1910. 
©61 
A Frantic Redress. 
It was a hot, sultry July morning and 
the harvesting season on the farm of 
Joshua Allen was at its height. Out¬ 
side the great farmhouse which stood 
on a noble hill all was silent and serene, 
but inside there was a clatter of dishes 
and a cloudy brow, for Joshua Allen’s 
young wife was cogitating furiously over 
the fact that her husband had gone to 
the field without providing her with 
wood with which to get dinner for at 
least a dozen men. ‘Tie may be the 
master of Maple .Grove Farm,” she said 
to herself, “but I’m tired of this sort of 
thing and I'll show him before the day 
is over that there’s a mistress at Maple 
Grove Farm, too.” 
“Jane,” she impatiently called to her 
little maid-of-all-work, “take this basket 
and go out and search the premises and 
see if you can’t find some wood. Pull 
the pickets off the garden fence—if you 
can’t do any better. It's time these pies 
were in the oven this minute.” 
Reluctantly Jane took the basket and 
started off, knowing full well what it 
meant “to search the premises for wood” 
—for had she not done that before till 
now there was scarcely a chip on the 
wood-house floor or a splinter on the 
adjacent rail fences? As Jane took the 
basket and went out Mrs. Allen wiped 
the beads of perspiration from her brow, 
which had contracted into an ugly 
frown. She was angry, humiliated at 
the repeated necessity of sending Jane 
to. search the premises for wood—which 
not only irritated her but inflicted a 
senseless burden on the shoulders of her 
little maid. 
“No wood!” she exclaimed aloud to 
herself, “and dinner to be cooked for 
all those men ? And he expects me to 
have it exactly on time when he comes 
in—the personification of good nature, 
and as radiant as a June morning! And 
my face looking like a thunder cloud!” 
She glanced quickly up into the* little 
looking-glass that hung against the 
kitchen wall and cried out: 
“Edith Allen, I didn’t know that it 
was possible for you to look, so ugly! I 
wonder if the time will ever come when 
you will look that way all the time? Of 
course it will—and all because of that 
wretched old woodpile where there is 
never any wood! I declare if I don’t 
hate the very sound of wood! Hate it? 
I should say I do! I never hated any¬ 
thing so in all my life—and if I keep 
on hating it I shall soon hate Joshua, 
too! Xo sir! I just can’t stand this any 
longer—and I’m not going to. I’ll do 
something—but what?” And being com¬ 
pelled by an earnest desire to do some¬ 
thing to relieve the terrible predicament 
she was in and not knowing what to do 
or how to do it she threw her apron 
over her face to hide its shame and 
burst into an angry flood of tears. 
Suddenly an idea entered her brain 
and springing to her feet she cried : 
“I’ll do it! I’ll do it—if it kills me 
I’ll do it!” 
So startled was she by the abruptness 
of the idea and what a daring thing it 
would be for her to carry through that 
she could scarcely restrain her feelings. 
“Why has such an idea as that never 
come to me before? I wonder what 
Joshua will say and do? Well, I can’t 
say ivhat he will say and do—I only 
know that this thing cannot go on any 
longer or I shall lose my love for him 
and he will lose his respect for me.” 
At that moment Jane entered the 
kitchen, hot, tired, and disgusted at the 
meagre result of her search. 
“I can’t find any wood,” she impatient¬ 
ly exclaimed, “and I’m about ready to 
melt, too.” 
“Never mind, Jane,” Mrs. Allen calm¬ 
ly said, “I guess we can manage some¬ 
how. Empty what little you have into 
the woodbox and take the basket and 
go to the garden and get the vegetables 
for dinner. Perhaps you’ll have better 
luck getting them than you did getting 
wood.” 
Jane wondered at her mistress’s com¬ 
posure all the time she was collecting 
the vegetables together—and all the time 
Mrs. Allen and she were preparing them 
for dinner. It was something new to 
her to see such wonderful calmness 
when there was such a good reason for 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
being exactly the reverse. This made 
the time seem to pass swiftly by and she 
was surprised almost beyond belief when 
Mrs. Allen looked up at the clock and 
said : 
“Now, Jane, it is time to call the men 
to dinner. Run, please, and ring the 
bell.” 
Away Jane flew and grasping the 
dangling rope the welcome tones of the 
dinner-bell rang out far over the ad¬ 
jacent fields till it reached the listening 
ears of the master of Maple Grove 
Farm. As the last tones of the bell died 
away Mrs. Allen went to take the last 
look at the dining-room table, set with 
such exquisite care, then returned to the 
kitchen and looked calmly through the 
open window toward the harvest field. 
She caught sight of the men entering the 
lane, which led to the great red barn, 
her husband in the lead, and she knew 
that it would be but a veryl short time 
when they would all enter the barnyard, 
have stabled and fed the horses and they 
would come up to the great watering- 
trough to lave their heated faces. Joshua 
Allen, always in the lead, was the first 
to enter the kitchen. He came with his 
straw hat in his hand, tired, from riding 
the reaper the whole forenoon, and hun¬ 
gry as well as hot. 
“How cool you look, Edith,” he said, 
looking into her face with a pleased ex¬ 
pression. “I declare if it doesn’t make 
me feel cooler just to look at you.” 
