She will never tell, because she dare not; but I am afraid—unless something happens to prevent her—that the seal-cutter will die of cholera—the white arsenic kind—about the middle of May. And thus I shall have to be privy to a murder in the House of Suddhoo.
ETCHINGS: THE HUSKING BEE
(R. L. Ketchum: For Short Stories.)
The great farm-house is ablaze with lights twinkling from every room. Long tables groan beneath the loads of good things the busy housewife has been days preparing.
From the barn come merry voices; joyous laughter.
Let us stand, unobserved, in the open door.
What a happy, merry lot of young folks—stalwart, handsome young men and healthy maidens!
They are ranged around the walls with rapidly-diminishing piles of corn before them, which they husk and throw upon the golden heap which is growing up rapidly in the center.
Ah! That young man has found a red ear in his pile! He leaps to his feet and dashes at one of the prettiest girls! A short chase—a struggle—a resounding smack—and it is over. He has kissed her—maybe on her collar, or her back hair; but that doesn’t matter; she counts it all the same.