THE anon is here. Last Tuesday evenin, arter I had milked and swept and washed up the supper dishes and done many other things I have to do day in and day out, year in and year out, arter Jobe had done his waterin and feedin and choppin of wood, we both found ourselves settin before the fire, me a knittin, him a settin and studyin.
Says I to him, all of a suddent, loud and quick like:
“Jobe, what yer studyin bout?”
You ort a seen him jump. He was skeert. I spoke so suddent and quick.
He hemmed and hawed a minit or so, got up and turned around, sat down, spit in the fire, crossed his legs, and says, says he:
“Well, Betsy, Ile tell you what I was a studyin about. I was jist a studyin about the mortgage and the interest and the fust of Aprile. Aprile, Betsy, is nearly here, and where is the money a comin from to pay the interest and sich?”
I saw he was troubled; but all I could say was: “Well, indeed, Jobe, I dont know.”
And I dont.
It seemed, now, as I had Jobe started, waked up as it were, he wanted to talk, and I was willin that he should, even though it wasent a very pleasant thing to talk about.
