He used it in his place of business." "I call to mind seein' it in the old distillery when I was a girl," pursued the widow, who never called a spade an agricultural implement.
"William, thou abstemious youth," he addressed the clerk, "I am tempted to empty one of these cold bottles down your scandalized neck and pack you off with another for the Widow Weatherwax!" He had the youth carry the wine to the rear room and set out glasses against the coming of his friends, drinking a bumper meanwhile to William's good health and the sentiment Confusion to Fusion.
"Did you attend the rally, William?" he inquired, as he slit the envelopes of his morning's mail. "Yep," said William Irons. "Everybody seemed pleased?" "Nope." "No?" Shelby repeated, lifting his eyes. "And who was disgruntled?" "The Widow Weatherwax." "Ah! That's unfortunate," returned Shelby, blandly. "What is the widow's grievance?"
And you a church member." "Who? Who?" "Mrs. W W " It was impossible to articulate that tongue-worrying name with her lord glaring at her so dreadfully. The man blenched. "Not old Weatherwax!" "Y-yes." Bowers's jaw hung flaccid. This phenomenon continuing, Mrs. Bowers took alarm. "You've not gone and had a stroke, have you?" she wavered timidly, feeling for his pulse.
The caller's eyes twinkled. "The Widow Weatherwax been administering spiritual balm?" he asked. "I could wring her neck," Shelby averred. "Her will again?" "Of course." "You'll have it as long as you practise law. I did. It goes with the office. Remunerative as ever?"
The man yawned. He awoke refreshed and lay in snug indolence listening to the rival sextons pealing first bell for Sunday service. Whatever their doctrinal disputes, the churches of New Babylon made a shift for concord when it came to bell-ringing, whose stately performance was regarded by no less a theological expert than the Widow Weatherwax as "spiritoolly edifyin' and condoocive to grace."
People who had called him "Ross" all his days addressed him in this fashion still; and the Widow Weatherwax calmly imposed an audience in the matter of her last will and testament, which the new-fledged lawyer, William Irons, had bungled, and spiced the renewal of their relations with her old-time candor and a full chronicle of the past, present, and probable scandal of the county.
A block or two up the street, where the trees began to interlace their denuded branches and the court-house common sparkled with frosty rime, he had seen the Widow Weatherwax accost Ruth Temple. The girl had stopped when addressed, but almost immediately walked on, as if to escape the little busybody who, nothing daunted, trotted at elbow for a rod or more.
A warm attachment soon developed between the new matron, Mother Weatherwax, and me. She held the matronal office until health no longer permitted. The first joyous greetings over, next in order was inspection of property. After many trips for this purpose I at last saw a place which delighted my heart; but would the owner part with it?
Word Of The Day
Others Looking