94 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
Feb. 11 
JANET THORN'S TEMPER. 
MRS. F. M. HOWARD. 
Chap. II. 
(Continued.) 
“ Wall I wish, to goodness you was a 
man, J’net,” retorted Abel with unusual 
heat, “you’re always a twittin’ an’ a 
flingin’ about what you’d do if you was 
a man. I’d jest like to see you try it, 
that’s all.” 
“ So would I, and if I couldn’t beat 
some folks I know on calculation, I’d—” 
Poor Janet’s temper was being sorely 
tried these days. Her hopes had mounted 
so high when the old moorings were cut 
loose and they had landed on these new 
shores. She had not sufficiently taken 
into account the fact that environment 
does not change character ; that the poor 
calculator who cannot make a living in 
the East is more than likely to be a failure 
in the West Perhaps she had counted 
also upon her ability to direct and put in 
practice her own more energetic and 
thrifty ideas, but A bel, and Jimmy after 
him, like most weak men, were greatly 
afraid of being ruled by a woman. 
True, Mrs. Thorn was sometimes ap¬ 
pealed to for advice; the certainty of her 
answer, “Just as you think best, Abel,” 
made it a safe proceeding, but aside from 
this show of deference to his wife’s opin¬ 
ion, he rebelled against even the shadow 
of dictation from a feminine source. 
“ I jest can’t stan’ havin’ a woman a- 
bossin’ my work,” he would say as he 
deliberately ran counter to some sugges¬ 
tion of Janet, merely, as it seemed, to 
show his independence. “ What do wim- 
min know about business anyhow ?” 
Still he was almost afraid of Janet, and 
dreaded the sharpness of her sarcastic 
tongue when the things went wrong 
which might so easily have gone right 
under good management. 
“You shouldn’t ought to talk so to y’r 
pa, J’net!” Mrs. Thorn’s soft drawl 
broke in upon the girl’s stormy thoughts 
as Abel went slowly to the barn, his head 
bent with care and the approaching 
heaviness of old age. “He’s an awful 
good, kind man, if he isn’t so chirk an’ 
money makin’ as some.” 
Janet softened as she looked out after 
the retreating form, and noted its de¬ 
jected attitude. With all her faults of 
temper she had a tender heart, ready to 
leap out in quick sympathy with sorrow 
or suffering. 
“I’m afraid I am more than a Thorn 
by name, mother,” she replied, “a thorn 
by nature, ready to prick and hurt every¬ 
body that comes in contact with me.” 
“ You’re a master smart girl, J’net, we 
all allow that,” it was so seldom that 
Janet’s cheery voice held such a note of 
sadness that the mother hastened to 
reassure her, “ but if you could be a little 
less peppery toward y’r pa, I’m sure 
’twould be pleasanter, if nothin' more.” 
“I’ll try, mother. It wont make one’s 
hair black or white to fret and scold, and 
I’ll get up just the very best dinner I 
know how to for a peace offering.” 
That bent gray head lay heavily on her 
conscience, now that her better self was 
in the ascendant, and she flew about 
with restless energy to prepare the most 
tempting dishes possible from her mater¬ 
ial. 
“ Well, J’net, there can’t nobody beat 
you on fried chicken, I reckon.” Abel’s 
bitter memory of the morning’s debate, 
if he had cherished any, flew to the winds 
as he sat down to the dinner table, spread 
with a variety of his favorite dishes. 
The farmer’s wife has an advantage 
over her town sister in having the ingred¬ 
ients of the most delicious dishes always 
on hand. 
Butter, cream, eggs and plenty of vege¬ 
tables and fruit are the main spokes in 
the wheel of perfect cookery, and Janet 
knew how to use them to the best advan¬ 
tage. 
Abel was haying and had put in a 
morning of hard work and the very sight 
of the food rested him. 
“ I was a tellin’ Briggs ’tother day, I 
didn’t believe there was such another 
cook in Iowy as my J’net.” The girl 
flushed with pleasure—her olive branch 
was bringing her a better return even 
than she had expected, and for the time 
she quite forgot that her father was 
either slow or careless, in her pleasure 
at seeing him enjoy the dinner, and the 
haughty bend of her neck limbered out 
pacifically. 
“ I’m glad you like it, pa,” she said, 
“ this new range which you bought does 
such beautiful work that we can’t help 
having things good.” 
“ Well, I b’leve in having things ship¬ 
shape in the kitchen as well as on the 
farm,” Abel replied complacently—he 
quite believed himself for the moment, 
and forgot how he had tried to persuade 
Janet to take a second-hand cook stove 
initB place, and she magnanimously for¬ 
bore to remind him of it, so the meal 
passed off with unusual amiability, and 
father and son leaned back in their chairs 
with satisfied content. 
“I declare, ma, it’s so pleasant in here 
I e’en a’most hate to go out again,” Abel 
remarked. “ J’net’s parlor looks so cool 
an’ perty I’d like to stop there all the 
afternoon.” 
The dining-room, sitting-room and par¬ 
lor opened into each other, and a pleas¬ 
ing vista of cheerfulness met the eye 
from the table. The parlor was a happy 
instance of what a little money and a 
good deal of taste can accomplish, for 
without a really expensive article in it, 
it was a cosy, home-like room in which 
one loved to linger, and in compliment 
to her taste and the fact that she had 
planned it all, it was always called 
“J’net’s parlor.” 
“ I’m sure I wish you might, pa, but 1 
s’pose you wouldn't dast to, with that 
cloud a-hangin’ in the southwest.” 
“ Oh, massy, no—You go out an’ hitch 
the hosses, Jimmy, an’ we’ll get up that 
first load right quick.” _ 
The horses were young, and one of 
them bad an uncomfortable habit of shy¬ 
ing at every trifle. No one knew just 
how it happened, but Mrs. Thorn and 
Janet were startled at their dishwashing 
by a cry of horror from Jimmy, and, run¬ 
ning out into the yard, a terrible sight 
met their eyes. The poor old father who 
had so lately gone out with a pleased 
smile and a kind word upon his lips, lay 
crushed and bleeding upon the ground, 
the wheel of the heavy wagon having 
gone quite over him. 
“I was a-coming along behind after 
opening the gate,” explained Jimmy, 
his voice shaking with terror, “when 
that pesky horse shied out for a bit of 
newspaper, and pa slipped off the load. 
He had the reins wound around his hands, 
and his failin’ startled the horses and— 
oh, J’net, what shall we do ? ” 
“ Blow the horn, J’net, an’ call some 
of Briggs’s men over, an’, Jimmy, you 
tie the horses,” directed Mrs Thorn, as 
she knelt and raised the poor bruised 
head in her arms. 
In this terrible emergency she neither 
fainted nor shrieked, but rose to the exi¬ 
gencies of the occasion with unprece¬ 
dented bravery, while Janet, self-reliant 
Janet, was strangely overcome. 
Perhaps it was the thought of the many 
unkind and taunting words she had said 
which haunted her so, taking away her 
strength and driving the blood to her 
heart until she could scarcely breathe 
or speak. (To be continued.) 
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