“I am cool, Joshua,” she replied slow¬ 
ly, “considering.” 
Tier voice sounded a trifle unnatural 
to him but not enough to arouse his 
suspicions. Always lover-like in his 
manner towards his wife he walked up 
to her, and encircling her slender waist 
with his brawny arm said, 
“I’ve been watching that curtain the 
whole forenoon, dear, as it fluttered in 
and out the window—seemingly beckon¬ 
ing to me. With every turn of the 
reaper around the corner that curtain 
flung itself out toward me and reminded 
me of the time when you used to wave 
your handkerchief at me through your 
schoolhouse window. Those were hal¬ 
cyon days for me—ami for you, too, 
Edith?” 
Poor Edith! She was scarcely pre¬ 
pared for such tenderness from her hus¬ 
band on such a day as this. And her 
redress? It was too late for her to turn 
back now. 
“And then,” he continued, without 
waiting for her to reply, “I half imag¬ 
ined that I could see your bonny face 
at the window—and the first love of 
my heart sprang up afresh. It is so 
good to love, and be loved, dear, when 
the work is so hard; it makes the labor 
seem easier, the sun not so hot and the 
seat of the reaper softer.” 
A deep flush suffused Edith’s fair 
face at hearing all this and she somehow 
felt that she was worthy of such love, 
and her intreped spirit began to weaken 
but she uttered not a word. Joshua 
Allen’s nature was extremely sensitive 
to repulse and as his wife showed no 
inclination to respond to his loving 
words his arm slipped from her waist 
and drawing himself up half-haughtily 
asked, 
“Is dinner ready, Edith?” 
“You may call the men,” she coolly 
replied. 
He stepped to the back door and stood 
a moment looking at the men as they 
loitered fanning themselves with their 
straw hats under the maple trees, then 
called, 
“Come, boys, dinner is ready. Come 
right in.” 
Slowly then filed through the great 
airv kitchen—each one greeting Mrs. 
Allen with a nod or smile of recognition. 
For had she not taught the district 
school the two Summers before and 
know them all—either personally or by 
sight ? 
Opposite her husband Edith took her 
place at the table, the farm hands seat¬ 
ing themselves at the other places. On 
each end of the long table was a low, 
glass dish filled with the coolest-looking 
of sliced cucumbers and ripe tomatoes 
garnished with crisp lettuce leaves, a 
plate of snow-white homemade bread 
and a dish of golden butter. Close cov¬ 
ered tureens or fresh clean napkins cov¬ 
ered the main part of the dinner. On 
a quaint old sideboard, within easy reach 
of Edith’s hand, were three pies, their 
sickly appearance disguised by a thick 
coating of white sugar. 
Their seating at the table was followed 
by a moment of silence in which the low 
voice of the master of Maple Grove 
Farm was heard thanking the Giver of 
all things for the blessings of the mid¬ 
day meal, then, with pardonable pride, 
he lifted the snow-white napkin from a 
huge platter which was directly before 
him—exposing to 14 pair of eyes the 
carefully prepared bodies of several 
Spring chickens. The truth flashed upon 
him in a moment, and he raised his 
angry eyes and they were met by the 
unflinching ones of his wife. Livid 
with rage he quickly uncovered dish 
after dish of carefully prepared but un¬ 
cooked vegetables. His throat worked 
convulsively in his effort to control him¬ 
self, and his jaws were set together with 
the firmness of steel. He knew that he 
was undergoing a test point; that every 
person at the table was critically judging 
him and he felt the depth of his humili¬ 
ating position. Then the color left his 
face and white as a sheet he looked 
steadily into the victorious eyes of his 
wife and asked, 
“Mrs. Allen, provided you have wood, 
how long will it take to cook this din¬ 
ner?” 
“About an hour, Joshua, I think,” she 
answered, a crimson spot having come 
into each cheek at the thought that her 
irremediable redress might turn her hus¬ 
band’s love for her to hate. 
“All right!” he exclaimed, rising 
abruptly from the table, “and you, boys, 
take books or magazines or papers or 
anything you like to amuse yourselves 
with while I cut the wood to cook this 
dinner with myself.” 
Mrs. Allen followed him as far as the 
kitchen, knowing full well that it would 
tax her energies to the utmost to keep 
him from burning the dinner to a crisp. 
Before the hour was much more than half 
up the dinner was back on the table, 
cooked to a turn, and Joshua Allen 
stood again in the back door calling to 
his farm hands, 
“Come right in, boys, don’t wait an¬ 
other minute. The dinner is all on the 
table.” 
During the hurried cooking of the 
meal Joshua Allen and his wife had not 
looked at each other, but when he passed 
her a plate filled with the best of the 
chickens and vegetables their eyes met in 
a questioning gaze, then common sense, 
justice and reason which were para¬ 
mount characteristics in both their na¬ 
tures brushed the clouds of doubt away 
and they burst into a laugh. Then 
everybody broke into a whole-hearted 
laugh, even little Jane, who fairly danced 
around the table, exulting in the result 
of her mistress’s experiment—and, it is 
safe to say, that from that day to this 
the woodpile of Joshua Allen has not 
only proved satisfactory to his wife but 
has been her joy and her pride. 
CATHERINE C. JENNEY. 
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